whippledaddy

Guys this band works. Even when you're too busy to work it. I started out wearing size 54 pants, and they were getting tight. Today I put on a pair of 48's and had to keep hitching 'em up all day. Yippee.

Rolling On The Floor Laughing My A$$ Off.

Yeah, Betty, I am glad I asked. I was truly stumped. And I didn't want my personal feelings to interfere. Thanks guys, I know it may have sounded like a silly question, but I know what to do now. I'll dry them just as I have all along.

Maybe I should just put my pants in the dryer and try to shrink 'em.

It's okay! I don't need suspenders, I've got my Incredible Hulk Underoos on!

“Have you just tried cutting out sweets?” Quote from Vinesqueen. I love it. Would the same doctor tell an addict "Have you ever thought about cutting back on heroin?"

Amen Sister. This is a sentiment that's too easy to put aside in our fast paced goal driven world. I'm gonna take a moment and bask in the glow of what I have. Thank you for the wake up call.

Shortly before I went to surgery I was full of doubt. My main concern was me. I remembered all those times I had lost weight, fifty, eighty, pounds at a time. And each time I would gain it all back, and then a little more. I had always been a failure, and had nothing to show me any different. But now I have a band. I have had two fills. The band doesn't fail. And slowly, day by day, I prove to myself I'm not a failure all the time. Sometimes I fail, but sometimes I don't. Sometimes I win. And sometimes is far better than no times. You may not trust in your own will power, and you shouldn't, you've already proven how fickle a friend willpower can be. But you can trust that band. It'll stop you short. It will always be your friend. It'll gently remind you that you need to slow down, and if you don't, the reminders get a little less gentle. So, you're going to be just fine. You'll get the band. You'll heal. You'll get very tired of liquids, and mushies. But you will get past that. Then you'll really begin. You're like a car, liquids are first gear, mushies are second gear, and then out on the highway for overdrive, normal food. Yes, sometimes you'll fail. But that only means sometimes you'll succeed. You'll win sometimes. Fat will begin to disappear. And this whole journey is a little like an auction: It isn't where you start, it's where you end up, that counts. Good luck. Trust the band. Trust this board. And the day will come when you realize you can trust yourself.

Remembering that my larger than normal body is the symptom of a disease is what keeps me sane most days. When we diet solely to lose weight we are treating the symptom, and not the disease. When we deal with those demons rattling around in our heads we're treating the disease. But, those demons, and that disease, won't go away forever. But that's okay. Before the band we were outnumbered. Now we have help. If we backslide the band gives us breathing room. Now we get a chance to catch our breath, and think it through. Just how bad do I want the friggn' donut? No, I can pass on it, just for now, thank you. Imagine that you have a special type of measles. Unless you have 120 measle bumps on your body you'll die. But if you go much over that you'll die. So your job is to keep yourself to the optimum number of measle bumps, so you'll live a better, longer life. Measle bumps or pounds, the concept is the same. We can do what we have to do to lose it, and keep it off. In fact, the pounds I'm losing now are far less important to me than the pounds I keep off in the years to come. Somebody asked me how much I lost today. "About sixty pounds," I said. "But that's nothing compared to what I've gained." Whip.

