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Blog 49252

A blog by voiceomt2002

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Antici (Consta-consta-consta)-PATION!

I'm really getting annoyed now. I've tried my favorite pink pill (crushed) and even went out at 7 AM today to buy Ex-Lax. I still haven't gone, and it's been three whole days. :thumbup: This is getting ridiculous and dangerous. Guess I'm going to have to get medieval on my body and...Yes...do an enema if things don't improve tomorrow. Doc warned me this might happen. It's a combination of the low-carb diet and the fact that I have a band. Means I don't get enough fiber. Maybe Metamucil? Lena

January 26, 2009

9

Dumpster Diving in the Back of the Closet

I ran a very unscientific poll among my friends. Most of us have what I call "the dumpster pile" in the back of the closet somewhere. It's that pile of clothes you can't wear because you gained weight, but you refuse to give up those beloved bits of wardrobe. I had four outfits in my "dumpster" along with assorted jeans and a few shirts my fat arms were too uncomfortable to wear. Driven by desperation, I rummaged through that pile yesterday, hoping against all hope that I'd hidden a few pieces of warm clothing in there. (We're having a hard freeze here in Florida --something few of us are prepared to face.) I pulled out a much-beloved denim duster and jeans combo. I bit my lip and tried it on. Not only did the jeans slide on, I had to adjust the belt! (Faint) Warm, warm, warm! The doorbell rang. I had a moment of panic and slipped on my clogs before racing to the door. Whew! UPS man delivering another package of promo items. "Wow, Mrs. A! You've lost weight! Looking good! I know it ain't clean living, ma'am. My wife reads your books." I laugh, sign his electronic thing, and tell him I have a new LapBand. His jaw drops. Seems his wife wants one. Now he's anxious to tell her and pulling out his cell as he hops back in the truck. I go back to my fashion show in my closet and reap two more outfits out of the dumpster pile. A darn good day. Lena

January 21, 2009

4

Day 17- The Amazing Taste of Hot Dog Crumbs LOL!

I've been good. Really. Yesterday was the first day I could have solid foods, and I chose a hot dog. The first I cut up in bites I'd consider small for my two-year-old granddaughter. (sigh) It didn't stay down fifteen minutes. :thumbdown: Then my brilliant DH suggested I chop a second hot dog finer using a mini-food processor I had. By golly, it worked. It stayed down. (happy sigh) Okay, so I'm desperate for real food, okay? LOL! Tonight is an herb-crusted salmon, so I know that will stay down if I eat it slowly. Eating a la russe will definitely be important tonight. I'm going to attempt to eat a brussels sprout or two. I'm on a voyage of food discovery now! LOL!

January 18, 2009

3

Day 16- Solid Foods Maybe-Maybe Not

Okay, so it's 3:30 AM and I have insomnia. Not because of anything band related, just life issues. You know, finances, family --the usual stresses. Today, in theory, I'm supposed to start re-introducing full solids into my diet. I think I'm going to go verrrry slowly. Most meats still won't pass my stoma. Last night was the first time I got chicken past my stoma without it being chopped into ittty bitty bits. I can eat fish and scrambled eggs, but I'm leery of trying anything more solid in the way of proteins. Veggies OTOH go down fairly well. I only yarked up rutabaga fries recently, and that wasn't so much of a surprise. Those things are a bit fibrous. Guess I'd better mash my rutabagas for another couple of weeks. I can deal with that. My DH got a hard lesson in shopping with a bandster yesterday. He's been going to school on weekends for the past couple of months, so my roomie had the lesson first. DH discovered just how many "methyl-ethyl-bad-stuff" foods there are for a bandster in the grocery store. He'd bring a possible meal to me and I'd have to point out why I couldn't have it, like pasta in a stir fry mix. Finally, he got so frustrated he gave up and let me stroll around until I found the ingredients for the Chicken Diane recipe I'd had in mind all along. He pouts, but gets his starches on the side instead of in the main dish like I used to cook. He says he's afraid of what I'll do to adapt many of our favorite recipes to my new lifestyle. He's right to be afraid, somewhat, but less than he thinks. I've already made some adaptions and he barely noticed or complimented me. (snicker, snicker) Some adaptions he will notice, as soon as I'm sure I can have beef and pork. For instance, a family favorite around here is due for a severe makeover. Piggybank Pork Bake will no longer have cream of mushroom soup and egg noodles. I'll make my own mushroom sauce (Thank you Alton Brown)and the "noodles" will be zuchinni cut into long strips with a vegetable peeler or my V-slicer. My pantry is ready! Fried pork rinds already replace bread crumbs, a spaghetti squash will be baked today for "spaghetti noodles" for a special dish, cauliflower has already been steamed for rice and potatoes, romaine lettuce is a yummy replacement for bread in sandwiches, and cream cheese awaits my many low-carb cheesecake recipes instead of pies and cakes. As a last thought, I'm writing myself a note. After I allow a cheesecake to cool, cutting it up into the correct portions and freezing the portions I won't serve that night works very well. I've still got two Crustless Red Velvet Cheesecake portions left over from before New Year's in the freezer. Back to bed!

