'Show yourself what you can do:' How one student keeps faith after weight loss surgery

Faith Newsome’s heartbeat skyrocketed as her family crammed around her.

“Tell him to get the IV out,” she told her mom. “I’m scared. I don’t want to do this.”

Her mom, Shannon Newsome, felt helpless as she looked at 16-year-old Faith’s thin gown hanging on her body.

“Think about how hard you’ve worked to get to this moment,” Shannon said. “If you give up now, what was it for?”

Faith had always been a big kid. On her first birthday, she hit 30 pounds. When kindergarten rolled around, she walked into school at 110 pounds, nearly twice the size of her classmates.

She knew people were talking about her, but she tried to block it out.

By the time she turned 15, Faith had reached 273 pounds.

Just a few months before surgery, she sat in the Campbell University gymnasium, supporting her brother at his Science Olympiad competition. The gymnasium was built in the 1930s, and the seats seemed smaller than average.

She shifted her weight as the side handles on the seat pressed uncomfortably into her thighs. Her mom had brought up weight-loss surgery a couple weeks before, but she resisted.

Bariatric surgery – a procedure that helps overeating by reducing the size of the stomach – is typically reserved for patients in their early 30s. Faith knew there were dangers associated with operating on a patient who was not done growing.

But she thought about all the times she watched boys flirting with her friends instead of her. She thought about her mom having to order clothes online, because stores did not carry her size. She thought about the daily shame she felt being twice the size of her friends.

Now, unable to fit in the gymnasium seat, she knew what she had to do. She turned to her mom.

“Call Duke,” she said. “I’m going next week.”

*****

Faith’s eyes fluttered open. Her family sat in the room, different from the one where she had fallen asleep for surgery.

“Did you text my friends that I’m okay?” she asked Shannon, who was hovering over her.

“That’s what you’re worried about right now?” she responded.

Faith knew that she had to get up and walk to avoid blood clots. She could barely even sit, but her doctor said walking as soon as possible was part of the immediate recovery process.

Faith Newsome pre-surgery, June 30, 2014

She lowered herself to the ground, her abdomen feeling heavier than before.

A commercial for a Ruby Tuesday’s hamburger came on the television while she sauntered around the room.

“I’m going to throw up,” she thought.

She knew her appetite would come back eventually, but at a couple minutes post-operation, waves of nausea washed over her. All she could think about was not rupturing her stomach.

It was June, which meant a full two months of recovery before returning for her junior year of high school. She was anxious to see her classmates in her new body. She was looking forward to being able to shop with friends at actual stores.

But most of all, Faith was excited to finally try out for sports at school. Her size created a difficult relationship with organized sports. She was slow. Nobody ever wanted her on the team.

But in that room, she decided this year would be different. Faith decided she was going to shed the little girl who was terrified of participating.

‘I would’ve made it’

She hit the ground without warning.

Faith was goal-oriented, and the instructions were easy enough – run to the cone at the end of the relay track, put on the oversized adult clothes as quickly as possible, then run back down the track and tag the next teammate.

She took a deep breath at the starting line, trying to release the pressure that came with being the slowest child in her class. Her weight made field days increasingly anxiety-inducing, and the other kindergartners had already made it clear that Faith was not their most valuable player.

And they were off. Sweat poured down her temples as she lunged forward with every step.

“Why does she have to be on our team?” one of the kids shouted from the sideline.

Breathing heavily, Faith chugged along. She made it to the cone. She quickly grabbed the oversized T-shirt and slid it over her damp curls, then pulled the pants over her shorts and bolted for the end of the track.

Her determined panting underscored a sudden snag of her pants on her shoe. Before she knew it, she was tumbling into the grass in the middle of the track.

She got back up with determination and hiked the pants up. She felt the scrape on her knee as she crossed the finish line back with her teammates, putting them in last place.

Faith sat behind the line and placed her flushed face in her hands. Her mom quietly ran up.

“You just tripped,” she said. “If you wouldn’t have tripped, you would’ve done great.”

Faith fiddled with a piece of grass on her shoe.

“I know, Mom,” she responded. “If I wouldn’t have fallen, I’d made it. I really feel like I would’ve made it.”

‘Show yourself what you can do’

Sweat poured down her temples as she lunged forward with every step. She was determined to be faster than her 5K time from the day before.

“Show yourself what you can do now,” she thought.

It was nearly five years post-surgery, and her 190-pound frame propelled itself on the pavement. She had hit her goal weight, and she felt strong. She was no longer fighting her own body. She wanted to be seen.

“It’s been really nice to see her blossom and take charge,” said Olivia Manning, her friend from high school.

Faith’s familiar panting filled the warm September air. This time, her hair was damp with sweat, but she was not in last place.

“She always tries to get me to run with her,” Manning quipped. “I’m not a runner, so I let Faith handle that.”

Faith’s head was clear. The crippling anxiety that plagued her as child melted away. She was no longer faking sprained ankles in elementary school gym class to get out of physical activity.

Now, she listens to her body and its needs. She pushes herself beyond her boundaries.

“She is going to stick with it until she gets it,” said Jonathan Newsome, her dad. “No matter what it is.”

Faith is no longer the girl begging to rip the IV out of her arm in fear. Faith is no longer retreating.

Faith is lunging forward with every new task that comes her way.

“Surgery is what gave me my voice,” she said. “Make the most of your time here. Show yourself what you can do.”

Edited by John Robinson