Discrimination is wrong. We all know it. It is wrong when we use a person's color to discriminate. It is wrong when we use physical impairments to discriminate. With fat people, and with smokers and a few other groups, the RATIONALE is that it is okay, it's for their own, or greater, good. Some groups condemn MO people because they are committing a sin. But most claim to have our best interests at heart. Sorry, I can't buy it. Prejudice is prejudice and cannot be rationalized away. I recognize prejuce even within my self. That doesn't make it any more palatable, I can tell you. Under the guise of "for their own good" we criticize, ridicule, and judge. We hurt feelings, we crush hopes and dreams, and we shatter hearts. And, we pass this on to our children. Somewhere a child sits in a playground. The game roars and charges around him. The other children laugh and play and run. Their cheeks are ruddy with the exertion, their hair is tousled by the wind. But the child sitting, once more, on the sidelines has ruddy cheeks as well. Made red by embarrassment and hurt, dampened by tears. He is miserable. "Don't pick Fatty, he'll make you lose." If he were crippled, or retarded, or had leukemia, someone might come to his aid. But he's not. He's fat. It's his fault that he is the way he is. Let him suffer. Do him good. Maybe he'll think about that before he has that next plate of french fries. Maybe someone should realize that in that little boy's morose mind, that plate of fries is his last and only friend. I'd rather be that tot's father, than have produced the cruel moppets who have reduced him to tears, who have ridiculed him once again. I'd talk to him. I'd tell him to get ready. This is only the beginning. That he must dig deep within himself and find strength of spirit and courage and character. The discrimination will continue. He'll notice it first in clothes. They'll say "Big Mac" on them in large red letters. Like he needs to be labeled as well as his trousers. Later he'll realize that all the girls are extremely busy on weekends. They sure do perm their hair a lot. And go to relatives. But they're always too busy to go to the movies, or the mixer, or the prom. No matter how hard he works at his job he'll get passed over for each promotion. Each week will bring a new plan, a new diet, full of success on Monday, doomed to failure by Wednesday. He'll be walking along, floating on air, euphoric over the five pounds he has just lost, when some well meaning joker who calls himself friend will say "Hey, Chubby, why don't you go on a diet? Here, have one of my Krispy Kremes". Can't you hear that balloon of positive thinking deflating. Then, one day, near rock bottom, he'll decide he needs help. Real help. He's lost thousands of pounds over the years. They all returned, and like all vacationers, they brought more stuff with them. He'll go to a WLS surgeon. And this man, so wise and so thin, will REQUIRE him to lose some weight to prove he's serious. Yep. And he'll do it. Inside, he'll be that boy on the playground all over again. Inside he'll know that nothing's changed. It's still okay to kick the fat kid around. Only adults do it better, more refined. No one will tell him that he is ill, that he has a disease. I've got diabetes. They asked me to take nutrition courses, and a course in controlling my diabetes. But they started treating me for it immediately! Nobody said "Hey, as soon as you can get your a1C down in the sixes I'll prescribe glucophage for you" The different will always know when they are being looked upon by the gaze of discrimination. If you can't feel it, you've not been paying attention. We expect it now. It's our due. We're weak. We're unable to control our desires. We are just not as strong as thin people. But they know how to make us thin. Just follow the diet, count the calories. But it isn't the food, it's the addiction. Some folks can take a drink and say "enough". Some can't stop. If they'd just prove they could sober up for a few weeks we'd let them get some treatment. Dormantly yours.

Defile the temple? Geez Louise, I expanded it.

"Anorexics are never told "JUST eat!!" Their condition is taken very seriously, and requires medical and psychological intervention." From Donali's post. Amen. Isn't it odd, that if you don't eat, it's officially classified as an eating disorder. But if you overeat, that isn't an eating disorder, that's a lifestyle disorder. This is according to my insurance company. Thin people don't consciously diet. Nor do they obsess about food. Ergo: If you want to be thin, you mustn't obsess over food, and you must not diet. Our food choices must flow naturally. If I gotta diet then I risked my life on the operating table for nothing, and my insurance company wasted their money. I've got a band. It helps. I've got an addiction. I've got to battle the addiction demon. The enemy isn't food, and the answer isn't counting calories. The enemy is my own perverse spirit. The answer is to find my triggers and diffuse them, then I can eat what I want, when I want, and not over eat. What I'm saying isn't the result of listening to thin experts telling me how not to be fat. I've been listening to my own soul. Some of the things it's telling me are hard to hear. But all of them are true, for me. Others must listen to what is true for them. I know that there is no easy way out. I know that addiction doesn't go away. I know that obsession doesn't moderate. I don't buy that I must count calories, and diet for the rest of my life. That might get me thin, and keep me thin for a time, but until I face my own personal demons I won't stay thin. Not for life. Not with quality of life. Once there was a man who's son was bugging him for attention. The man tore a page out of a magazine with a picture of the world on it. He then tore the world up into many pieces. He handed the pile of shreds to his son. "Here, put this puzzle together, and when you're done, we'll go outside and play" Only five minutes had passed when the boy brought the picture of the world taped together perfectly. Every shred in place. "How'd you do that so fast, son?" He asked. "Well, Daddy" the boy replied, "On the back of the world was the picture of a man. So I put the man together right, and the world just fell into place."

