voiceomt2002

Welcome to the friendliest place for bandsters ever. I just had my first bandiversary, and I'm down 82 pounds.

Lauraann, you need to have your band checked for complications. If there's no saline in it and you're still getting food stuck, but you're not losing, something is possibly wrong. The band is plastic, hon. It's highly unlikely it'll shrink like a worsted wool sweater. I've just had my bandiversary, and I still throw up but I know why every time. I've eaten something I shouldn't, like bread or stringy meat. That's why my doc continues to monitor his patients. His low carb diet is not easy, especially with all the temptations presented in our modern society. I threw up today, but I knew I ate that stuffed portobella mushroom too fast. My fault, not the band's. Have your band checked and take a serious look at your food intake. Keep a food journal and mark down honestly how much you ate, what you ate, calories, proteins and carbs. Your nutritionist may be the really strict kind like mine. Then again, s/he may not be. Why not have the data for them in case they ask? Time for some serious analysis with your surgeon and his team of experts. Think of it not as going before a judge like a criminal, but like a seeker going before the guru.

LOL!! Darn tootin' BG! See you at your new blog! BTW, mine is Fat Frog Diary. Now that you've moved, I'll post there more regularly.

As anyone in our sisterhood of Scale Whores Anonymous (SWA) knows, I'm the nut case who keeps track of her weight by writing it down on the bathroom mirror with a wipe-off board pen. I have an antiquated bathroom scale that looks like it belongs in the Art Deco Revival era several decades ago, and I love it because of that beauty. I know it's not accurate, but I step on it anyway every day. (That's why there's an SWA-- we're compulsive about it.) Last month, just before Christmas, when I stepped on the scale at the doctor's office, I got a nasty shock. Despite repeated attempts to be very good, I'd *gained* a pound. EEEK! So, I was determined to get back on the wagon. I pulled out the old food journal and locked all the carb contraband out in the cabinet outside. My scale said I lost. At one point it dipped down to 205 lbs, and my shriek of joy should have shattered the bathroom window. (Thank you, tempered glass.) Still, I drove with butterflies in my stomach to the doctor's for my monthly weigh-in. Would his infinitely more accurate scales show how hard I'd been working? When my turn finally came, I stepped on the scale. The nurse gasped. My heart sank. I was doomed. Done in by that tangerine I had a week ago. *sob* One little cheat had cost me. "OMG, Lena!! You've lost TEN pounds!" The nurse did a jig with me. Later, doc gave me a hug. I'm back on the road to One-der-Land, and I think I see it rising out of the mists in the distance. :thumbup:

As anyone in our sisterhood of Scale Whores Anonymous (SWA) knows, I'm the nut case who keeps track of her weight by writing it down on the bathroom mirror with a wipe-off board pen. I have an antiquated bathroom scale that looks like it belongs in the Art Deco Revival era several decades ago, and I love it because of that beauty. I know it's not accurate, but I step on it anyway every day. (That's why there's an SWA-- we're compulsive about it.) Last month, just before Christmas, when I stepped on the scale at the doctor's office, I got a nasty shock. Despite repeated attempts to be very good, I'd *gained* a pound. EEEK! So, I was determined to get back on the wagon. I pulled out the old food journal and locked all the carb contraband out in the cabinet outside. My scale said I lost. At one point it dipped down to 205 lbs, and my shriek of joy should have shattered the bathroom window. (Thank you, tempered glass.) Still, I drove with butterflies in my stomach to the doctor's for my monthly weigh-in. Would his infinitely more accurate scales show how hard I'd been working? When my turn finally came, I stepped on the scale. The nurse gasped. My heart sank. I was doomed. Done in by that tangerine I had a week ago. *sob* One little cheat had cost me.:thumbdown: "OMG, Lena!! You've lost TEN pounds!" The nurse did a jig with me. :thumbup: Later, doc gave me a hug. I'm back on the road to One-der-Land, and I think I see it rising out of the mists in the distance.

