The other morning I was driving our son, Alessio, to school on our usual route through the arroyo in Pasadena. For those not from the Southwest, an arroyo is often defined as a dry streambed… but here in Pasadena it is a huge verdant ravine that encircles the famous Rose Bowl. I love driving along the arroyo: it is a symphony of every shade of green—huge, elder Oaks and Sycamores, and a whole bunch of other trees and plants that I cannot identify, but I love living among them. It was an absolutely beautiful morning, and as we emerged from the arroyo with the sun spotlighting the Rose Bowl stadium marquee, it felt like we were driving into a postcard. I told Alessio how lucky he was to grow up around something people all over the world want to visit… and this launched me into reminiscing about my mom.
In the early 1980s, I attended Art Center College of Design, which is nestled in the hills directly above the Rose Bowl, so I called Pasadena home for several years. Growing up in Tucson, we didn’t have the luxury to travel to the Rose Parade, but it was on our TV every New Year’s Day. Mom loved it. I did too. We would ooh and ahh at the fanciful floats, and she was delighted every time a band would make an appearance. So when I first moved to Pasadena, coming to visit and see the parade in person was a dream come true for her. I remember dropping her off in the wee hours of the morning close to the parade route (by that time of my life, I had absolutely no desire to stand in the freezing cold to watch floats and bands), and then picking her up well after the traffic had dispersed. Even though at that time she was in her 60s, I had no reservations about her being by herself; she enjoyed talking to people and made friends where ever she went, striking up a conversation with whoever happened to be next to her.
With my son as a captive audience, I went on to lament that if Grandma had been more mobile as she aged, she would have had such fun and fulfilling golden years. With her sociability and love of travel, she would have had no apprehension about going on cruises alone, or volunteering at the church, or playing bingo at the senior center…whatever…she just loved being around people. Alessio asked me if I thought Grandma would have lived to be 100 if not for her weight, and without blinking I said “Absolutely, no doubt.”
A lifelong struggle
My mom battled her weight her entire life. From the time she was a very young child through her teenage years, into her twenties and beyond—she was always a stout girl. I remember when I was a child going with her to countless weight clinics for her weekly weigh-ins, the sheets of typed-up diets hanging on the fridge, and the clusters of supplement bottles on the counter. There was an endless string of new diets to try out. Through the years she had periods of being slender, but then the weight would gradually sneak back on. She was mostly good-natured about it, joking about her weight and referring to herself as the “fat girl” (it wasn’t a pejorative in the last century), but I knew it was a constant source of angst and she yearned for a lighter self. Not because of societal pressures or wanting to look a certain way (although she loved clothes), but because life was simply more enjoyable when she was leaner.
As she got older, it was harder and harder for her to shed weight and keep it off. I remember visiting her after I graduated from college. She was in her late 60s, and although still fairly mobile, I was flabbergasted to discover she had a handicap placard. Here was a woman who I had known as a hard-working entrepreneur, always on the go and getting things done, but who now wanted and thought she needed the front parking spot. I said, “Mom, you’re not handicapped, you’re overweight!” I was in disbelief that a doctor would aid and encourage her to move even less than she already was. I could foresee the vicious cycle that she heading into: it was becoming a chore to move, and thus, she moved less. The less you move, the less you’re able to move. She was on a slippery slope and sliding fast.
It’s never too late
After my dad passed away in 1997, I encouraged her to give weight loss another try and gifted her a membership to the Y. Much to my surprise, she signed up for a water aerobics class, which was shocking for a woman who couldn’t swim and was deathly afraid of pools. Mind you, at this time she was 74 years old, which made her willingness to endeavor into those waters even more astounding. Astonishingly, she loved it. Truth be told, it was probably the camaraderie of the other ladies that superseded the water, but whatever it was—it kept her motivated. To encourage her, I sent colorful cards and cheery floral arrangements with balloons; and as she lost weight, I bought her new, stylish clothes that I knew would help her feel accomplished about her progress.
Unfortunately, this didn’t last and her lifelong food demons got the better of her. By the next time I saw her, she had gained all the weight back and was walking with a cane. The slippery slope of inactivity was turning into a downhill race to immobility. Then came the falls. She was living alone, so we got her the emergency call button to wear around her neck, which she used to summon the paramedics. After a handful of these episodes, it became obvious she could no longer live on her own and my husband, Andrea (God bless him), and I decided the best course of action was to pack her up and move her to California to live with us.