Whoever said "It's always darkest before the dawn" must have had February in mind. It's a bleak and dreary month, here in the frozen wasteland that is the Middle of the Mitten. February broods over a grey/white landscape, sending alternating waves of sub zero cold and just above freezing slush attacks. The February land is awash with dull sloppy half ice, and a stark and angry sky as grey as ashes, as grey as death. Here life waits, suspended, somewhere between true winter and a faint promise of spring. February is the angry month, short and sullen, when daylight is as rare as diamonds, and shines like gold. Here and now I find myself, at 306 pounds au naturale, about three twelve when decently clad. Fifty six pounds down from my starting weight. Respectable. I can feel it slowing, and as the stress of my life, and the blahs of winter take hold of my spirit, I quietly rejoice that I have my band. I eat. I over eat. I eat unwisely. Too fast. Too much. Too often. Yet now I have a gentle and forgiving friend who stops me short. The band controls my body, and gives me the chance I need to control my mind, and my mental hunger. And it is helping. Each day there is some victory, however small. I can forego the cherry crisp at work, and only eat the lean turkey. And I rejoice that it's okay. The siren song of food grows less intense. Yes, there are times it flares. There are times that chocolate sings my name, so gently, so sweetly...........no lover could call me softer. But, sometimes, just sometimes, I win. One victory is more than I ever knew pre band. Now I stack them up. Several a day. Many in a week. Not all steps are foreward. Yet not all travel is backward. Sliding down a slippery slope of fat while I throw comfort in my pie hole with both hands, every moment of every day, is now a thing of the past. However good or ill I do in this journey, I have improved on the old me. We're not working on a better body. We're not working on a healthier lifestyle. We're trying to journey to a better us. And all this drivel, this diarrhea of words, leads up to my next weapon loaded into my arsenal. Thursday I get a fill. Yippeee!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

One thing I have always checked on is the presence of corn syrup, high fructose corn syrup, and dextrose in food labels. You'll find it in some pretty odd places. Like dextrose in your table salt, for instance. Corn syrup is very stable for cooking, and isn't incredibly sweet. In fact many products are merely flavored, textured versions of corn syrup. Check the label. It's cheap, and can stabelize everything from catsup to gravy and many things in between. I try to avoid it because, to a diabetic, it's invisible sugar.

Never judge your own beauty by the eyes of anyone else. You are beautiful. Just read your words. It's not your fault they can't see it because they're looking in the wrong direction. Just keep on being beautiful, and remember the ones who couldn't see before. When they notice you after losing the weight, it's not their eyesight that changed!

OMG! You've done so well, and lost so much weight that you're feeling your BACKBONE! Go eat some ice cream. Quick! Save yourself!

I'm a little rested now. I feel much better. The nightmare of the last seven days is now drifting behind me. Patty is recieving some relief from the implant, and that alone is a blessing. She is also off the two morphines she was taking. Soon she will less groggy. And yet, if one watches, one realizes it could be much worse. Patty's roomate was Lonnie, and Lonnie's husband was Ray. Ray and Lonnie were quite a couple. Patty and Ryan in about fifteen years. We were there in the double room when Lonnie and Ray were informed that Lonnie had tested positive for acute luekemia. I felt so sorry for them both, and wonder about Ray. How must he have felt? In three weeks they're going to Celebrate their fifty third wedding anniversary. I'm sure that day will have many bittersweet emotions in it. They did hold out much hope for Lonnie, a four week course of aggressive chemotherapy is in store for her. When we left we hugged Lonnie, and I shook Ray's hand. Ray and I, different in so many ways, yet this incident of having an ill spouse made us brothers in a way. And so it goes, that each day strangers wander in and out of each other's lives, sometimes we are invisible to each other, and sometimes we connect. Somehow, in my desparation for something good perhaps, I see a tiny miracle in this fact, that strangers may meet and connect. I think the next time I pay a toll I'll pay for the guy behind me, too. "Cause sometimes this tired world needs a random act of kindness.

Between my wife and I we know about a dozen people who have had the RNY. So far I haven't got wind of any problem. And though I nosed around quite a bit I didn't discover any one with this particular problem. And really, it's only a problem for the spectators!

You both look fantastic! Great job! Attagirls! And your pics are an inspiration to me, who feels he's due for a little jump start. These pics are just the motivation I needed.

Caffeine deprivation causes my worst headaches. I tried giving it up once and had a headache that lasted three days. Not just a normal headache, a debilitating pounding, much like the description of a migraine. The only thing worse is the sleep apnea headache. I've known people who got bad headaches from hunger, and from constipation as well. Good luck!

