whippledaddy

Sue, I really do understand. I consider myself a skeptic. I don't swallow it all wholesale. But like I said, I gotta believe my own senses. Perhaps all that we consider metaphysical now is merely science we haven't tapped yet. It is very arrogant to feel we have learned all there is........ So, here's another story. My wife was injured four years ago. Shortly before that injury we acquired a little dog, Abby who was half pug, and half terrier. We drove out into the country to answer an ad for a puppy. They had several, and we looked at them all. But when we picked this one up she began licking (kissing) us like crazy. She acted like she knew us and hadn't seen us in ages. Even the lady selling the pups noted this. We took her home and all was well, little Abby was a constant source of delight. Then, one night a few weeks before my wife was injured, there was a program on television. There was a lot of angel talk back then, and this tv show was about that. They were talking about pets being angels in disguise sometimes. I laughed, and watched our little pug terrier mix playing with a stuffed toy on the floor. "Maybe we picked up an angel instead of a puppy" I said to my wife, she smiled and nodded. Instantly Abby stopped playing and walked over to me and stared into my eyes. I mean really made eye contact. That's not normal for a dog, unless they are challenging to be Alpha Male or Female. Patty and I both agreed, it was an eerie moment. If she is an angel she performs no magic I can see, other than to give my wife lighthearted company each day, while I"m at work. And little Abby is quite the little mother type, if Patty's fallen, Abby comes and gets me. Angels? Maybe. Ghosts? Maybe. UFO's? I've seen one. But I think the unexplained is just that. Something that is not yet explainable.

I know that both ghosts and angels come around, I've been privy to each, and, even though I call myself a skeptic, I can't deny what my senses tell me. When I was nine I took very ill. My parents took me to the doctor and it was decided that I had a bad bout of the flu. The doc sent me home with the usual fluids and aspirin. The next day my parents were having a get together for their anniversary. I was laying on the sofa, trying to enjoy, but too sick to really care. I fell asleep. I remember waking up and calling my mother over to me. I remember exactly what I said, when I was nine years old "I don't have the flu, I have appendicitis, and the appendix just burst, call the doctor." I was nine! I didn't know from appendicitis. My Mom called the Doctor, and he had us come to his office for a blood test. He drew the blood, looked under his microscope and we rushed to the hospital. He said if we'd been thirty minutes later I would have not made it through. Why did the doctor believe the diagnosis of a nine year old boy? Because when I was six I fell into a hole and broke my arm. I sat it myself before climbing out. No, I don't know how to set a bone, but I remember doing it. When we got to the docs office I told him I broke my arm. He laughed and said that I'd be screaming, and the arm wouldn't be so straight. But he x-rayed anyhow, I think just to prove me wrong. When he saw that it was really broke he told my Mom that he would never doubt me again. Sometimes I wonder if I broke my arm so he would believe me three years later, and save my life. How'd I get sophisticated medical knowledge at such a young age? I don't know.

When I saw your photos I could only repeat one thing to myself, over and over: "You're happily married, Ryan. You're happily married, Ryan" Congrats, you are a fox and you should be proud of your accomplishment.

