Don't Ask, Don't Tell

January 30, 2006. That date may not ring any bells for you, however, among the gastric bypass circle, it is commonly known as my re-born date. This was the date of my surgery and certainly the beginning of a new life for me. It really was, in essence, like being born again into a better life.

Nearly four years later, I am wondering if I still have to disclose that I am a gastric bypass patient. In the early days, it was necessary for various reasons. Small portions from expensive restaurants made more than a few dates inquire why I'd eat so little of what most would consider a great meal. At some point, when comfortable, I would tell folks about the surgery and my limitations. For the most part, the reactions were ones that I could live with. However, on more than one occasion, the response was less than flattering.

I also shared the news with friends and family for various reasons. Again, this news was met with an array of responses ranging from, 'you go girl' to 'you took the easy way out'. Some, I told for accountability. Others, I told because, in an instance where I'd be sick, get food stuck or suffer from dumping syndrome, they needed to know how to help. Well, those things are no longer of grave concern.

Now that I can eat enough on my plate to leave only polite remains, it's not nearly as noticeable. I haven't had anyone question my portions in more than a year. Although I still eat much less than before, I can roll with the best of them. I just choose not to. When it comes to food, I'm practically normal. So do I have to tell it anymore?

At this stage in the game, I'm straight hustling to keep the weight off. I can easily see how people can go back to old habits and re-gain more than they lost. One potato, two potato, three potato, more. A false sense of security after losing massive weight can be a set-up for failure. However, that's not my story. If I'm no longer riding the waves of ease that the rapid weight loss in the beginning offered, can't I keep the surgery to myself? I'm grinding like it never happened. Sure it helped me get to the place where I became physically able to do these things. But it's my blood, sweat and tears keeping me here.

Three years and nine months later, I'd love to adopt a new policy, "if they don't ask, I don't tell." But is that dishonest, or is it my prerogative? You tell me.