My bandiversary was January 2. One year, 75 lbs lighter. I'm no longer a size 26, but a svelte (for me) size 18. According to my doctor, I have another 50-70 lbs left to go. Is he insane? Okay, I'll play along. After all, he's not been wrong yet. Funny thing is, I'm still a size 26 in my head. I still slink through the lingerie section, expecting to be chased out by the sales clerks and sent to Lane Bryant. I'm still shocked when some man ignores my wedding ring and (gasp) flirts with me. On the other hand, I'm doing things that just wouldn't have been possible a year ago. I exercise three times a week and think it's fun. I bowl with my family, and we're talking about hitting the beach when the weather warms. My husband wants to go on a second honeymoon (technically it would be a first. We were too poor back then) and scuba in Bermuda, and I actually think that's a great idea. I proposed taking up water-skiing too. I fix my hair and put on makeup, and I smile at the woman in the mirror, even if I hardly recognize her without the bags under her eyes from sleep apnea, the puffy cheeks, and triple chin. Who is that woman with high slashing cheekbones, full red lips and smoky eyes? Me? Are you sure? Where's the dumpy old broad who spent half her life in a wheelchair or leaning on a cane? I'm learning to see myself as a thinner, healthier person. I guess it's just going to take more time. Funny thing is, I now have that time. :confused:

My bandiversary was January 2. One year, 75 lbs lighter. I'm no longer a size 26, but a svelte (for me) size 18. According to my doctor, I have another 50-70 lbs left to go. Is he insane? Okay, I'll play along. After all, he's not been wrong yet. Funny thing is, I'm still a size 26 in my head. I still slink through the lingerie section, expecting to be chased out by the sales clerks and sent to Lane Bryant. I'm still shocked when some man ignores my wedding ring and (gasp) flirts with me. On the other hand, I'm doing things that just wouldn't have been possible a year ago. I exercise three times a week and think it's fun. I bowl with my family, and we're talking about hitting the beach when the weather warms. My husband wants to go on a second honeymoon (technically it would be a first. We were too poor back then) and scuba in Bermuda, and I actually think that's a great idea. I proposed taking up water-skiing too. I fix my hair and put on makeup, and I smile at the woman in the mirror, even if I hardly recognize her without the bags under her eyes from sleep apnea, the puffy cheeks, and triple chin. Who is that woman with high slashing cheekbones, full red lips and smoky eyes? Me? Are you sure? Where's the dumpy old broad who spent half her life in a wheelchair or leaning on a cane? I'm learning to see myself as a thinner, healthier person. I guess it's just going to take more time. Funny thing is, I now have that time.

I'm laughing and at the same time, I'm nodding. My size 12's fell off in the first few months. Then my size 10's. My size 9's fell off last month. Up to this point, I'd bought mostly online or blindly going to the granny panties. This time, my daughter tricked me into (gasp-shudder) bikinis. In colors. (I still hyperventilate at the thought of the red sparkly ones.) I'm still a size 26 in my mind. Hmm...I see a blog coming...

Many folks have a fear of flying, or arachnophobia, etc. Common phobias. Other than a fear of heights, I considered myself fairly fear-free. Then I lost 75 pounds. That's only halfway to my goal weight, but with everything in my closet falling off me and not enough time to tailor anything but my favorites, my daughter said, "Enough is enough, Mom! You can't make a bra, okay? Time to shop!" I sighed and gave in. Until we came to the threshold of the lingerie department. My feet wouldn't move further. I stood there, paralyzed with fear some snobby salesclerk would give me the usual contemptuous look. "I'm sorry, Ma'am. We don't carry the larger sizes. May I recommend Lane Bryant at the other end of the mall?" You know, the dismissive flick of the hair, the turned up nose and presenting her back as if you're unworthy to even set foot in her department? My daughter had to literally trick me to get me in the area by asking me if a certain sexy little bra would work with her wedding gown we'd planned. Then, because I wasn't the victim/shopper, I could go to her. I was relieved and hoped she'd pulled a fast one, hoping I'd buy her some lingerie for her wedding. To get out of buying for myself there and hoping to go back to buying my lingerie online where I didn't have to be snubbed by salesclerks, I was happy to shop. My daughter pretended to shop for herself, casually asking my opinion, and eventually she slipped in the question about what size I thought I might be these days. I fell for it and told her my estimate. After all, I am proud of my much smaller size, even if I'm only halfway to goal. Quick as a wink, two packages of my size underwear and bras hit the basket. Susan grinned in triumph. "Gotcha, Mom. I saw you admiring these. You can wear them now, you know!" I gulped. I glanced around furtively, hoping I could make a mad dash for the registers before the salesclerk had me burned alive for sacrilege. It took me two days to open those packages and try them on. They fit. In fact, they're comfy! My fear is gone, and next on my shopping challenges will be (gulp) buying a pair of jeans in the Misses section, not the "Women's" department. Pray for me! I decided I'd better mention this horrible fear reaction to my doctor so he could warn the shrink to warn the pre-ops that they might have to face the challenge of a fear of shopping in the normal stores. It's freaky, and I never thought it would happen to me, the clothes horse. Doctor Baptista said he'd heard of this from several of his patients, but no one had explained it to him until me. He promised to tell the shrink if I'd blog about it. Save yourselves and shop early and often. Learn to buy one or two pieces as you shrink, or you may face the phobia yourselves. You have nothing to fear from the salesclerks, really. (My mantra.) All laughter at my expense is welcome. Thank you.

