Yesterday was three months out. I weighed 274.6, which is 57.4 pounds down. In three months.
More to the point, I've noticed just recently that I've hit a little categorical shift. As a lifelong weight-cycler, I've had a chance to observe the way I feel, look, and am responded to at quite a lot of different sizes. Just recently I crossed some categorical boundary. I'm less invisible at this size than fifty pounds bigger—or even ten or fifteen pounds bigger. I'm also less hypervisible.
I recalled my surgeon—bless him, he's extremely sanguine, and he's never once tried to sell me a pie-in-the-sky picture of post-VSG living—telling me that his practice's average weight loss with the VSG alone (they do a lot of two-part duodenal switch procedures; he was a pioneer of the switch as an operation) is about ten BMI points. He said that he's tried to predict who'll substantially exceed that and has found that he can't. So I went home, figured out where 10 BMI points down put me, and thought about whether or not I could live with that. It's right about here—a few pounds lower than right here. And I decided that I could.
And now, experientially, indeed, if this were it, I could live here. At this size. I could be this size forever. It would be fine. It would not be my absolute first pick, but it would, in fact, be fine. I have been this size pretty happily and stably before. At this size, I can buy clothes that I like that look nice on me, I can feel healthy and energetic and mobile and athletic, I can handle the way my face looks.
This is one of the weird things about being a WLS patient who has also done a lot of work on my sense of identity as a fat person. I can imagine a good life for myself as a fat person (because I've had one before). I can imagine making changes I need to make in my life and staying fat. I can imagine a world in which the VSG helps me maintain a weight that works for me without having to white-knuckle it all the time, without being constantly in the process of either losing or gaining weight. There's something deeply appealing about that picture. I get wistful when I paint it, as I did to my therapist a few days ago. This is a size I know and accept, a size I can live with. I could live here.
But of course, I'm only three months out, and I'm very rarely eating more than a thousand calories a day. My weight loss is not going to stop tomorrow. Part of the reason that part of me is feeling like I'd like to settle, probably, is that I'm in a period of very rapid loss. I got home from traveling and my period started the next day and all of a sudden my weight was in free-fall, plummeting ten pounds in a week. Water, obviously, but water that had been masking some weight loss I hadn't seen yet on the scale. The pace scares me. This is the first time I've really thought seriously about staying off the scale.
I could live here, but probably I won't. It's only been three months. We'll see where I am in a year.