January 17, 2009

7

Day 13 -- Where'd the Spiders Go?

Okay, another small non-scale triumph from shower time. I'd already noted my feet did not swell nearly so much lately, despite a lot of walking lately. I'd grinned and moved on. That was expected. The doc had promised, and it was true. Cool beans. What I didn't expect was what I saw --or rather, didn't see-- when I dried my legs this morning after my shower. Where'd the spider veins go? My feet, ankles, and legs used to be covered in blue and red spider veins and varicose veins, as if my three-year-old granddaughter had colored me with her magic markers. One particularly nasty set of both varicose and spider covered an area the size of two silver dollars on my right leg, on the inside calf. It's almost gone! Yes, there's a pale blue bruise, but nothing compared to the hideous mark I've worn for years. :smile: Excited and curious, I replaced my right leg with my left on the toilet top where I'd been drying my legs. My left has been the bane of my existence for two years. Without warning, the ankle and foot would swell until I'd burst blood vessels on my instep. Even those are reduced in size and color! :cool2: Holy moley! Can this all really be happening, or am I dreaming?

January 14, 2009

3

Day 12 A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Fridge

Tonight I cooked a meal I couldn't have: pork chops with an apricot sauce, despite the fact it's low carb. My healing isn't done, and even chicken still presents difficulties passing the stoma. While my DH and roomie attacked the "normal" food, I hummed happily and turned to the fridge to find some mushies. Then I stopped. I was shocked to realize I wanted the veggies, but no meat. Was I nuts? Didn't I want a nice juicy slab of animal? Uh, no. Not really. I pondered this while I pulled out the kale, rutabaga, and broccoli I'd cooked a couple of days ago, deliberately overcooking them to the correct "mushie" stage. Tsking over the limp and soggy state of the broccoli, I chose it first. Zapped in the microwave, that serving lasted me about the same amount of time as the guy's massive portions. (I'm really getting into this serving myself a la russe --one course at a time.) The guys piled back into the kitchen and scooped great big second helpings while I daintily picked up the kale and warmed it in the microwave. Dante, my roomie, helped himself to a bit of the kale with me, but my carnivore husband disdained the veggies. By the time I'd finished my "dessert" of mashed rutabaga with a bit of Splenda Brown, the guys were burping and patting their stomachs happily. (snicker) Yes, they're both "manly men." They show appreciation by acting like apes. I'm still a bit surprised at myself four hours later. If I'd wanted protein, there's eggs, cottage cheese, tuna, and even some Spam. (It's a mushie meat that passes my stoma. Compared to chicken, it slides down easy.) I don't want it. I'd better think about a protein drink or something.