As if to prove the point, my DH playfully yanked my jeans around my ankles in the kitchen this afternoon. (sigh) I don't have time these days to re-tailor my clothes to fit, so I'm wearing the baggy stuff. Most of the time, I wear a belt to prevent mishaps, but I was lazy. I won't make that mistake again, especially with a frisky DH hanging around. (giggle-snerk) Yeah, I love the old fart.

Many folks have a fear of flying, or arachnophobia, etc. Common phobias. Other than a fear of heights, I considered myself fairly fear-free. Then I lost 75 pounds. That's only halfway to my goal weight, but with everything in my closet falling off me and not enough time to tailor anything but my favorites, my daughter said, "Enough is enough, Mom! You can't make a bra, okay? Time to shop!" I sighed and gave in. Until we came to the threshold of the lingerie department. My feet wouldn't move further. I stood there, paralyzed with fear some snobby salesclerk would give me the usual contemptuous look. "I'm sorry, Ma'am. We don't carry the larger sizes. May I recommend Lane Bryant at the other end of the mall?" You know, the dismissive flick of the hair, the turned up nose and presenting her back as if you're unworthy to even set foot in her department? My daughter had to literally trick me to get me in the area by asking me if a certain sexy little bra would work with her wedding gown we'd planned. Then, because I wasn't the victim/shopper, I could go to her. I was relieved and hoped she'd pulled a fast one, hoping I'd buy her some lingerie for her wedding. To get out of buying for myself there and hoping to go back to buying my lingerie online where I didn't have to be snubbed by salesclerks, I was happy to shop. My daughter pretended to shop for herself, casually asking my opinion, and eventually she slipped in the question about what size I thought I might be these days. I fell for it and told her my estimate. After all, I am proud of my much smaller size, even if I'm only halfway to goal. Quick as a wink, two packages of my size underwear and bras hit the basket. Susan grinned in triumph. "Gotcha, Mom. I saw you admiring these. You can wear them now, you know!" I gulped. I glanced around furtively, hoping I could make a mad dash for the registers before the salesclerk had me burned alive for sacrilege. It took me two days to open those packages and try them on. They fit. In fact, they're comfy! My fear is gone, and next on my shopping challenges will be (gulp) buying a pair of jeans in the Misses section, not the "Women's" department. Pray for me! I decided I'd better mention this horrible fear reaction to my doctor so he could warn the shrink to warn the pre-ops that they might have to face the challenge of a fear of shopping in the normal stores. It's freaky, and I never thought it would happen to me, the clothes horse. Doctor Baptista said he'd heard of this from several of his patients, but no one had explained it to him until me. He promised to tell the shrink if I'd blog about it. Save yourselves and shop early and often. Learn to buy one or two pieces as you shrink, or you may face the phobia yourselves. You have nothing to fear from the salesclerks, really. (My mantra.) All laughter at my expense is welcome. Thank you.

Hear! Hear! I did gain one pound, but quickly lost it so it may have been a simple normal fluctuation. It's been wonderful to celebrate without the guilt of overeating. This year, the focus was on the family and much, much less stressful with me sitting and laughing with the friends and family in the living room instead of trying to cook too much in my tiny kitchen. Did we have treats? Some, but mostly it was about the gifts and laughter, not food. Hooray for us!

(Sips tea) Head hunger? Not worried about that...it's that huge pile of pies I'm scared of. LOL!

I like 'em. My men are no fun at holiday time, so I don't ask them for their opinions anymore.

What? I'm not supposed to look at my batwings and say, "Well, at least I don't need a parachute! I'll just glide home!"? (giggling)

Time for an SWA meeting again. LOL! BG, the important thing is not to re-gain lost weight. The yo-yo cycle can cause as many health problems as being overweight. Okay, so your weight loss has slowed or stalled. Are you still in One-der-land? Are you healthier than you've been in years? Are you doing more and feeling great? Are you happy? Stop obsessing. Being a bandster is just as much mental as it is physical. You've "confessed" several times that your vacations have been part of your problem, so you know you've had issues with what goes in your mouth isn't coming off your butt. (grin) Now, stop making Thanksgiving such a horror. It's about being thankful, not how much we can ram down our bands. Have a little turkey, and when you're full go take a walk in the lovely fall air. You'll be back in time for coffee and maybe by then a little spoonful of pumpkin pie as a treat. No more is needed. Be thankful and be happy. (HUG)