Well, now. I've had my share, all of them wonderfully eerie, and frightening. This is my all time favorite: The Lower Peninsula of Michigan is traversed by a well marked trail, called the Riding and Hiking Trail. It goes from East Tawas on Lake Huron to Empire on Lake Michigan. The year I graduated two friends and I had made a pact to walk across the State on the trail, some 220 miles or so. We set out with backpacks full of food and clothes, and minimal survivalist gear. It was a great trip for some young men, male bonding and all that. We could walk fifteen, twenty, twenty five miles in a day and we were making good time. We were several days into the trip when we came to a sandy two track that led to the Boardman River. We had just left Kalkaska after stocking up on food there and were pretty beat. As we usually did we decided to camp just before dark. This spot, where the Trail crossed the two tracker going down to the river seemed like a perfect camping area for the night. My friend Terry, a stocky lad of eighteen, with dark hair and ill fitting glasses, was elected to stay and set up camp while Dan and I walked the two miles to the river to fill up our Water bottles. Dan was a tall lad, a hippie long before it was popular. He was lanky, and almost tireless in any physical trial. We each had two gallon jugs for water, and three canteens. It was a good plan. A two mile walk, fill the bottles, put the halizone tablets in, and two miles back. By the time we made the return trip the tablets would be all mixed in and the water would be safe for use. We had a flashlight with us as we knew darkness would fall long before we started back. In the tall forest, where there are no lights, no homes, and no clearings made by men, darkness comes swiftly. The trees block out the dusk, and there is no diffused light from the world of humans to ease the blackness. We were walking back from the River, canteens and water jugs banging against our backsides, and the songs of the forest night ringing in our ears. Our boots made no noise in the soft, grey forest sand that marks the Northern Michigan piney woods. We talked, as young men do, about girls, and cars, and motorcycles. Mostly motorcycles. As we drew closer to our camp we could see the campfire Terry had made, and catch his shadow crossing it's path of light, now and then. The fire was much to large, it would keep away the creatures of the night, but we would be way too warm sleeping next to it. Then, as we watched Terry moving to and fro, getting our supper ready we noticed something cross our path between ourselves and him. What we saw was a white light, followed a few feet behind, by a red light, moving from right to left. Even though we heard nothing we believed an off road equipped motorcycle had crossed on the hiking trail, even though they were prohibited. But, we were camped right at the crossing, and this bike seemed to be closer than that, about half way between Terry and us, and Terry was nearly a hundred yards away. We looked for tracks all the way back to camp, but found none. Terry had seen nothing. In the morning, after a sleepless night, when a lazy sun had finally cleared the treetops, we looked for tracks, and found nothing. Yet we had seen the lights, they acted like a bike, and it simply rode out of our sight, making not one sound, and was unhampered by dense undergrowth. Gave me chills then, and still can raise a hackle or two now.

Sure!, But I might need to borrow the dress. The sexy bra's no problem. Years ago I had a second job as a clown. I wore worse than that! One costume was pink tights, pink leotard, pink tutu, and a blonde ringlet wig. My character name was Frilly. Actually I think I'm lucky to be a guy. It seems men are able to lose weight easier, and I'll have fewer problems with skin as men have less upkeep to do in that area. I mean, it also seems that society is more accepting of fat on men than on women. I know wrinkles and grey hair is more accepted, even baldness. We guys have it just too good! Less is expected of us, it seems, when it comes to looks. JMHO.

( Bet our bandster brothers get a kick out of our bra talk and other subjects.) I've been some sort of a chef for thirty six years. I've always worked with women more than men. Always had women who were buddies. But the female talk still never ceases to amaze, delight, tickle, and baffle me. Go ahead, I'll read, and smile.

DeLarla: I'm on Yahoo and Msn messengers, if you have 'em I'll share and send you a invite for buddy list. But I work an eleven am to a seven pm shift with forty five minutes ride time. I don't usually get online until ten pm EST after supper, and housecleaning and Patty takes her nighttime zombie pills and crashes. But if you need to talk I'll be there.

Thanks Marie, What a great inspiring story! I know it gives me hope, and many others, too.

Thanks for the wonderful words of encouragement. I know I can change, and I know I will change. Still, I know I have sabotaged myself in the past, and must be aware of that tendency in me to avoid doing so now.

My wife and I will send up a prayer, too. To keep your family safe. Her uncle lives in the Boca Raton area, so we'll be praying for some more as well.

Whooo Hooooo! Today the Surgeon's office called. They've gone over my application, called the insurance, and now they've set me up for an office visit with the surgeon. He'll do many of the tests himself, and answer any questions I have. I've gotta ask him if I'll be able to play the piano after the surgery. Of course, I can't play it now. Chuckle. I see him in two weeks, and I see the shrink on Sept. 16. She's a nice lady, and she says that I only have to do one profile. I was afraid they'd want one for each personality. Chuckle. Now I really feel like I'm on my way. Kinda scared, though. Kinda excited, too.

