I worry about whether I can access a building much more at my current weight of 160 pounds than I did when I weighed 378 pounds.

My adult weight, until recently, averaged 300 pounds. But in early 2022 I weighed 350, and in 2013 I weighed 378.

At those weights, I worried about distances, the number of stairs, the width of doorways, and the strength of the furniture. Today, I still worry about those things, except it is the height and stability of the furniture rather than its strength. Because I have more accessibility needs at a so-called normal weight than I did at a life-threatening weight.

Due to complications from bariatric, or weight loss, surgery, I now use a walker and a wheelchair.

Though technically I could have dropped dead at the weights I carried most of my adult life and had a lot of accessibility needs, I could do a lot more even at 378 pounds than I can do now.

My purpose for publicizing my story is not to declare bariatric surgery as bad, though after three years of severely limited mobility, accompanied by a lot of prayer and meditation, I can finally say that I regret having surgery. I want people struggling with their body image or weight to know that losing weight is not necessarily the recipe to a better life, so I am opening myself up to at least some level of public judgment.

Dispelling the stereotypes

A lot of people believe that fat people are lazy, undisciplined, ignorant, and immoral. While I am no saint and have plenty of character defects, I lived a life of intense effort:

• I exercised hard, sometimes for many hours a week.
• I worked hard, sometimes holding three jobs and five freelance clients at a time.
• I studied hard, earning a Master of Laws honors degree and finishing most of a graduate certificate taking the same classes as traditional Harvard students while weighing 350 pounds.
• I did a lot of community service work, especially with refugees, troubled teens, and dogs.

While I will admit that I sometimes ate to celebrate life or escape unpleasant emotions, such as those associated with a breakup, getting weight loss surgery proved to me that I was not a food addict as I had falsely believed for 25 years.

My stomach was too big, and my hunger hormones were out of control. The surgery I got, the duodenal switch, removed 70 percent of my stomach, including the hunger hormone ghrelin. The surgery also rerouted my intestines, so my body digests less of the food that I eat.

The hardest battle

I have been bullied as both a child and as an adult, been passed up for promotions and jobs due to my weight and gender, been threatened with sexual assault and death, had most of my possessions stolen, had my identity stolen, helplessly watched people I loved be destroyed by various physical and mental illnesses, and lost most of my writing business due to the proliferation of AI. Yet, going from traveling throughout four foreign countries on my own to using a walker and a wheelchair has been the most challenging battle of my life.

If I really was an “alcoholic with food” like so many genuinely caring people had convinced me of over the years, I would find a way to out-eat my surgery, like so many bariatric patients have.

I remind myself to eat.

When I get upset, food is not an option for me. Believe me, plenty of people find a way around their new stomach size through sodas, milkshakes, juices, alcohol, ice cream, chips, and more. I choose not to.

I use other coping skills, which I fortunately had while I still weighed 300+ pounds:

• I write poetry and journal.
• I pray and meditate.
• I listen to music or audiobooks.
• I call or text someone.
• I draw (badly).
• I pet a dog.
• I study foreign languages.

If the emotions are really bad, I talk to a therapist, a clergy member, a mental health coach, or an energy healer. Food is not an option. It has already taken enough from me.

The complication

Ironically, not having enough food, vitamins, and water in the weeks following my June 2022 surgery are how I ended up with lasting mobility and vision problems.

I had my surgery in Mexico, in the cleanest hospital I have ever seen and by some of the best bariatric surgeons in the world. I feel a need to say this because the second I tell people that I had surgery in Mexico, most people say, “Of course you did, that is why you have had so many problems.” As someone with Mexican ancestry, that assumption is especially offensive.

I was subjected to numerous medical tests before being released from the hospital and being driven back to Los Angeles. But about a week later, I started vomiting and could not stop. My surgeons and other members of my medical team, as competent and caring as they still are, obviously could not step in to help me.

So, I made my way to two Los Angeles hospitals. Doctors, nurses, and staff members at both hospitals, especially the second one, would hear that I got surgery in Mexico and immediately make inaccurate assumptions. An arrogant, recently graduated doctor at the second hospital incorrectly assumed that I was born in Mexico and asked me why I expected the United States to spend its resources on me. He kept telling me to “go back to Mexico” and make them deal with it.

I calmly told him that was racist, and he said my problem was “buyer’s remorse,” I needed an antidepressant, and there was nothing physically wrong with me.

About a week later, I was two days away from death due to dehydration and nutrient deprivation. If it had not been for a kind neurologist at a third hospital, I would be dead.

The lasting cost

The dehydration and nutrient deprivation caused brain scarring and five weeks in the hospital caused muscle deconditioning; both took away my ability to walk on my own.

I also still have compromised vision due to the dehydration and nutrient deprivation. While my eyes no longer roll around uncontrollably and I no longer have double vision, it is challenging to read printed materials. I use adaptive technology to read and write on my electronic devices.

I want to leave you with two pieces of advice:

1. Follow-up is vital. If you choose to get any type of surgery out of the country, have someone at home to follow up with. While I have someone now, maybe this would not have happened if I had established a relationship with him and his office before I had surgery in Mexico.
2. Weight loss is not a cure-all. Do not assume that anything, even a positive change like losing 218 pounds from your top weight, will make your life better. On paper, I won the weight loss lottery. In reality, I have lost far much more than weight.

While I may live a longer life now, the quality of it is not worth it. And all I can do is accept my limitations, one day, sometimes one moment, at a time; though I pray this reality will change.

This essay is cited in the KevinMD record on diabetes and obesity.

Stephanie Mojica is a patient advocate.