January 14, 2009

2

Day 11 After Banding-- It's the Small Things

Wow, it's only 8 AM on a Monday, and I'm already experiencing the effects of being banded. First, I awakened on my stomach. As a tummy sleeper, finding myself comfortable in that position was a huge relief. I stretched until I felt my back do the Rice Krispie "snap, crackle, pop!" Whew! I've needed to do that for a long time. I was also incredibly thirsty. I think I may already be less in need of my CPAP machine. Perhaps I'd better make an appointment with the specialist for more than a little finger stick this time. I'd love to get rid of the CPAP. It's been a friend who kept my marriage and heart from failing, but I'd really like to not be Darth Vader at night. Shower time! I'm normally a "quickie" bather. Get in, get out. But today, I looked down and wondered if I might be able to reach my toes without using a stool to prop my feet on. So, I bend down, soap laden scrubbie in hand, and washed my feet! I did a toe touch! Then I almost palmed the shower floor! Holy moley! It's been two years since I could do that! I'm growing my hair out. You'd never know from the picture I display here, but for the past couple of years, my hair has been close-cropped to my head. With all the hospital time and medications, the shoulder-length hair I prefer was a serious problem. So, I chopped it off. A cap of curls was much cooler and easier. Now, I'm growing my hair again. It feels so weird to actually comb wet hair and wonder if I'll sport bangs today or get it out of my face. I gave away almost all my clips, clamps, and ponytail bands. All I have left is one brown clamp and one black leather rose ponytail band. Guess I'd better build up the collection. Later, after I've written a bit on my latest book, I think I'll take a break and go through all my sewing patterns. My roomie Dante is a part-time tailor, and he's about to lose his mind in his eagerness to dress me up like a life-sized Barbie doll. (sigh) The big nut case dragged me out to the sewing area yesterday and presented his grand scheme for my complete new wardrobe. I almost ran screaming. LOL! Guess I'd better get used to it.

January 12, 2009

3

Day 7 After Banding-- A Clothes Conundrum

OMG, more weight has fallen off me like I’m a melting snowman or something. For the first time in at least two years, when I stepped on my bathroom scale I didn’t have to do the math: “Hmm…Okay, when it passes the zero, that’s 260…so add what the scale says to 260…” Okay, so the scale says I weigh 257 lbs as of this morning. That’s still a significant loss since my banding. Call me vain, but I’m most concerned about my clothes. I’m still swollen enough to need my “fat clothes” yet they hang off me like a clown suit anywhere but up front. Perhaps I’d better take a bit more time choosing my outfit today, since I have a visit with Dr. Baptista and a weigh-in. I’d love to wear a certain suit I’ve not put on my body in two years, but I’m scared of being disappointed and humiliated again. Last time I tried to don this beloved denim suit, I couldn’t slide the pants past my thunder thighs, and the duster couldn’t get around the granny flab in my upper arms. Can we say "humiliation?" Yeah, I know. We all can. (sigh) Maybe I’d better resign myself to a personal fashion show with three piles: 1) Too big, 2) Too Small, and 3) What do you mean it fits?

January 8, 2009

3

Day 5 Post-Op-- The Treasure (?) in the Closet

I'm laughing at myself this morning. Last summer I made a pair of lounging pants, only to discover I'd gained more weight and couldn't fit into my new creation, with the lovely pale blue and sparkly stars. Disappointed and disheartened, I folded the pants and put them on the "after surgery" pile. :confused: Today, I looked at my five remaining soft loose pants that are bagging off me and sighed. I'm so sick of those pants. A glint of pale blue and stars caught my eye. Hope shot through me. Dare I? I looked around like a kid stealing cookies. Why not? With trembling hands, I pulled out the lounging pants. They were loose! OMG! They look like clown pants on me! :thumbup: Later, after I've worked a bit, I may just pull down that whole "after surgery" pile to see what other treasures await me. Some still won't fit. I've got sizes in there from 18-24, reflecting all my years of yo-yo dieting. Maybe...just maybe... Lena