As I read this thread I get a little scared. I'm praying for something to help me eat less. I can make healthy food choices, for the most part, but I can eat an awful lot. Some of these posts make it sound like I may be eating a lot still. Granted, I'm unbanded, and struggling to imagine something still beyond my ability. Only you who have lived it, know what it is. Still, I take comfort that you all are losing, but wonder about myself. I've obviously got to do some serious work on Ryan before this tool will ever help me. It seems like my eating is even more out of control since I made the decision to get banded. It's like I'm saying goodbye to food, even when I consciously understand that I'll eat normal food again. Maybe what I'm really saying goodbye to is gormandizing. A gourmet eats for the quality, and a gourmand eats for the quantity. And I'm gourmandizing like crazy. The refrigerator shudders when I look in its direction. Ponderosa goes on red alert when I pull in the lot. When I walk through the doors at Sav-A-Lot the overhead is heard shouting "Battlestations"! Maybe it isn't any more out of control than usual (heh heh) and I'm just more aware of it. I know I am aware of the wagging sack of extra poundage I carry around my middle. I'm aware of what it does to my self image, my percieved self worth. I know that, for me at least, the grim reaper isn't all skin and bones, carrying a scythe. Nope, he's a jolly old soul, more like a scary grey Santa, and the scythe is a fork. And hanging from his adipose demonic frame, are rolls and rolls of fat. He nods at me and grins, and waggles his shiny fork, just enough that it twinkles in the comforting glow of the refrigerator light. His mockery is a challenge, and I am aware that I must fight. Fight to the death, and use whatever help I can get. And if that help, that weapon to counter his shining fork, is a glorified hose clamp made of silicone; so be it. But I spy another weapon, more subtle, yes, but perhaps more powerful in the end. The support, and comfort I feel radiating from this forum, from you folks. Perhaps that's why I come and read often. I feel this connection across time and miles, to others who have gone before, who are, even now, paving the way, cutting down the overhanging jungle, and showing us, who travel behind, where the potholes are, where we might trip up. Thank God for the band, thank God for the Internet, and Thank God for you.

Waxing? Yeouch! But, ya know, I want this bad enough, if it were necessary, I'd do it. Hey, that does make me think, and I'm positive none of you can answer this from direct experience, but...... I'm quite hairy ( I know: ewwwww), will they have to shave my chest and stomach? Where are the holes? High, Low, Middle? Will one shaving make it grow in even worse?

Whew! I don't have a surgery date yet, but I got a little tense when I read I'd have to shave my legs.

Yes, cold in Michigan, too. Snow reminds me of my ex wife, (you know, the one before Patty) Beautiful, but cold, and nothing you'd want to deal with when you're hungover!

Alas, that means this post is much like life. But not to fear, better times are ahead for all! Now, if you'll excuse me, I've gotta go get my wife drunk.

When my wife lost her weight, it was the little everyday things that meant the most to her. We had accidentally bought a motorcycle jacket way to small for her two years ago. Tonight she rode it riding for the first time. So, you slipping on the small jeans is a great big pat on the back for you. Celebrate that moment any way you can, make it last. There will be more. Good for Donali!

On the back could be the words "So happy to hear of your loss".

When we look at the obese person what do we see? The fatlady at the circus? A novelty, something to make us ooh, and ah, and maybe laugh? Santa Claus? He's fat. But he can still make it down the chimney. Buddha? Giver of Light? He's fat, but preached self restraint? Do we see someone who is always conscious of the gaze of strangers? Someone who hates their disability? Someone who feels guilty buying anything more substantial than a head of lettuce at the supermarket? If I could lose a pound for every time I"ve heard someone say "Dont' buy that, it'll make you fat" I just wish I could answer them this way: "Too bad we don't know what food makes people rude"

The size of the pic makes it deceptive. It's a man's face, Not mine, superimposed in a dog's face. (Not my Mr. Whipple) There is a pic of me on the comp, but it's very poor quality. I'll get a better one. After all I must start a photo record of where I begin and where I end. It's good to laugh. Laughter is the most powerful form of defiance. And it is one of the most healing actions we can take. Laughing more, and frowning less would improve the world. All we gotta do, is do it.

