Choose life
Jodi Isenberg was 350 pounds, a diabetic and a smoker. The future looked bleak. Then she made a decision that changed everything
I’ll be 50 in less than six months. But on Sept. 5, 2013, I was reborn. That was the day I chose to live. That was the day I had gastric bypass surgery.
I’ve been a food addict since I was a child. Carbs, sugar and fat were my diet staples. I also loved to eat in volume, in secret. A box of Kraft Dinner is supposed to serve four people? I’d polish it off on my own, alone. I thought nothing of eating a Double Big Mac, the biggest fries I could get my hands on and apple pie, at midnight. Food was my friend. It never, ever let me down. But in my 40s, it was letting my body down. At 44, I was 350 pounds and a Type-1 diabetic on insulin. I was winded all the time, completely sedentary, and I was scared I was going to die.
Then, one afternoon six years ago, I bent over to pick up an earring I dropped on my bedroom floor, and felt a twinge. When the pain came, it was unbearable. An emergency MRI determined I had herniated three discs in my back and pinched two nerves in my leg, which caused permanent nerve damage in my right foot. I spent three weeks in bed.
That was my wake-up call. If the extra weight hadn’t created my back issues, it certainly wasn’t helping me recover. My family doctor asked me if I wanted to do “the surgery” — a gastric bypass ( bariatric surgery), in which a small pouch is inserted into your existing stomach and connected to your small intestine, bypassing most of your stomach and restricting the amount of food you can eat in one sitting. After countless failed diets, thousands spent on weight-loss programs that never worked and fighting the pressure to have a “normal” figure, I took the lifeline the doctor was throwing me.
Within a few months, I became a patient of the Ontario Bariatric Network and I’ve never looked back. The day I met my surgeon, I quit smoking (on his advice) and got my butt to every appointment in the year leading up to the procedure. I promised myself that I would take every bit of help offered in order to be successful, both preand postsurgery.
And I’m proud to say I have. Over two years, I lost 150 pounds, and I’ve kept it off. I’ve gone through about five entire wardrobe overhauls — now, I’m able to wear clothes in styles I never thought I’d ever fit into, and I can wear my hair shorter now that my face isn’t as full. I still catch my silhouette as I pass a mirror and wonder who that person is, staring back at me. I started to do Aquafit regularly a year ago, the final piece I needed to add to my postsurgery life. Now, three times a week, I bounce around in the water, loving how it helps me move my body and keep my heart healthy. Am I afraid of wearing a bathing suit in public, with my Jell-O arms and excess skin that people can see when I step out on the pool deck? No way. I’ve earned those battle scars.
I forget that some people didn’t know me before my body changed, so I’m still amused when I share my story and people say, “You would never know.” The weight came off well, lucky me. But sometimes people tell me, “I know someone who had that surgery and they gained all their weight back.” My response is, “Then they must have not done the work needed to succeed.”
The bariatric program is designed so amazingly well that you’re given all of the tools you need to do your best. But rerouting your insides can’t fix your mind. There’s no magic to weight loss; if you want to take weight off — any weight — it takes work. I work hard at keeping my weight off every day. I keep a picture of myself from five years ago on my fridge, to remind myself of how far I’ve come, and to remember that that person, the bigger version, is always inside me. The surgery is a major, life-changing commitment and it takes tremendous discipline to be successful. But trust me when I tell you, it was worth it. Worth giving up cookies, cake, chocolate, ice cream, croissants, Diet Coke, smoking, alcohol — all of it.
Before my surgery, I could see my future: me, morbidly obese with massive health issues, unable to move, and my poor husband pushing me around in a wheelchair. I didn’t think I’d get to see my 50th birthday. Now, I wake up every day excited to see where this journey will take me. It was the best decision I could have ever made for myself.
I chose to live. To live my best life. So, hey, 50 … bring it on. I’m ready.