January 6, 2009

3

An Old Dog Learns New Tricks

Today is a milestone day on my little lap band journey. I'm now allowed regular liquids including meal replacement shakes instead of only clear liquids like broths. That's a biggie for me. I made the mistake of gulping a slug of my hot tea on Saturday evening, and paid in discomfort for a half hour thereafter, so I'm starting slowly with a cup of coffee in a Sippy cup. Yes, I typed "a Sippy cup." You see, learning to eat in very tiny amounts requires some re-education. Besides learning not to take big mouthfuls of hot tea (or coffee, for that matter), I have to learn to sip delicately like a lady. Go ahead and laugh. I did. Me? Okay, so pain can teach an old dog new tricks. However the Sippy cup resembles a sparkly purple travel coffee mug, I know what it is. My adult dignity is slightly offended by this ten-ounce cure to greedy gulping. I took out the plastic insert, but it still gives me some much-needed control over what flows into my mouth. I need it, but I want something that doesn't offend my dignity quite so much. So, I rummaged in my china hutches until I found my great-grandmother's tiny delicate bowls and plates. Just using these bone china items gives me the willies and inspires caution. You definitely don't gouge out a scoop of even Jell-o from that fragile bowl. Since my new stomach pouch will hold less than three ounces, I'm definitely going to learn portion control in a hurry. I don't want to waste food, but I think 1/2 cup of oatmeal will fill that teeny bowl to the brim and be much more than I can eat at a sitting. Amazing. I'm now looking at food completely differently now. It's more "You want me to eat THAT MUCH? Uh, no!" than "Yuk! That looks disgusting." Pizza, burgers, and sweets still look and smell appetizing. I just know better than to think about having more than a taste. That's it. Less than a mouthful, thanks, or I'll be in agony later when that bread, rice, or potato plugs up my stomach like a cork in a bottle and sends me to the ER. How about I settle for a slice of pepperoni to nibble on, thanks. You have the rest with my blessing. Please feel free. I certainly feel free. I'm not limited except by good sense and my own free will. I chose this path. I like the way I will live for the rest of my life. I don't need breads, cakes, pastas, nuts, and rice to be happy. I'll roll up my ham slice in a piece of romaine lettuce and have an excellent "sandwich" on a picnic this summer. Next year at Thanksgiving, I'll enjoy a bit of turkey, veggies, and maybe a spoonful of the pumpkin pie filling. (I'll give my crust to my grateful dog, who is joyously happy to clean my plate of scraps.) I'll smile in triumph while DH and Dante make pigs of themselves on the stuffing, gravy, and dinner rolls because I made those things for them to enjoy. I get more satisfaction out of watching them enjoy than I do being fat.

January 5, 2009

1

Two Days After Banding

Well, here I am, back in my own little home office. Things didn't go quite as I envisioned them, but I'm pleased to say I'm very happy with the results. I went in hungry and darn near whimpering with a growling belly. I came out with no wish to eat at all. None. Zip. Nada. I have to force myself to look at bouillion, Jello, and popsicles. :thumbup: They kind of turn me off. Whether that's from eating them for nearly a week, or lack of appetite, I can't say. Conversely, food still smells great. My roomie Dante cooked one of my chicken recipes last night, and I supervised (more or less). I got a splash of the sauce on my thumb, licked it out of habit, and that was enough. I didn't want any more, just that taste. He did a decent job. I wandered out in the living room with another cup of tea, totally disinterested while my two men acted like starving wolves over a carcass. :thumbdown: Admittedly, I tire easily. This is to be expected. I did just have abdominal surgery, after all. Long as I take my Gas-X to get rid of the lingering gas pains, I'll be fine. I feel a bit jet-propelled already, but my shoulder still hurts now and then. Best to stay on top of it. Other than that, I need only Liquid Tylenol. Not bad at all. I'll keep you informed as I can. Lena

January 4, 2009

3

Today's the Day

In one hour my husband's alarm will go off and I'll take a quick shower while he and our roomie enjoy their coffee. I don't begrudge them the java, but I do wish I could have some. Then we'll all three drive across town to the hospital. Thanks to the call from my surgeon, I know I'll report to have a PIC line (sp) installed. Maybe they'll put the Heparin in through that, maybe I'll have to endure another shot in my belly. I keep chanting to myself, "You can do this. You've been through so much to get this far. One more day. You can do this..." I'm exercising every bit of self-control I've ever had to proverbially put one foot in front of the other and smile like nothing's bothering me despite the hunger of two days without solid food and a raging thirst. Amazing how pre-surgery nerves can turn even a strong-minded person like me into a internally gibbering wreck. I'm keeping my eye on the prize-- the picture of me I'm using here. I weighed about 175 when that was taken. I want to look like that again. I will lose the weight that has dragged me down for fifteen years and destroyed my health. I'm even better now than I was then. I've quit smoking, achieved my dream of being published, and I have a lovely home in Florida. The only thing holding me back has been my weight and the health issues it brought with it. Will things be champagne and caviar after surgery? I hope not. Can't stand the stuff for one thing. (grin) No, but I won't have the anchor of ill health holding me down. I'll still be here in my little home office, typing out stories to entertain and amuse for as long as my muse stays. But, maybe once in awhile I'll go scuba diving again and not be afraid to be seen in a bathing suit. That would be nice. Lena

