doctors were really tough on women about getting baby weight off quickly after giving birth. They frequently prescribed “black beauties” to help new moms burn off the fat. The pills were
speed!
My mom said they worked great: She lost all her excess weight in no time—and her mind, too—as she stayed up all night cleaning the house, organizing closets, and doing everything else except sleeping. Diet drugs, to me, sounded dangerous and reckless, something I felt I should avoid.
My doctor explained that there was a new combination of drugs called fen-phen, a weight-loss regimen that was seeing a lot of success. These drugs were only prescribed to extremely heavy patients, so the potential of abuse by people who shouldn’t be taking them was all but eliminated. Whatever side effects caused by these drugs—and they really weren’t sure what those were long-term—were tempered with the great benefit of shedding weight off of morbidly obese patients whosevery lives were threatened by their excess pounds. The risk seemed to be justified.
Could this be the answer? Could I solve my problems simply by taking medicine? It seemed doubtful to me, but nothing else was working at that point. My doctor was recommending it, so why not give it a chance? How bad could it be? I agreed to try it, without much hope or expectation.
It was like freedom in a bottle.
The drugs made me not care—about much of anything, really—but specifically, I didn’t care about eating. It wasn’t that I was
not
hungry per se, I was just indifferent toward food. And that was incredibly liberating. I could go about my day and not obsess over whether I would binge eat fast food; I truly didn’t want to. As the weight started to come off, my confidence began to build. For the first time in a long time, I had real hope. The scales were finally going in the right direction, and I felt I had that elusive control I’d fought so hard to find.
People started to notice my weight loss, and that fueled me even further. I began to exercise, and I loved it. I walked for miles around the track at the local high school, listening to Sugar Ray, Smash Mouth, and Third Eye Blind on my Walkman, feeling young, alive, and vital. I daydreamed about finally getting back into reporting, realizing my dream of continuing my on-air career. I was able to take an interest in clothes and start to look forward to buying pretty things again. Life was beginning to feel good once more.
If the drugs had negative side effects, I was unaware. The most discomfort I ever felt was dry mouth, which actually worked in my favor, causing me to drink lots of water and avoidsoft drinks. I never felt dizzy or disoriented, never had that heart-racing feeling you sometimes hear about. I became convinced that these drugs were meant for me, that they were the key to reclaiming my life.
I still loved to eat and found that it was okay to do so. I just manipulated the times that I ate around the times I took my medication. For example, if I was craving a particular food, I would plan to have it for breakfast. Sure, spaghetti with meat sauce sounds a little gross first thing in the morning, but it worked for me. I stuffed myself until I was satisfied, then a couple of hours later, I took my pills and was fine for the rest of the day. I didn’t obsess over the foods I couldn’t have, I just planned them for when I could eat them. I never felt deprived, and most important, the results made me feel fabulous. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of this solution sooner.
After about eight months, I’d lost fifty-five pounds. I was down to about 230, lower than I’d been in years. My dream of being a television reporter was starting to feel attainable again; I really felt as though I could do anything I wanted to. I hadn’t been this excited about the future in a long, long time.
And then the rug was yanked out from under me.
My mom called me at work. It’s kind of ironic that I am a
speed!
My mom said they worked great: She lost all her excess weight in no time—and her mind, too—as she stayed up all night cleaning the house, organizing closets, and doing everything else except sleeping. Diet drugs, to me, sounded dangerous and reckless, something I felt I should avoid.
My doctor explained that there was a new combination of drugs called fen-phen, a weight-loss regimen that was seeing a lot of success. These drugs were only prescribed to extremely heavy patients, so the potential of abuse by people who shouldn’t be taking them was all but eliminated. Whatever side effects caused by these drugs—and they really weren’t sure what those were long-term—were tempered with the great benefit of shedding weight off of morbidly obese patients whosevery lives were threatened by their excess pounds. The risk seemed to be justified.
Could this be the answer? Could I solve my problems simply by taking medicine? It seemed doubtful to me, but nothing else was working at that point. My doctor was recommending it, so why not give it a chance? How bad could it be? I agreed to try it, without much hope or expectation.
It was like freedom in a bottle.
The drugs made me not care—about much of anything, really—but specifically, I didn’t care about eating. It wasn’t that I was
not
hungry per se, I was just indifferent toward food. And that was incredibly liberating. I could go about my day and not obsess over whether I would binge eat fast food; I truly didn’t want to. As the weight started to come off, my confidence began to build. For the first time in a long time, I had real hope. The scales were finally going in the right direction, and I felt I had that elusive control I’d fought so hard to find.
People started to notice my weight loss, and that fueled me even further. I began to exercise, and I loved it. I walked for miles around the track at the local high school, listening to Sugar Ray, Smash Mouth, and Third Eye Blind on my Walkman, feeling young, alive, and vital. I daydreamed about finally getting back into reporting, realizing my dream of continuing my on-air career. I was able to take an interest in clothes and start to look forward to buying pretty things again. Life was beginning to feel good once more.
If the drugs had negative side effects, I was unaware. The most discomfort I ever felt was dry mouth, which actually worked in my favor, causing me to drink lots of water and avoidsoft drinks. I never felt dizzy or disoriented, never had that heart-racing feeling you sometimes hear about. I became convinced that these drugs were meant for me, that they were the key to reclaiming my life.
I still loved to eat and found that it was okay to do so. I just manipulated the times that I ate around the times I took my medication. For example, if I was craving a particular food, I would plan to have it for breakfast. Sure, spaghetti with meat sauce sounds a little gross first thing in the morning, but it worked for me. I stuffed myself until I was satisfied, then a couple of hours later, I took my pills and was fine for the rest of the day. I didn’t obsess over the foods I couldn’t have, I just planned them for when I could eat them. I never felt deprived, and most important, the results made me feel fabulous. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of this solution sooner.
After about eight months, I’d lost fifty-five pounds. I was down to about 230, lower than I’d been in years. My dream of being a television reporter was starting to feel attainable again; I really felt as though I could do anything I wanted to. I hadn’t been this excited about the future in a long, long time.
And then the rug was yanked out from under me.
My mom called me at work. It’s kind of ironic that I am a
Similar Books
