So there we were watching “My 600 lb. Life” and shaking our heads as the episode wore on. This is not the first episode we watched, but for some reason this one set us off.
For the uninitiated, the show is about those roly poly types that tip the Toledos at well over 600 pounds who are seeking gastric bypass surgery to “help” them because they have all the willpower of a teen in a porn shop and can’t help themselves.
The show always seem to have the same tone too. The subject of the episode typically has some childhood trauma to fall back on like being abused by Uncle Grabbyhands, or being bullied in school, or some other random but well tread excuse to destroy themselves after-the-fact. And that’s exactly what they are doing. They are destroying themselves by allowing themselves to get to that weight.
The human body is very adept at self healing and can withstand a lot of punishment and abuse, all things considered. However, the human body has limits and when you’re carrying around over a quarter ton of fat on your frame, that shit ain’t good, nor healthy. This ain’t “baby fat”. This ain’t, “I just had a baby” fat either. This is simply, “I fucking eat too goddamn much and am a disgusting excuse for a human being because I have no self control” fat.
This ain’t bad genetics. This ain’t shitty metabolism. This ain’t “big boned” family traits.
This is a show about people who massively overeat (and do not exercise) and find whatever excuse they can come up with to explain how they got from Point A to Point B, again, retelling of their childhood trauma that pushed them there. Most all of the episodes include some mention of turning to food for comfort or solace. They get anxious? Eat. They get scared? Eat. They get angry? Eat. They get nervous? Eat. Several mentions of “emotional eating” are generally referenced as well.
It’s probably listening to the plethora of excuses that set us off this time.
She can’t stop eating because reasons. She can’t exercise because reasons. She can’t get out of bed because reasons. She can’t walk because reasons. This is coming from the person that came to the Doctor in search of help and an operation to do what their willpower can’t. Cries and whines and laments about what they CAN’T do…because reasons.
In this particular episode, and near every other one before it, there was also an enabler involved. The relative or spouse or friend that kept feeding tubby because they were demanding a meal and weren’t gonna take no for an answer. That would just make them more enraged and the amount of food consumed eventually would be exponentially more (because...emotional eating, right?). The Doctor typically points them out and admonishes them (in a clever way) for more or less killing their relative/friend/spouse by enabling their shitty choices in life. He’s not wrong, as they are assisting in killing the subject, but really, it’s not their blame to absorb. If they weren’t there to shovel the food in, the subject would just find some other means.
In the end, the choice is always that of the subject.
This episode featured the tubby wife and the way outta shape hubby who was helping to kill her by feeding her whims (pun intended). They clocked her in at in excess of 30,000 calories a day. A DAY.
For perspective, a bodybuilder only packs away roughly 3,300 calories a day to pack on weight, and around 2,800 a day to maintain it. A typical male would consume 2,500 a day and typical female around 2,000 (or a little less). These are hardly rock solid, one-size-fits-all caloric intakes, but it lends some perspective to the discrepancy.
2,000 for an average female versus over 30,000 for this chick. Over ten times the fucking amount a normal human being consumes. Unreal.
The show wore on and it was one whine after another. One excuse after another. One blame after another. We were initially impressed because, as part of the regimen the patients undergo a month in the hospital on a low calorie diet to help them shed some excess tubbage before they’re sent home for another month or two before a final test to see how much they shed, and if they’re a good candidate for the surgery itself. Whether their body will survive the procedure is what determines the recommendation. Mostly it’s, “Will your heart take the abuse or will you likely die on the table?”
In that month she was restricted to a mere 1,000 calories a day. Of course, she constantly whined about that. After the month though, she had managed to shed a clean 69 pounds. We were duly impressed. That is quite the accomplishment, and she had a target of an additional 50 pounds in the next month before her next checkup.
So she goes to live in a motel for the month, and of course, she starts her old routine of eating as she pleases, tee-heeing about her “cheats” as she’s shoveling a cake into her gaping maw for her 40th birthday party.
What happened after the month away on her own?
She came back HEAVIER THAN BEFORE.
That’s right. Not only did she fail to LOSE the 50 additional pounds, she regained the lost 69 and added a few more. In a month. Just one fucking month.