So the procedure was done. I drove home, only to find that she was to be released the next day. Couldn't get an early start Tuesday as I had to go to the bank to get cash for the trip. Called Patty's room at 8:00Am to let her know that I was on the way. No answer. Hmmmmm. Called back at 8:15, no answer. Small catch of breath. Called back at 8:30 and that's when the fertilizer impacted the ventilator. The phone was answered by a woman with a very foriegn voice. She was very cryptic. "Hello?" "Yes, I'd like to speak to Patty Webster, please." "Yes, this is Patty's room." "Could I speak to her please?" "No, we're speaking to her" "What about? I am her husband, you can tell me." "About whether or not she goes home today" "Why? I understood she was to be released today?" "She took a fall. I'm a doctor. Call back in two hours." "You dont' understand. I'm 300 miles away. Is she okay?" "We don't know. Call back in two hours to see if she is going home today." "But it takes me five hours to get there. Let me talk to my wife." "NO." hangs up. I call the nurse's desk, yes Patty fell. Yes she's okay, but they must decide if it's safe to send her home. She might fall again there. Call back in two hours and we'll tell you if she's to be released today or not, was my answer. I waited the two hours. I called back. I was told she would be kept for all of Tuesday and observed. Then she would be released Wednesday AM. Early to bed, up at 1:00AM Wednesday. On the road at 2:00. Arrive in Cleveland at hospital at 6:20 AM. Made good time, eh? 6:30, enter Patty's room. She's not there, but I hear sounds in the bathroom. Patty's roomate is talking to a doctor. They make rounds early there, last time Patty was released, packed and ready to roll at 7:30. 9:00AM, a physical therapist comes to Patty's room for assessment. The PT who looks all of twelve, recommends Patty be released from the hospital directly to a nursing home until she can walk better. Patty's response (which I love) "When you guys do your job, and get me off all this friggin' morphine, I'll walk steadier. Why should I go to a nursing home when you're not doing your job?" 9:15 AM: A doctor Iskander comes in. Neither Patty nor I have seen him before. "You need to go to a nursing home." he states flatly in barely reconized English. Patty refuses. "I can't send you home. Your husband here has to go to work tomorrow. You can't be alone for at least 24 hours." I inform him that my weekends are Wednesday and Thursday. I'll be with her for more than 24. He says "Oh, okay, she can go home. I'll get started on it" 11:00 AM Dr. Iskander enters, waves goodbye "You can go home as soon as I write some scripts and the discharge papers, and unhook your pump." 11:05 AM we contact Case Manager so Patty can get the travel pump for her catheter to send her home on. We have the return shipping carton all ready to send it back Thursday. We are told that Dr. Iskander doesn't want her to go home with a pump. Odd. The pharmacy has already called us and told us it was ready and they would come hook it up as soon as Patty was released. 12:00 Noon. Asked where the discharge papers et al were. Case Manager said Dr. Iskander hadn't done them yet. 1:00 PM. Asked about discharge. Dr. Iskander hadn't done the discharge yet. 2:00PM asked about discharge. Told that they were keeping Patty another night as the Home Health Care in Michigan thought that with our five hour drive we would be getting there too late for the nurse on call to hook her up. I snapped. Just a little. Asked a couple questions: Isn't the Home Health Care a 24 hour operation? Answer: Yes. How can we get home to late for a 24/7 business to take care of us? Is there a twenty fifth hour? 3:00 PM. Spoke by phone with Home Health Care Pharmacy. Made arrangements for MOther in Law to recieve meds and sign for them. Still no DR. Iskander. 4:00 PM STill no release, still no Dr. Iskander. 4:15 PM. I go to Case Manager. This is what I say: "Patty was officially told she was released from here over five hours ago. We're leaving at 5:00. We'll leave without your permission. We'll leave without the scripts, we'll leave without the discharge instructions, and I will personally remove the infusion pump with my rusty jacknife and let your precious medicine drip on the floor. If you try to stop us, and you haven't filed incompetentcy on my wife, I'll formally charge you with attempted kidnapping. Am I clear enough?" The case manager agreed we had been treated horribly. 4:50PM. Dr. Iskander came in. "Did I make the deadline?" "Interesting word, DEADLINE" was my answer. He unhooked her, offered his hand for me to shake. Hmpf. We arrived home after we went to the emergency room. The five hour trip with absolutely nothing for pain was too much for my wife. The on call nurse met us at 10:30 PM, and was only slightly ungracious about the lateness. Today Patty sleeps. She's a little better. I've butted heads with everyone in the Medical Profession. I'm tired. I just got off the phone with the lawyer. And the only thing this has to do with the lapband is that I can't get enough comfort food in me to self medicate this feeling. Thank God for the band, and you all. Right now you great people and the band are the only things that don't make me bitter.

Got home from work yesterday at 8:00 PM, did chores, laid down at 9, and up at midnight. We got on the road about one AM and made it there in plenty of time. They did the procedure/surgery and gave her a bolus and she felt immediate relief. She was sleeping comfortably when I went home. I needed to get back here to take care of my dogs, and go to work tomorrow. Only thing is..............she's doing so well they're going to release her tomorrow. I gotta get up and drive back down. Sheeeesh. Well, I've had about three hours sleep since Sunday Morning. Gonna go to bed for a while before I drive back down. Thanks for all the caring, guys, you can't know how much it means.

