How weight-loss surgery saved my career – and my life

From childhood, I knew I wanted to be a journalist – specifically, a war correspondent. The signs were always there. My favourite superhero wasn’t just Superman, it was Clark Kent, the intrepid reporter for the Daily Planet . I was also captivated by real-life war correspondents like the late Najwa Kassem during her days in Afghanistan and Iraq and Marie Colvin in Libya and Syria. Their bravery brought the grim realities of conflict to the world – and fascinated me as a teenager while hoping I could one day live out my dream. In 2016, I finally landed my first on-the-ground assignment covering the Hajj . While not a war zone, the conditions felt similarly extreme. The heat was suffocating and I struggled to keep pace with my three colleagues. We had just 20 minutes to race from Muzdalifah back to the tent city of Mina for a live broadcast. “We love you Ismaeel, but you’re slowing us down a lot. We’re going to make a run for it so good luck and call us if you need help.” I was abandoned by my own crew – a cardinal sin among journalists in the field. But how could I blame them? I was 115kg and 155cm tall, which placed my BMI at 47.3 kg/m2. I was Obese Class 3, the highest category classifying obesity. In that moment, I questioned if my dream of becoming a war correspondent could ever become a reality. How could I report from a war zone if I couldn’t walk a few hundred meters without gasping for air? My fictional hero, Clark Kent, never faced this struggle, but another real-life hero, Anthony Shadid , did. Shadid, the late Lebanese-American foreign correspondent for The New York Times , twice won the Pulitzer Prize for International Reporting. I idolised him growing up and eagerly awaited each of his reports to learn more – specifically his storytelling styles and of his courage in covering war zones. When the Syrian Civil War broke out, Shadid made the dangerous journey from Beirut to Turkey and attempted to cross into Syria on horseback. I vividly remember the day news of his death broke in 2012. I was in journalism school and initially feared he had been killed by a sniper or taken hostage. Instead, he died from an asthma attack believed to have been triggered by an allergy to the horses he was walking behind. His tragic death underscored the vulnerability even the most seasoned correspondents face because of their health. Years later, I was assigned to cover the conflict at the Saudi-Yemeni border. As missiles fired by the Houthi rebels struck nearby a day earlier, I questioned whether I could run for cover if needed. My editors refused to send me further into Yemen on a more dangerous assignment, citing my weight and poor health. "You’re a talented journalist, but management worries you’ll collapse from just walking in the desert, not from rebel gunfire," they told me. Covid-19 forced many of us to re-evaluate our lives. Did I want to spend another decade bound to a desk, side-lined by my weight issues? Shadid’s fate haunted me. Though he wasn’t obese, his fatal asthma attack was beyond his control. My weight, however, was something I could address. Those who did not understand the struggles of obesity, not just as a physical challenge but also as something that impacts mental health, told me I could lose weight by diet and exercise. But I failed and failed again. Three years ago, I opted for weight-loss surgery. It wasn't an easy decision. I had tried to join the gym, worked with a personal trainer, picked up a sport and went on long food fasts in the hope of losing weight, but it was a battle on most good days to even get out of bed. After suffering a series of health problems directly linked to my obesity, my doctor told me I wouldn't see my 35th birthday if I continued the same way. So that's when I decided to have gastric sleeve surgery . It was one of the best decisions I've ever made. It didn’t just save my life – it salvaged my career. Shedding 65kg, I finally gained the courage to leave a toxic work environment and secured assignments I previously couldn’t dream of. I reported on the devastating earthquake in Syria , the tragic floods in Libya , the plight of Palestinians in Gaza crossing into Egypt at the Rafah border and the fallout from Iran’s strikes on Israel in Jordan . I’m convinced I couldn’t have survived – let alone thrived in – these assignments without the surgery that put me in the best physical shape of my life. Beyond the physical transformation, the surgery brought a mental and emotional overhaul. I began to believe in my capabilities again. The stamina I gained allowed me to work longer hours in challenging environments, which is crucial in my field of work. I could now chase stories with the vigour and passion I had always envisioned. The confidence in my physical ability translated into greater confidence in my professional skills, which did not go unnoticed by my editors and colleagues (I hope). My weight-loss journey also allowed me to form deeper connections with my sources. Being physically fit made me more approachable and relatable to those I interviewed, especially when they were high-ranking officials or were swayed by first impressions. One of the most memorable assignments post-surgery was covering the aftermath of the floods in Derna, Libya , last year. The devastation was immense and the terrain challenging. Wading through floodwaters, navigating the rubble and climbing over obstacles were all tasks I could now handle with ease. The surgery equipped me with a level of endurance and strength I never thought possible. Reflecting on my journey, I realised that weight-loss surgery did more than just help me shed kilos. It gave me a second chance at the career I had always dreamt of. It allowed me to fulfil my potential as a war and field correspondent, to bring stories from the front lines that matter. In the end, the decision to undergo weight-loss surgery was not just about health; it was about reclaiming my life and my dreams. It was about proving to myself that I could be the journalist I always wanted to be – one who doesn’t just observe history but shapes it by bringing untold stories to light.