January 2, 2009

3

Two Days before Surgery

Okay, I have to say it. While I don't like this liquid diet, I'm not a puddle of starving tears like I thought I'd be by now. Yes, I'm hungry. I locked myself in here while my DH and roomie indulged in Philly Cheesesteak sandwiches and leftover baked gingerbread. The smell alone was driving me nuts. Maintaining self-control isn't easy. I'm calmly sipping my bouillion in isolation and distracting myself with work. I think I've done very well. Even the Lovanox shot in my belly wasn't as bad as I feared. Yes, it stung. Ironically, the sting of the fluid dissipating through my body for the next two hours was worse. I wasn't happy, but I'm okay. I think I'll even be able to remain cool and collected when I get the second shot tomorrow. Best of all was a phone call from Dr. Baptista himself today. I nearly fainted when I heard his distinctive voice and accent. After reviewing my medical records and consulting with the anesthesia department of the hospital, he's changed his mind. With my permission, he's ordered a PIC line after all. So, I have to go extra early on Friday morning so they have time to insert the line. I'm okay with that, especially since he took the time to call. What a sweetie! Lena

January 1, 2009

2

Small Rewards

Wow, I'm so proud of myself. I ate less than my self-imposed calorie count, and definitely stayed below doc's ordered 30g of carbs per day. The Atkins shakes are pretty darn good. I may keep having them for breakfast even after I'm allowed solids. Today was one of the small rewards that keep me going. Last spring I had to add gussets in several pairs of my pants so I could continue wearing them. Then I grew too fat to wear them anyway. (sigh) I reluctantly stowed them on the shelf in my closet. Out of curiosity and heartily tired of the same old two pairs of jeans, I pulled those gusseted pants out of the closet and slid them on. All the way on. Then zipped them. They were loose! So loose, I interrupted my shopping trip to yank them back off my hips, much to the amusement of my roomie. That small victory gave me some much needed confidence and encouragement. I even feel like writing again, and I've been too blocked to write since mid-fall. Suddenly, the characters are "talking" to me again! Happy Dancing! Lena

