voiceomt2002

Thanks, Amanda.

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

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

Thanks Wendy. That's an excellent idea. I think it's called Lydocaine. I'll write a note to ask for it, since the IV will be in my neck. Gives me the willies to think about it, so I'm hoping I'm so stoned on nitrous oxide my eyes won't see them coming at me. Dr. Baptista has been a sweetheart about this, reassuring me that I'll never know what hit me if I'll just bear up with the Heparin shot in my belly. I'm going to do my best to be a sweetheart for him as well. Lena

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. :confused:

I'll be banded this coming Friday, January 2. I've been on Phase 1 of the pre-op diet since November 19, and I've already lost 11 pounds, officially. I think it's more, because my favorite jeans are very loose. I've been slowly phasing out solid food. Lena

I had so many problems with both stress eating and the holiday food, we took drastic action and divided the foods. We have two refrigerators and two pantries, so we put everything I could have in the refrigerator and pantry closest to my home office and locked everything I can't have in the others. My DH and roomie have the keys to the locks, but I don't. It worked very well! The guys can get to the carbs they need for their physically demanding jobs, and I can't get my greedy paws on the holiday treats. Admittedly, it's close to hell on earth to watch them devour the foods I can't have, but when I can't take it anymore I go for a walk or at least leave the room. :tongue_smilie: It's not a perfect solution, but it worked for us. Lena

I already packed up my Gas-x, lip balm, one comfy "easy access" gown, those oh-so-glamorous slipper socks:wink2:, and a small pillow. Because I have severe sleep apnea and I take blood thinners, the hospital insists on keeping me overnight. They did apologize for my inconvenience. LOL! Today is the day I stop taking my Warfarin. I've been on the first phase of the pre-op diet since Friday, and while it's not easy, it does ease me into the final liquid phase starting Wednesday. Yes, I'm hungry and somewhat uncomfortable, but the tiny increments of discomfort now will mean less problems on those final two days instead of total starvation. (wry smile) For me, the true discomfort begins on Wednesday morning. That's when I have the first of at least two Lovonox injections (and one Heparin the day of surgery). I'm needle phobic, so my husband has graciously volunteered to jab me. I'm more worried about those injections than the pre-op diet, to be honest. Has anyone else been using SavingDinner.com to get the low-carb menus and grocery lists? They've been very helpful and I'll miss the delicious foods while my body recovers. Even my picky DH likes most of the recipes. Lena

I'm the only one in my household who *must* low-carb my diet until my surgery on January 2. While most of my family has been reasonably supportive, I'm finding the temptations to cheat getting worse with each passing day. Last night was the big dinner with the family. After my many attempts to explain how I must stay below 1400 calories and 30g of carbs, my stepmother still brought out biscuits and sweet potatoes and insisted on giving me a heaping plate of banana pudding. (Fortunately, I'd brought the banana pudding, and it was made with Splenda, diet pudding, and all the f/f or low-carb ingredients I could. The bananas were the only unaltered ingredient.) My father adores banana pudding, so that was my gift to him. Y'all would be proud of me. I took a polite couple of bites of the sweet potato, tasted a thumbfull of the biscuit, and gave half my banana pudding to my husband. But, oh, it was soooo hard! "Want" doesn't begin to cover how much I wanted to pig out on the holiday feast. What are your survival strategies? Lena

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:

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:

You go, Camel! A friend of the family brought over homemade Cookies along with her holiday gift of coffee. I thanked her and waited until she left before handing the entire bag to my husband and brother. "Gorge yourselves and hide the rest." I suffered while they stuffed themselves silly, but the bag is nowhere in sight today. The coffee is delicious. I know our friend meant well. I've come to realize how much of our society is geared to make friends and family diet saboteurs. A hostess gift is often food or wine, any celebration involves rich foods, and of course to show love involves high carbs. There's something wrong with this picture. We are not our ancestors, where food shortages were common. Maybe I need to rethink our traditions. I'm a writer. Hmm. I sense a story coming on. LOL!

Thanks, Ann. I have to admit I breathed a sigh of relief now that the major holiday celebrations are gone for another year, just in time for me to start the one-week diet the doc wants. I keep chanting to myself, "One week. One week." Lena

Thanks for the kind words, Camel Cracker. I did manage to survive with only minor lapses, and recorded an official weight loss of eleven pounds when I reported to the surgeon for my pre-op appointment. Not too shabby at this time of year. Eating beforehand helped a great deal. I wasn't starving by the time food was served, nor was I overwhelmingly tempted by the appetizers. Yes, I must be insane to try to follow the low-carb pre-surgical diet at this time of year, but I'm managing to not screw up too badly. I admit my lapses and get back on the wagon as soon as I can. Next Frieday, my wait is over hopefully. Lena

Yes, my PCP was on board from the very beginning with the idea. She practically shoved me toward her referral clerk! LOL! No, she's not on base. She's on the economy, but less than a few miles from NAS JAX. In fact, Dr. Baptista the surgeon is much farther away, practically across town from me. I don't mind the drive, really, and I am thoroughly impressed with the hospital where I'll have the procedure. I'd never seen a hospital with valet parking, but I'm a spoiled gal now! The outpatient surgery processing area is not far from the main entrance, not around back like you're a red-haired stepchild. Tricare has been very efficient through the whole process. They don't ask for six months of doctor-supervised dieting like some insurance providers. Dr. Baptista's office works hand-in-hand with certain labs so everything is done very smoothly.

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?

Yes, Julie. I'm in Jacksonville. I will say I like Dr. Baptista a bit more.

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. :biggrin: 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

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

I'm getting banded January 2 here in Jacksonville, FL. Dr. Baptista will do the honors. Lena

Hi! I got approval two weeks ago after starting the whole process waaay back this past summer, but I ascribe most of that delay to the sheer volume of folks now getting the lap band. My surgery is January 2. Tomorrow I see the doctor

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?

Victory shall be mine! I’m doing the happy dance! :cool: 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.

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.