Our journey began
As I wrote in We are Our Parents Keepers, when she moved in with us, Alessio was 9 months old; I was the quintessential example of the sandwich generation, but on steroids. Several years of an extremely sedentary lifestyle and an endless supply of processed food led Mom to her heaviest weight that I could remember—close to 250 pounds, which, for an 84-year-old, 5’2” tall woman, was an arduous load. The cane had been replaced by a walker. I was alarmed and, frankly a little frightened, about how to handle this condition. I immediately changed her diet, throwing away all the processed food she had brought with her (yup, she boxed it all up and brought it with her)… things like “margarine spreads,” 100-calorie packs of cookies, and cups of pudding designed to last 10 years. I replaced the entire lot with fresh, whole foods and started cooking every meal, sans the junk, much to her consternation.
Shortly after she moved in, I watched her trying to walk and noticed that she literally didn’t pick up her feet; she just slid them along the floor. I remember thinking, what the heck—no wonder she’s falling—she’s catching her feet on bumps and is totally off balance. I thought that perhaps something was going on neurologically that was affecting her gait. Ah, that’s it! I had a full neurological work-up done at the Neurology Department of the Keck School of Medicine, USC in Los Angeles. Surely, they will find something! But, no. Apart from age-related memory issues, there wasn’t a thing wrong that would affect balance and mobility. In fact, aside from high blood pressure and high cholesterol, she was as healthy as a horse. It became abundantly clear her weight was the main hindrance to her walking and the quality of her life.
Plan of attack
Caring for a person who had difficulty moving was a serious challenge for our family. Mom had always been a bit of a health enthusiast insofar as alternative medicines and supplements, so I decided to take her to see a naturopathic physician to help bolster my efforts. Along with changing her diet, I knew she needed to move and so I persuaded him to write a prescription for physical therapy. I have very vivid memories of taking her to her appointments: grabbing 18-month-old Alessio out of the car seat, putting him on my hip, getting her walker out of the trunk, and guiding her into the building for her appointment, scared to death the whole time she would fall.
We kept on this course for the next two years, and she went from 250 pounds to a svelte (for her) 175. With the help of her doctor, we weaned her off all her meds, and both her blood pressure and cholesterol reached a normal range. Phew! Success! At 87, she had lost 75 pounds and although she was still considered “morbidly obese” (a horrid term, I honestly prefer fat), it seemed much more manageable. I was so relieved to have gotten her to this point—by this time, I was now chasing after a very energetic toddler as well as caring for her. Cheerleading her success, I arranged for her to volunteer at the church, which she enjoyed. She was going to senior lunches. We got her several pretty, sparkly tops to wear, which solicited many compliments from church ladies. Maybe, just maybe, we had finally found the recipe for success.
Not so fast
Just when I thought we had smooth sailing and I was going to be able to weather the upcoming handful of years with a soon-to-be preschooler and nearly 90-year-old mom, it all started to unravel. Without going into the weeds, the next several years were punctuated by one fateful event after the next. She had a few falls, and each time it required two or three of us to lift her up. One time in particular when my husband was traveling, she slid off the side of her bed and onto the floor. I couldn’t find anyone to help me, so I did what I dreaded to do: call the paramedics. I remember her looking up at these four towering guys squeezed into her bedroom and she told them she didn’t think they could help because she was so fat—her words, not mine. They laughed and assured her they could and in a nanosecond hoisted her back to bed before going on their way.
Then the floodgates opened…first was a gall bladder attack that led to surgery; then she rolled out of bed and broke her hip, requiring another surgery; followed by a knee replacement (too many inactive decades of her poor joints burdened by weight); a slow-motion slip off a chair that resulted in a broken shoulder…another hospital stay.
I’ve learned people simply don’t bounce back as easily when they are older, so each hospital stay and transition care facility took a toll in many extraordinary ways. Given the nature of each situation (and awful food choices) she gained a few pounds each time and naturally, her ability to move became less and less. By the time she was about 93, 20 pounds had snuck back on. Standing had become too taxing, so she succumbed to a wheelchair. Her enjoyment of physical therapy had given way to snarky words and childish behavior, so we quit. No more volunteering or even going to church. Weekly outings with our neighbor to bible class became too much of a chore. Everything stopped.