December 29, 2008

1

Anticipation (singing) AKA the Pre-Op Hospital Visit

Less than one week until my lap band surgery and ol’ Nervous Nellie Lena can’t sleep. The reasons are partially fear and partially excitement. Last Friday, the day after Christmas began The Week Before Surgery on doc’s handouts, where certain dietary restrictions must be rigidly followed. This will last until this coming Wednesday, when I begin the pre-surgical “you can’t have anything solid” diet. I’m drinking my last caffeinated coffee right now, mainly because I forgot about that restriction. Actually, Wednesday begins the three days of hell where I have morning shots of either Lovonox or Heparin as my substitute blood thinners. (gulp) For a needle phobic like me, this is enough to cause nightmares and insomnia all by itself. People, meaning to reassure me and not understanding they’re simply adding to my stress, tell me it’s subcutaneous injections in my belly and the needle is very tiny, even finer than what I might have if my weight had caused diabetes like the rest of the family. Thanks, guys. Now I have a very clear picture for my nightmares. Strangely enough, I’m not scared of anything else. When I saw my favorite of the two surgeons on Monday the 22nd, he took extra time to reassure me and work out how we’d get around my well-documented “hard stick” problem. Before we go on, let me explain the “hard stick.” Don’t bother stopping me if you’ve heard this before. It bears repeating. The record on getting an IV established in me remains at an all time high of 21, and last time OPMC managed to almost break that record at 17 sticks before they finally managed to get any vein at all. When I say I’m a hard stick, I mean I’m an impossible stick. Medical persons have a hard time grasping this concept until they’ve spent hours traumatizing me and they finally must humbly admit defeat to the quivering and mindless wreck that was me. (And they wonder why I’m violently and insanely needle phobic and have the nerve to tell me I need a shrink?) I no longer believe any medical person who confidently approaches with a look of determination, declaring they’re “the best with X number of years experience” at getting the job done. I’ve humbled “the best” at six different hospitals, honey. I’m not impressed. Anyway, once I told the doc this, his big brown eyes got the size of saucers. I’ll give this one major points for at least acting like he cared, a distinct improvement over his partner. (See my blog entry, “Is Humiliation Part of the Treatment?” for more details.) Doc Baptista listened, thought carefully about my suggestions of drugging me to my eyeballs on Valium, pouring me onto the gurney, and establishing a PIC line. He offered an alternative. He calls a PIC line “lazy” medical care. (Uh…hey, it works, doesn’t it?) He wanted me conscious when I was wheeled into surgery. (Privately between you and I and the whole darn internet, it would be best if I could aid in the transfer of my heavy body onto the operating table rather than give several nurses and orderlies hernias. I can understand that.) No matter what, upon arrival I’ll receive that last subcutaneous injection of heparin. If I can tolerate that and remain conscious, they’ll wheel me into surgery without starting an IV immediately. Once I’m on the table, the anesthesiologist will give me nitrous oxide until I’m so happy I’m only semi-conscious at best, then they’ll establish a central line in my neck with a port so they can get blood for the lab rats who enjoy waking you up every few hours for blood tests. Doc then explained that with a PIC line he’d have to have me admitted one day early on New Year’s Day so there’d be an experienced person to establish the PIC line, then I’d have to fidget overnight in a lonely hospital bed at the mercy of the lab rats until the next morning for surgery, and we’d be risking infection because of the PIC line. (He had me at lab rats, okay?) I agreed. Doc also moved my surgery hour back on Position #2 instead of #1 on that day. That’ll allow me time to drive across town to the hospital, give the guys time to convince the fearfully shaking wreck that is normally Lena to get out of the car (wry grin), and give the staff time to prep me. If they come at me with an IV needle, doc had better be prepared for the screaming about betrayal. Yes, it’s happened before where a doc’s promises meant nothing. The trust most people feel for medical persons and the belief they actually care about the welfare of the individual patient was shattered long ago. Granted, there may be a few sterling individuals who still care, but I think they're rarer than hen's teeth. Right now I’m taking everything day by day. I made it through Christmas Day without the usual gorge on sweets, but I still ate way more than the 30g of carbs I’m allowed. At least in my mind, I broke my diet with meat and veggies, not pies and cakes. Maybe that counts for something. Doesn’t matter. The past is in the past and cannot be altered. I can only change today. I’m back on the diet and behaving. I’ve lost officially 11 pounds, and I hope to make it more by next Friday. :embaressed_smile:

December 28, 2008

7

New Traditions

This morning I found myself pondering yesterday's diet sabotage attempt. A dear friend of the family brought over a gift of coffee and homemade cookies, totally spacing that I'm having weight loss surgery and am on a very restricted diet. Bless her, she meant well. As soon as she left, I handed the cookies to my husband and brother with orders to gorge themselves and then hide the rest. Since the bag is no longer in evidence to tempt me, I'll assume they followed instructions. Today I'm re-thinking the holiday traditions of hostess gifts and holiday traditions. Why can't I give candles, coffee, and useful things instead of contributing to the obesity of my friends and family with carbs? What I bring to share in a celebration doesn't have to be a consumable, carb-laden food item. Why not give something that sticks around to remind the recipient of our wonderful times together? For instance, a friend of mine loves and admires the permanent gift tags I made with polymer clay and cookie cutters. She wants a set for her family so badly, she's practically salivating. They take maybe an hour to make, tops. Why can't I make her a set? I sew little gifts like wallets, purses, and teddy bears all the time. Why can't I make some to keep around for quick little hostess gifts? Even when I do feel obligated to bring a food item, I'm sure I can be more creative than mere cookies. Hmm. How about an apothecary jar filled with decaf instant tea flavored with Crystal Light? Today, I'm hitting my hobby corner. I'm going to make a few hostess gifts in advance, because it's time for new traditions. Next year, I will serve low-carb healthy feasts and give better gifts. Lena:thumbup:

