James Potyka

A Journey in Pounds, Persistence, and Pride

I’ve always been a bigger person. At my heaviest, I weighed 439 pounds. I was the “big boy” growing up, always on the back bench when it came to sports. Although the teasing didn’t bother me much at the time, I never forgot the names, the comments, the labels that came with being overweight.

My life was always filled with happiness and emotions, but also with food.

As the years went by my health began to suffer. I developed sleep apnea, high blood pressure, high cholesterol, and was pre-diabetic. It felt like my body was falling apart. Simple things like buying clothes or getting into a car became battles I dreaded. The clothes I wanted never fit, and gifts from friends felt like jokes—shirts so large they were the size of a TV.

Physically, I couldn’t walk without huffing and puffing. Mentally, I was drained. Even my parents were urging me to do something. I realized if I didn’t act soon, I might not have much time left. That’s when I made the decision to visit a weight management clinic.

That first day at the clinic was an emotional rollercoaster. Seeing others who were also struggling with their weight made me realize I wasn’t alone. But as I sat there with my dad, who fit comfortably into one of those extra-large chairs, I knew the road ahead would be long and difficult. Bariatric surgery wasn’t a one-stop shop. I asked the clinic what life will be like when the weight is all off, and that kept me going forward.

I remember the embarrassing moments vividly. One that sticks out is being on an airplane and anxiously waiting to see if the seat belt would fit. When a polite flight attendant handed me an extender, all I could think about was how close I was to needing a second extender.

The process leading up to the surgery was tough. I started with a 30-day liquid diet, which felt like a psychological test every day. I had to avoid the kitchen and hide from meals, but I was determined. By the time surgery day came, I was all in, even if I joked to the doctors, “How do you expect me to fit on that table?”

The weight began to fall off after surgery, but with it came exhaustion and muscle loss. Despite feeling drained, I kept going—working, living, pushing through. The real test was in the day-to-day decisions. My body craved food, and my senses screamed for it, but my mind had to be stronger.

I had to learn to eat differently and respect my body’s new limits.

Eventually, I reached my lowest weight of 228 pounds. I set realistic goals for myself without making myself sick. The weight fluctuations can be debbie-downers at times, but that’s just a reality of the process! Now, shopping for clothes puts a smile on my face every time. The sizes I wear today still surprise me, and they make me proud. 

This surgery wasn’t the easy way out—it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But it saved my life. My advice to anyone considering it is simple: Listen to yourself. Listen to your family and those who care about you. Stay positive, even when it’s tough, and make the decision that’s right for you.

It’s not a fun journey, but at the end, there’s light. There are ups and downs, but it’s an adventure worth taking. I couldn’t be more proud of where I am now and where I’m headed.