UGH.
She even collapsed a fucking toilet stall. Destroyed the toilet trying to use it. She trapped herself and cried that she couldn’t get up and they had to call in the fire department to drag her ass off the pot and back to her double wide wheelchair.
So the Doctor chastises her, and rightfully so, and warns her this is her last chance. Shape up or she’s on her own and with a lumpy frame like hers, and the lifestyle she is choosing, she won’t be long for this world. So they keep her another month in the hospital and this time on an intake of a scant 800 calories a day. Even less than before. She complained about that too, despite it being her own fucking fault for coming back HEAVIER than her first visit.
She loses a lot of weight again. She is sent away a second time with a new mission for additional weight loss. The hubby and wife assert that it’ll be different this time.
And it was.
She was at least trying this time, and attempting to move around, and the hubby was trying to keep her flying right with no cheats and just good eats (in moderation). Things seemed to be going smoothly.
Til she rifled through his phone. Found out he was trying to wheel some locals.
Well then it all came tumbling down.
Now it was his fault that she can’t get outta bed because she doesn’t trust him. That’s right. Because she doesn’t trust him, she magically has no ability to haul her fat ass off the bed and move around. Like some unseen Trust Demon had pinned her to the bed and was sapping her will to live. The Trust Demon had somehow managed to remove her ability to articulate her limbs.
Anyone that has dealt with the bedridden knows what will come next.
A bed sore. A HUGE one in fact. So much so that they had to rush her in to get it worked on ASAP before it becomes infected and she loses her chance at the operation or loses her life (or if she’s lucky, just a limb she wasn’t using anyway).
Once again the Doctor chastises her for refusing to get ambulatory. She blames personal strife at home. He is not interested and calls a spade a spade. Tells her he is not interested in excuses and she needs to get her shit together or the deal is off. She cries and whines again.
They call in a psychologist. She says the issue is psychological and not physical, so he plays along. Hubby apologises and says that he is just at that point where his frustration has become too much because he loves his wife but can’t stand that she is not even trying any more. He feels trapped and held hostage to her in a sense. She counters that he wants her to walk so he can’t stop caring for her.
Well no shit.
That also irked us big time. How the friend/relative/spouse is always the one that is really suffering. They are captive. Press ganged by politics or peer pressure or societal pressure to “chip in and help out” the poor helpless fatty. Such selfishness. To saddle your fiend/relative/spouse with the responsibility of bathing you, feeding you, rolling you over, and so on and so on because you’re too goddamn fat to get your own shit together and can’t wipe your own ass or put on your own shoes.
We digress.
How can people let themselves get that disgustingly fat? Seriously? We get a mini-muffintop every winter and freak the fuck out about it. We affectionately refer to it as our “winter weight”, but we know that one day that will be a Hell of a long winter and it won’t go away come spring. Age does that. So does gravity. That said, how can these people look in the mirror and see the pounds pile on and keep going? How the fuck is that even possible?
If we couldn’t tie our own shoes or wipe our own ass or bathe ourselves, we’d be mortified and look for solutions immediately. Do a quick life assessment and determine where we fucked up and course correct. Carting around that much blubber is not good. Toilet seats everywhere are cowering at the thought.
It’ll probably be quite some time before we watch another episode of that show. It’s far too aggravating and vein inducing.
The bottom line is this – when you pack on the pounds, it’s not just your life you’re ruining. You’re likely dragging others along with you and that ain’t okay. The excuse of comfort food and emotional eating is a crutch and nothing more. If shows like this are to teach us anything, it’s that overeating is never a solution to an issue. Certainly not some eye popping 30,000 calories a goddamn day. If you have some shit going on in your world, TALK to someone. There’s support services damn near everywhere you look these days, so there’s no excuse to binge eat every time you have hurt feels or a bad day.
Lest you have a ruined toilet in your future...
Free your 8 SCPS - At the end of the episode she was actually outside for the first time in forever, though still refusing to exercise but "Still trying...". That Trust Demon must be mighty large indeed. Yes, she did have the surgery but it'll be useless to her if she doesn't exercise and get mobile.
As always, if you have any questions, concerns, comments or suggestions, feel free to leave them below or contact us.