December 27, 2008

1

Pre-Op Visit with Doc Tomorrow

Wow, I guess I've been working pretty hard. I've not been here for a whole month? My appointment is tomorrow to see the doc. I could say something snarky, like "I wonder what he looks like." It wouldn't be true. I met him once a few months ago for about fifteen minutes. Maybe he'll get off the cell phone and actually talk to me this time. If not, I really don't care. I have a few questions and suggestions based on what the anesthesiology department of the hospital recommended. For instance, because I'm a "hard stick" (read that as nearly impossible to start an IV by most supposedly normal hospital employees, and definitely impossible by the lab rats) they recommend I get a PIC line. Hey, anything to avoid breaking the current record of 21 sticks to get an IV started. I have them all written down in my ring binder, ready for tomorrow. I just want to scream, "Get it over with, willya? This diet of 30g of carbs and only 1400 calories max is trying my patience and my marriage." Besides, trying to do this liver reduction diet during the holidays would try the willpower of saints, and honey, a saint I ain't. Lena

December 22, 2008

1

Is Humiliation Part of the Treatment?

Just how much humiliation am I supposed to take? Today was a group session at the surgeon’s. You know what I learned? What an ass one of the surgeons is. That’s it. After the weigh in, in which I gained a whole half-pound, we had the usual and repetitive lecture on how important it is we shrink our livers. I was feeling pretty good about my weight, actually. I’d had a full bladder and heavy winter clothing on, but the scale said only half a pound. I could live with that. I knew also I’d had a few too many macadamia nuts over the past few days and vowed to cut them out. Finally, the surgeon appeared. He was as handsome as rumor had claimed. I had a hard time understanding his accent, since he was from South Africa. The Afrikaners I’ve known can seem to mumble a bit to our American ears. I’d had an Afrikaner teacher back in real estate school and I’d adored him, so I was prepared to like the surgeon, Dr. Cywes. How wrong I was. After introducing himself and matching faces to files, he immediately turned to me and asked me if I felt my life was busy. I warily answered, “Yes.” Then, without warning, he launched into what I can only call an attack, using me as the proverbial bad example of a patient who wasn’t on board with the program, addicted to carbs, and out of control. I was shocked and humiliated. I protested that I’d only gained half a pound. He thrust his finger at another member of the group. “She lost ten pounds.” He then went on with his lecture, now pointing out how I was defending myself and in total denial of my actions. For the next hour, I swallowed tears and humiliation while he pontificated as if he knew me, accusing me of eating all sorts of carbs, ignoring the diet, and –the crowning touch—comparing me to a drug addict in need of a twelve-step program. I was never so grateful when he finally ended his speech and swept out of the room like he could barely stand to be around us a moment longer. Baby, the feeling was mutual. Worse, I found out one of the other women in the room had gained a pound and a half. I can only surmise that my file was on top and therefore most convenient. All I can say right now is that I will make a special request that the other doctor is my surgeon. I barely responded when another one of his staff came in and told me my paperwork was complete and the packet would be on its way to Tricare tomorrow. She informed the whole group that surgical dates are now being filled for January, so we can plan for late January or perhaps early February. Lovely. Somehow, we must all remain on the liver reduction, low-carb diet through the entire holiday season. Are they insane? Why don’t I just move to a nice deserted island until January 1?

November 20, 2008

3

A Small Loss is a Big Gain in the Liver Shrinkage Battle

Victory shall be mine! I’m doing the happy dance! After weeks of no weight loss results because my willpower was weaker than a kitten, I finally had a temper tantrum. I was tired of being sabotaged by my darlings, who do not have to watch their carbs. While Randy is thin as a rake and Dante not so thin, both have the right to eat as they please. Before my tantrum, they’d eat their carb-loaded goodies right in front of me, leave the food out where I had to look at it, desire it, and eventually snitch some of it. Worse, they’d actually encourage me to cheat by offering to share or whining when I made healthy meals. I absolutely must shrink my liver. If I don’t shrink the liver, the surgery must be cancelled. Therefore, it’s imperative that my weak willpower must be shored up with something. Finally, I had a breakthrough and a tantrum. After I “explained” to Randy how he and Dante were unconsciously sabotaging my diet, he worked with me to create “contraband storage.” The gray pantry and the big black refrigerator out in the Florida Room now have sturdy locks on them, and that’s where all the contraband goes. What I can have now stays conveniently in the pantry and fridge here in the house, where I can make the easier choice to eat healthy while not denying the boys their right to the snacks they want. It seems to be working! For the past two days, when I got hungry I went to the pantry and saw only what I was allowed to have. My choices were simplified with no temptations to make me stray. Then yesterday I stepped on the scale at my doctor’s office. I’ve lost FIVE pounds! Okay, so it’s not the 8-10 pounds a month I could lose. I’m happy. Any weight loss counts as liver shrinkage. Next week is the second of the three doctor visits allowed by my insurance. After I “see” (hah!) him in a group session, the next time must be my pre-op. Am I finished jumping through hoops? No. I’m not that stupid.

