'I miss my larger body. I miss my big round butt. I miss my wide thighs and lush belly. I miss the cup size I lost while in a series of hospital beds.' Read annalieseg's essay on the unintentional weight loss that followed her surgery
While I’d recovered quickly from that first surgery, the second was a different story. For close to a month, I couldn’t eat, didn’t consume enough fluids, became dehydrated, threw up constantly, and couldn’t keep my meds down. Shortly after Thanksgiving, I went into cardiac arrest at my mom’s house. My 7-year-old son helped her transfer me from the bed to the floor so she could start CPR, as instructed by the 911 operator. Together, they saved my life.
“These won’t fit,” I scoffed, confused and freaked out. “Are you not aware of how much weight you’ve lost?” my mom asked in a tone that indicated I should be as alarmed as she was at this drastic development. “Well, of course I’ve lost afood,” I said, gesturing at my picked-over lunch order. “Just go try them on,” she said wearily.
I spent most of my adult life making various plans to eat less and go to the gym more to lose ten, 15, or 25 pounds. I started to heal that relationship with my body about ten years ago, when I realized that I actually really like exercise — I just don’t like running. I started doing yoga, taking a jump-rope class at my local YMCA, became mildly obsessed with spinning, and rode my bike everywhere.
I don’t always love every aesthetic element of my body, and I didn’t before I lost all this weight either, but I don’t consider its size — large or small — a moral failure.In fact, I miss my larger body. I miss my big round butt. I miss my wide thighs and lush belly. I miss the cup size I lost while in a series of hospital beds. I miss my clothes, most of them purchased from the Instagram resale account @selltradeplus, which now hang on my much-reduced frame. That body did yoga and HIIT cardio.
It’s like my body condescends to the bodies of my fat friends, even though I would far rather be fat and healthy than skinny and wondering if, or when, my cancer will return. Being thin for the first time in my adult life doesn’t just feel disorienting — it connects me back to my illness, it makes my body feel lesser than, even though I now look the way most people think I should.
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