I wanted to post earlier, but I couldn't compose myself long enough to do it. Don't know if I'll make it through the whole post this time or not. You see, the thing about men is, they don't cry. We're taught to be strong. And the strong don't cry. Yet, if we did, if only we would let ourselves feel our emotions, we would get through life so much better. Maybe women outlive men because women are strong enough to cry. Thank you. I wept this morning when I read this thread. And I wept again tonight when I read it again. I wept at work, and on the drive to and from. I shed tears for the troubles I endure, I shed tears for the pain of my wife, truly the light of my life, which I am powerless to fight. I shed tears for other reasons, selfish reasons, perhaps, grieving my losses in the last few years and months. I miss so many things like having fun with my girl (yes, my girl, and she will always be my girl), things like free time, a lazy day. A day without schedules, finances, or care. But most of my tears were tears of wonder, tears of joy. My heart swelled at the flood of support here. The well wishes you all have written have such a healing power. My cheeks are wet as I write this, my head aches, and my nose is plugged, from weeping. Thank you. Thank God for all of you. I think about giving up a thousand times a day. But I always find a reason to go on. I love my wife, is the most important reason, but your support is a close second. I can find no words, no eloquence to properly tell you how I feel, how grateful I am for you all. But let me say just this: If my lapband were a total failure, if the surgery and all the testing beforehand turned out for nothing, still this would have been the best experience of my life. Because I found this cyber place, and I found all of you. People who know the fear and shame of obesity. People who know how to empathize, people who understand how to care. I feel I am the recipient of a miracle. And the miracle is you. I will carry your words with me on the road, and I will be comforted.

What a fantastic piece! It goes in my file of things to read on a bad day.

RoRo: What to expect? You can expect to hate yourself if you don't do something. You shouldn't hate yourself for losing weight and gaining it back. That's what happens. Very few people have a problem losing the weight. The problem is losing the behaviours, and emotions connected to the fat. Morbidly obese (doesn't the word "fat" sound better?) people have such a small chance of keeping weight off that it is statistically impossible. Has it been done? Of course. Every rule has it's exception. You can expect to lose and gain a few more times in your life, if you keep trying this way. Don't be so hard on yourself. Do you expect to be perfect all the time? Sorry, none of us are. Everyone here has lost and gained, and then looked in the mirror and saw a face they hated. Everyone. It's a tough decision. Discussing it with family and friends will be educational, but not helpful. Especially if they're thin. You will encounter all sorts of reactions. Few will be helpful. Some might even be harmful. Listen to yourself, and your troubled heart first. Look at your feelings and you will know what you need to do. Then, come here. Because whatever you decide, the people here will understand. We've been there. If you do decide on surgery you can expect more to happen. The unsolicited comments of family and friends will be your gift. They won't hesitate to tell you horror stories (mostly urban legend), or to seem to criticize. You'll talk to your family doctor. Get him/her to write a note asking a WLS surgeon to see you. You'll see that surgeon. You'll be sent for a battery of tests. If you are trying to bill insurance they will be contacted. You may have to fight for your rights with the insurance company, or you may have to pay your own way in this journey. If you are a good candidate, and if you are determined, you will move on. If you've decided that you are worth the effort, that you truly are a person who deserves a better life, the surgery will be scheduled. You will be mildly sedated then anesthetized. You'll wake up a very short time later and you'll have a new friend. You won't have as much pain as you think. Some in the shoulder, neck or back from gas. You'll be encouraged to get up and walk, use the bathroom, sip ice chips. You'll recover. You'll have to watch what you eat for a few days or weeks, gradually working back to regular food. When you're healed enough you'll be given a fill, a painless procedure that causes "restriction" thereby reducing the amount of food you can consume. That fill may have to be adjusted over the next few weeks. Don't be in a hurry now, this is a life commitment to health and happiness you've made, not a moment's whim. Your loss will mirror your gain. The pounds will drop as gradually as the sun rises. You'll find the beautiful core of you, hiding deep within your protective layer of tissue. There will come a time when you weep still, but you'll weep for joy, and for the lightness of being that comes when this burden is lifted from your spirit. You'll slip up from time to time. Backslide. But thanks to your band you'll not slide as far down that slippery slope as before. Minimal damage. No strain. You'll come here often, and read, and laugh, and maybe even cry a bit. You'll read someone's story and recognize their pain as your own. You will be in awe at how many beautiful spirits can gather together here. Then, one day, you'll answer a question from someone new, someone full of fear and hope. Someone who's afraid to hope for a better way, a better life, a better shot at all that life offers the thin. And you'll realize it is you who is gaining from this, from telling others what to expect. So you will have come full circle, and paid it forward. Good luck. There is a lot of info in this place, and you'll be able to research to your heart's content.