You guys are making me blush! I don't think I'm any different from most other men. I've just forced myself to learn self expression. (Whip faces turns red, he puts his hands in his pockets, and swishes one foot through the dust)

You make a lot of sense. My wife can't shop for her own clothes because she can't see her self fitting into sizes she only dreamed of before. She used to wear 28-30 (whatever that means), and now she can wear as low as a sixteen depending on the garment. She can't bring herself to buy 'em. Sure they won't fit. So she takes a girlfriend, or her Mom along, she picks out the clothes, they pick out the size. I thinks it's a pretty neat problem to have. It does concern me, though that she still has such a self image. I guess our insides and our outsides take a while to synchronize. Fat and Sassy is one of her favorite sayings. It was pretty uplifting to see you using it here. I also completely understand what you're saying about feeling fat. When I was forty pounds lighter I didn't really feel fat. I could run up flights of stairs, do a full day's work with no break. I could squat and get up again. But in one year I gained that last forty, and now I'm a mess. I feel fat all the time. so amazing that you're doing well unbanded. Will you get rebanded? Of course it might not be necessary. You've learned the skills.

Did'ja ever notice that when a person quits smoking they give up cigs entirely? Did'ja ever notice when a person gives up their heroin addiction they give up drugs, entirely? Did'ja ever notice that an alchoholic can quit by not drinking any more alchohol, ever? But, did'ja also notice that if some one addicted to food gives up their drug of choice they'll starve to death? How terrible if you had to quit smoking but still had to take three puffs a day for the rest of your life. Or you had to take three sips of alchohol, but couldn't have any more than that. I don't think will power alone can beat this weight thing. Food is the enemy. We must avoid the enemy at all costs, but we must also enter the enemies camp every day, or we will perish. No amount of willpower can hold up to that. Thank God we've got tools to help us like the Band. I sure can't wait to get it done. I sure can't wait to step into my future. I am full of fear, hope and excitement. I read this forum every day. There are people here I think I've known for years, yet we only just met. This is a good place. A place of hope. A place of support. I'm glad I found you. My wife is supportive, and she really tries, but I feel more supported here. Nothing against her, how brave of her to try and be supportive of me while she battles her own demons. Well, I think I'll invade the enemy's camp again. Make supper and get to sleep. Gotta work in the moanin'.

Did'ja ever notice that the word "fat" never occurs alone? Fat and lazy, comes to mind. Fat and sloppy, also. Fat and stupid. Fat and jolly. Fat and sweaty. It's as if people think the word "fat" is synonomous with other things. It is not. If these characterizations were true then we would also say someone is "skinny and energetic". Fat doesn't mean stupid any more than blonde does. I notice many fat people working very hard to avoid those generalities. They work long hours (carrying an extra load the thin folks will never understand), they keep their minds active, they spend hours keeping themselves clean (and it ain't easy reachin' places your arms aren't long enough to access easily), and they are careful to dress attractively and appropriately. Yep, we get a bad rap. Mostly from ourselves. From that nagging little voice inside us. Telling us we are somehow less worthy. It is my hope that I will not change as I lose. It is my hope that I will see the beauty inside of every person, fat, thin, or damaged in any way. It is my hope that I will remember that every soul on this earth walks in some form of pain. Some scars show, some screams can never be voiced. Each person has reason to despair, just as each has reason to hope. Just a thought. I've been thinking many such things since I started to accept the reality of what I am doing.

Donali, all I can say is: Me too. I love 'em. My wife was four hundred and sixty pounds, five foot four inches, and I loved her from head to toe. She is very particular about her makeup and her clothing. She is always careful to look neat and nice. Now, after losing two hundred sixty of those pounds, I still love her. And the great thing is...... I get to love her for even longer, 'cause she's gonna live longer. Gee, I sure am a lucky guy.