November 15, 2008

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Liver Shrinking Ain't for Sissies

I've been ready to beat my head against the wall for days now, trying to maintain any semblance of willpower to stay on a 30g/day of carb diet. They say stress is the divided state of mind when your good sense overrides the overwhelming urge to choke the living crap out of someone who richly deserves it. Yeah, I feel like that right now. I want to grab up the dietician and scream, "Look, Skinny Minnie! If I had this much willpower, I wouldn't be having lap band surgery, now would I?" I saw the dietician on October 17, a little less than a month ago. I do great all week, staying on the 30g a day or less. Then the weekend comes. My DH and brother come barrelling through the door on Thursday night with the full intention of relaxing and making pigs of themselves with every kind of contraband snack food you can imagine. Now, my DH is thin. My brother Dante is as overweight as I am, I think. Believe it or not, they both have a job at the same factory. Just goes to show what a difference genetics can make. Anyway, after today, maybe things can be different. My DH has helped me install a locking hasp on the outside pantry and a bike lock on the outside refrigerator. I've removed all the contraband shelf stable foods to the locked pantry. All that's left in the kitchen pantry are foods I can have or things I won't eat willingly. Later I will do the same with the kitchen refrigerator, removing all those perishable things I'm not supposed to have. I've made a list of those things I can have if I'm to shrink my liver successfully. No, I don't have to be this meticulous right now. According to the dietician, the 30g/day becomes important 7-10 days before surgery, then I'll be on a liquid diet 2 days before surgery. (Lovely. Right around the holidays? Am I nuts?) Still, I'm going to give it the best try I can. I want this liver the size of a pea, if I can.

November 12, 2008

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Blog Number Two

I have a blog I dedicated to my journey toward the weight loss surgery on blogspot called Fat Frog Diary but this one will no doubt be more honest, in a weird sort of way. That's the problem with my job as a published author. My fans expect me to be witty and confident all the time. Never mind that I'm human and have fears, pains, and illnesses. Somehow, Lena Austin the writer must transcend all that. :angry_smile: The image I chose for my profile is what I looked like when I was near my goal weight when I was in my early 30's. I want to look similar to that again, even if my hair is now short and graying. Miss Clairol and I have been old friends, so that can be solved. :cursing: Where am I in this journey? Somewhere between the circus poodle still jumping through hoops (Arf!) and the dysfunctional machine laying on the gurney for repairs. I saw the shrink yesterday. Nice woman. That marks the end of my visiting specialists. My appointment with the surgeon for a group session is next week. If I understand the process (doubtful) then they'll submit the packet detailing how my weight affects my health for final approval from my insurance. This will be the third approval from the insurance. I have visions of some bean counter at the insurance office typing up a fax saying, "Yes, I'm sure!! Geez, you're worse than my computer!" Just like HysterSisters, everyone tells me the waiting is the worst part. I don't think it's the waiting so much as the long time span from decision to doing it. This is especially true since I learned how few daily carbs I was allowed, and that I needed to start that diet immediately. The fact that it would be a minimum of three months before I saw the inside of the hospital made no sense to me. I want to grab someone by the collar and say, "Look! I have family members who do not need to reduce their livers and they are complaining bitterly over the sudden lack of breads, rices, and pastas they need for their physically demanding lives. Unless you're willing to contribute to my budget so I can cook two meals for dinner, we have a conflict." Take this month, November. Please, take this month, and while you're at it take December too. You see, not only do I have the diet minefield of the holidays, but also a slew of family birthdays. All of these family members want cake and ice cream for their celebrations. (sigh) Try telling your mother "No" when she asks you to make use of that cake decorating class you took to create her the spectacular birthday cake she rarely gets because she was unlucky enough to be born on Christmas Eve. I'm doomed.

November 11, 2008

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