Okay listen… I’m writing this at like 12:17 pm on my phone while the coffee maker is making that weird gurgling death noise again. Weight loss surgery basically saved my ass but also made me re-learn how to be a person and I’m still not great at it.
I’m in Faridabad right now visiting family (January 2026 feels fake as hell), but my brain is still stuck in my old Atlanta apartment smelling like Premier Protein and regret. Down almost 92 lbs since the sleeve in October 2024. Ninety. Two. That number still feels like it belongs to somebody else.
But if you’re here thinking it’s all motivational quotes and smooth progress, nah. It’s me panic-Googling “is it normal to taste metal for three weeks” at 3 a.m. and ugly-crying because plain chicken breast suddenly tastes like sadness.
Weight loss surgery can be super safe and crazy effective — when you don’t treat it like casual Tuesday.
Why I Even Did This To Myself
I was 38, size 24W, could barely tie my shoes without getting winded, and the sleep apnea machine was louder than my neighbors’ wedding music. I tried:
- every app under the sun
- phentermine that made my heart feel like a rabbit in a dryer
- “ intuitive eating” which just meant I intuitively ate an entire tray of samosas
- one round of Contrave where I literally dreamed about food nonstop
Nothing. Stuck. So I went to a bariatric program, got all the psych evals, nutrition classes, the works. Read a ton from the ASMBS patient resource page until my eyes hurt. Still scared shitless the day of.
The Honeymoon Phase Was a Lie
First month = torture. Couldn’t drink enough water. Threw up bile twice because I took one sip too fast. Lost 22 lbs in like 18 days and felt simultaneously victorious and like roadkill.
Weird embarrassing moment: week 3 I’m at my parents’ place, try to sip dal (very watered down) and immediately feel like my stomach is staging a protest. Ran to the bathroom, didn’t make it all the way, cried on the floor in yesterday’s hoodie while my mom pretended not to hear. Peak glamour.
Around month 2.5 the scale really started moving and energy came back. Could walk to the market without planning rest stops. Jeans from 2017 zipped without prayer. Insane.
What I’m Actually Doing in 2026 to Not Regain It All
Almost 15 months out and I’m still figuring shit out. Real list of what’s keeping me sane (and what keeps biting me):
- 80–110 g protein daily or I feel like garbage. Greek yogurt, boiled eggs, chicken, paneer, protein shakes when I’m lazy.
- No gulping. Sip sip sip. I still set timers like a toddler.
- Carbonated drinks = instant regret. One Thums Up experiment in month 8 had me folded over for 40 minutes.
- Therapy. Still go. Binge brain didn’t disappear with the stomach.
- Walking. A lot. Like 6–8k steps even when it’s hot and I’d rather die.
I still fuck up. Last week I ate too much rajma at a family thing (because “just a little more won’t hurt”). Dumping syndrome hit so hard I was on the bathroom floor whispering sorry to my intestines like they could hear me. Classic.
This long-term Swedish Obese Subjects study update (yeah it’s older but still cited everywhere) keeps me grounded—surgery works best when you keep showing up for the maintenance part.
Stuff Nobody Warned Me About (or I Ignored)
- Hair thinned so bad around month 4 I looked like a baby bird. Collagen + iron + biotin helped but ponytail is still tragic.
- Gallbladder decided to nope out at month 7. Emergency removal. Another surgery. Yay.
- Skin. So much loose skin. Inner thighs look like melted candle wax. Pants fit weird. Body dysmorphia sneaks in sometimes.
- People saying “you cheated” or “easy way out”. I just nod and keep it moving now.
Final Ramble Before I Go Eat My Tiny Dinner
Weight loss surgery isn’t easy mode. It’s hardcore mode with better stats. If you do it safely—with a real program, follow the rules (mostly), and fix the head part too—it can absolutely be one of the most effective ways to drop a ton of weight and actually keep it off.
But it’s still daily work. Forever. And you’ll still be a flawed messy human who sometimes eats three extra bites of paratha and pays for it.
Right now I’m sitting here in my cousin’s living room, stomach tiny, wearing a kurta that actually fits for once, and I don’t dread photos anymore. That alone feels like winning the lottery.
If you’re thinking about it—go to consults. Ask dumb questions. Read the horror stories and the wins. Then decide for yourself.
And if you’ve already had surgery… tell me your dumbest post-op moment below. I need to know I’m not the only idiot who panic-ate a single almond and regretted life.
Catch you later. still figuring it out, one 1-oz sip at a tim