Another slippery slope
Thankfully during those years, we had caregiver assistance for about 10 hours a day. While I juggled motherhood and wore several hats at our small business, Mom spent her days in a wheelchair parked on our porch. She liked waving to passersby and talking to whoever would stop and chat for a while. Then one day, out of the blue, she said she couldn’t get out bed or stand. Oh gee, now what?! Our home health nurse practitioner recommended X-rays of her back, which showed several compression fractures, presumably from years of sitting in a wheelchair. She was now bed-bound and I was about to learn everything there was to know about taking care of a person confined to a bed.
I’ll spare you all the details of diapers, pads, bed sores, and a multitude of accompanying complications, but suffice it say, it’s not a pretty picture. For financial reasons, I had to curtail the hours of her caregivers and take over evenings and weekend duty. (Rounding out the picture, our small business required my husband had to travel internationally for nearly 3 months cumulatively a year, and our son was almost a tween. I was running from school, to work, to school, and working from home in the afternoons while caring for my mom.) I was a quick study in the intricacies of caring for a bedridden, overweight person and let me you, it was a tall order for me to turn Mom safely onto her side, keep her in place, and manage her care while being only 5’2” myself and weighing 102 pounds. Although I was emotionally exhausted, I was grateful to be physically strong enough to handle it.
A dangerous message
Around this time, harmful ideas were taking root in our culture. “Fat shaming” emerged as the new cause du jour. There appeared to be a concerted push in the public town square to normalize and even celebrate our country’s epidemic of obesity, with the message that being overweight was perfectly healthy, and how dare anyone say otherwise. As I struggled with the physicality of caring for a very heavy person, I was dumbfounded at how distorted conventional wisdom had become.
Along came the now-famous Cosmopolitan cover of very rotund women proclaiming with broad, beaming smiles “This is healthy! …why wellness doesn’t have to one-size-fits-all.” I went from being confounded to angry. What dangerous, pernicious garbage to telegraph to young women. In particular, I was struck by one of the cover model’s paradoxical reasoning that to adhere to the “body neutrality movement” was to focus on what her body could “do” rather than how her body “looks.” Ironically, I couldn’t agree more with the thesis, but it is precisely the “doing” that she will lose as she ages and this fleeting spotlight dims.
At first blush, I can see how people might applaud this superficially meritorious thinking; and certainly, I do not condone disparaging anyone nor passing judgment on people’s value or abilities based on their weight. I never looked at my mom with anything other than love, gratitude, and respect. But let’s not conflate issues. The weight a body can carry seemingly well at 28 is not the weight it can handle at 48, or 58, let alone 68 and beyond. In due time, gravity will win out, and it becomes too much of a burden to bear. Moving becomes a chore… and so the cane comes in to help, and eventually gives way to a walker, which is sooner or later replaced with a wheelchair.
I am profoundly saddened for these women who are cheering (and being cheered for) the impending train wreck of their lives, but I am equally sickened they are giving license to young girls who look up to them. I thought back to the 13 years my mom lived with us—of all the things she could no longer “do” and the desolation that brought; and how very difficult it was—both emotionally and physically—to care for an elderly, immobilized, large person. This is not to be celebrated.
The truth is, fat is not healthy and over time it will rob you of your ability to be a full participant in life. Period.
Prioritize a moveable weight
This misguided movement is setting up an entire group of people for a lifetime of problems, culminating in the immense heartache of a very poor quality of life in what should be golden years.
My mom was bedridden for a little over two years before she passed. In the two years that she’s been gone, one of the things that has haunted me the most is how much the last decades of her life were so utterly, unnecessarily compromised. She was gifted with a very hearty constitution; she was amazingly strong and disease-free. But she couldn’t overcome the complications and obstacles brought about by physical weight. The last 30 years of her life would have been completely different if she simply had been able to walk and move freely. I’m convinced of it. Just like I told Alessio.
Along with my deep desire to be a participant and not merely a spectator in our son’s life as I wrote about in My Journey to Ageosphy, the experience with my mom has been a motivating factor in my determination to make health, fitness, strength, and well-being a priority. In fact, maintaining a moveable weight is the first tenet of Ageosophy. I know, firsthand, how every aspect of life is affected by our weight and our ability to move well. And, as my mom proved, it’s never too late physically to lose weight and gain mobility.
With Ageosophy, I will be sharing practical, applicable information I have learned throughout my journey about nutrition, movement, mindset, and overall health so that I can (hopefully) help you can live well, age great. As for me, I plan to live the second half of my life the way I know my mom had dreamt for herself.
How can I help you? You can ask me anything in the monthly Ask Ageosophy, set to debut early 2023, so please post your questions below and hit the subscribe button to be alerted to the launch as well as to receive all my free posts.