I'm starting this with the uncertainty whether I hope or dread anyone reading it, not to mention the hard-earned inability to believe that even this step will really be able to accomplish the thing to which it seems I've dedicated my life: losing weight. Unsucessfully, natch.

I remember being on my first diet by the age of 9; I got my lap band (a Realize band, actually) on February 1, 2012, a little less than 3 month before my 37th birthday. Did I give up on losing the weight on my own? Maybe, but I prefer to think of it as giving up on the DELUSION that I could lose it on my own. Yes, I said it--it was a delusion. Delusional thinking. I've dieted for almost my entire life; if dieting actually led to weight loss, I'd be f'ing Kate Moss by now. Heck, I'd have melted away to nothing more than a decade ago. Atkins? Did it. Sonoma? Did it. Cabbage soup? Grapefruit? Mayo Clinic? Done, done, done. Jenny Craig? Check. Weight Watchers? Which of the nine times do you want to discuss? Counting calories? Yup, as well as counting fat, counting carbs, and counting numbers of bites. I became a human abacus. I saw a nutritionist for two years, and a therapist for even longer. I worked on my issues even as I worked harder at losing weight than at anything else in my life, but the lesson I learned from all of that work was that dieting doesn't. It doesn't work, and it most especially doesn't work for me.

Enter, the band. Through five little incisions right in my belly. It is even now wrapped around my stomach and giving me a new (if still shaky) hope that maybe I can finally solve this problem. You know the one. The one that makes buying clothes not only difficult, but occasionally humiliating. The one that makes other people's gazes either slide right over you, or linger in that way that makes you want to crawl under a rock and hide. The one that makes doctors blame anything you ask for their help with on the same thing, regardless of symptoms, cause, or duration. The one that makes anyone in the medical profession ask if you've ever considered losing weight, as if you hadn't noticed you were fat and the idea of attempting to be thin had never even occurred to you. Yeah, that one.

The issue here is that one week after surgery and 13.7 pounds down from my pre-pre-op-diet weight, I still haven't decided whether or not I believe this solution will work. I hope--God knows, I hope--but I can't quite commit to optimism yet. All I've got at the moment is that hope, and the kind of anticipation you feel before a huge exam. I know I studied, and I know the material backward and forward, but I still can't help feeling that I still could fail, just because I've done it before.

Still, fingers crossed and breath held and band installed. I've even begun to transition (with desperation induced permission from my surgeon...I couldn't take liquids anymore) onto purees. Maybe this will work. Maybe I'll blog here more than this once. I don't know what the future holds yet, but I really hope it's good.