My father ate himself to death. He died a couple of years ago, at 57. A son in his early 30s should not have to bury his father.
Dad was fat for most of his entire life. He was a kind and well-loved man, but he was never “happy.” Oh, sure, he was happy at times, but deep down his weight tortured him.
And yet, by his actions, he made the decision on some level that being morbidly obese was (easier? more desirable?) than putting forth the effort to control his weight.
Do I blame society? No. Fast-food restaurants? No. As much as I loved my Dad (he was my best friend), eventually the choice was his.
He knew what his eating habits were doing to him. Dad was a physician. An opthamologist, who, in the last decade of his short life, retired from surgery to do general practice at a state-run hospital/facility for the less fortunate of society (mentally ill, addicted teenagers, prisoners, etc.).
So, he had to deal professionaly with patients fighting addictions, yet could not overcome his own. (Many of his former patients, as well as the other hospital staff, came to his memorial service. To a person, they told me how highly they regarded my father as a person not just a doctor. Many cried openly when I gave the eulogy).
He was the “jolly fat man” who cries inside. He didn’t speak about it much openly, but a son can tell.
Dad would go on diets–“starting tomorrow.” About 80 percent of my Dad’s life was spent dieting–if you count a 21-hour fast every day. That is, between the hours of, say, midnight and 9:00 PM, Dad would eat nothing. Then, he would gorge himself and go to bed.
He was a big fan of diuretics. Easy to lose 15 pounds of water weight when you are well over 300. He used every trick in the book to lose weight–except change his eating habits and outlook toward food. He yo-yo’d 30-40 pounds all the time.
But he knew it could be done. Once, as a young man, he lost over 100 pounds over the course of a year or two and quit smoking at the same time. He was able to break his smoking habit permanently (went cold turkey and never took another puff the last 20 years of his life). What is it about food that had such a stronger hold over him?
The high blood pressure came first. For that, he took medication. Did he change his eating habits? No.
The self-induced diabetes came next. Being a doctor, he always had insulin injections ready. Instead of altering his eating habits, he would just inject himself. Many times a day.
The joint and tendon problems came next. So, he injected cortizone regularly.
Then, the gout. Very painful. He started taking medicine for the pain. It’s easy for a doctor to get OxyContin and other painkillers. Especially when one can spread purchases over various internet sources.
He was taking Prozac and other pills for the depression. Again, self-medicated. I think he was ashamed of his condition. I know he was in denial. The “every problem can be cured with medication” type of denial. The “if one pill is good, three must be even better” type of denial.
Then came the circulation and leg problems. Open, suppurating sores. He had medical creams and more pain medication.
I didn’t know the depth of these problems (especially the leg problems) until after he died and I was straightening out his affairs. We found a suitcase (one of the big ones) full of all his injections, creams, and pills. It’s easier for a doctor to hide medical problems. I cried harder when I opened that suitcase and saw with my own eyes the depths of his pain than I have in my entire life.
Still, with all this pain, he decided (again, on some level–not saying is was conscious) that dealing with all this was preferable to changing his eating habits.
I never put my Dad down about his weight. However, his parents regularly did, even from childhood (“Fat and getting fatter” was something his dad would say). I agree that probably contributed greatly to whatever demons my Dad tried to fight with food.
Am I bitter? A little, I guess. I miss my father (did I mention that he was my best friend?), and what he did was a type of suicide. It wasn’t some outside force or action that killed my father, it was his own decsion to die like that. To have all his organ sytems shut down one by one while lying in a hospital bed hooked to a breathing tube.
Should I have been more confrontational? I don’t think so. There is nothing I could have told him he didn’t already know. And I know how deeply his parents’ comments cut him. I could never contribute to that.
I apoligize for the length of this post that really has nothing to do with the OP, but it felt good to write it.