bfrancis

Hello gorgeous people Does anyone here Twitter? I'm getting a little bored following mass marketers and pedlars of absolutely nothing relevant by reurn follow and would welcome actually reading up on like-minded people for a change. If so, please follow me or post your Twitter username here so I can add to my profile. Benedict Francis (benfrancis) on Twitter (@benfrancis) Thank you! Ben

When I first learned that my initial band adjustment was going to be four weeks after a whale’s wake of hunger that had kicked in, I was a little disturbed. I was in fact terrified that the substantial weight that I had kicked off over the previous weeks would come flooding back with a vengeance and all would be lost (or indeed gained). Then, that fear was replaced with a certain feeling that a challenge had been set - a challenge for me to have one more attempt to combat and defeat the beast that had been haunting me all my life. A chance for me to stare the dragon that is my hunger directly in eyes as I plunged my sword of resistance and self-control into its black heart and watch it crash to the ground. I envisaged my heroic pose as I stood on the reptilian carcass and decapitated it for all villagers to see. After a whole (almost) day of winning this melodramatic crusade, I tripped and fell on my own bloody sword. Imagine my joy, when in my death throws I received a call from the life-saving Rhoda to tell me that Mr Byrne’s secretary had actually made a mistake and the appointment had been booked in incorrectly and my adjustment would be in a few days time. Rhoda, the guardian angel that sat on my shoulder that day, is my assigned nutritionist. She gives me the impression that she has never had to defeat her own appetite, being so slender herself - which is why I imagine she is so good in being able to exterminate that state in others. I may well be mistaken in that assumption and could find that she is indeed a past-life big momma. That said, her seemingly clinical detachment from the whole process that I and others attending her “class” are going through leads me to assume that she has never quite been there. No matter - she called with joyous news! I naturally spent the rest of the week berating myself. I live alone. What else is there to do? Over the next few days, after the humiliating stumble, I took stock once again and managed to not exactly drown my hunger, but recognise it. With the recognition of the excessive need for sustenance comes a certain self-control that would normally disintegrate as I buried my head in the sand and thought more on my need to satisfy my urges than to maintain or improve my health. Also, having a close date to aim at for the band fill gave me that little more encouragement to hold off from the recently emptied larder. So, Saturday morning came and I marched defiantly into the hospital. For those that have not recognised, my love of acting ensures that I can’t just “walk into the hospital”. That just wouldn’t be luvvie enough darling! So, I walked defiantly (perhaps even majestically) into the hospital. I took my seat in the waiting room and waited for the moment when I would take the next step on the road to recovery. As I waited, I started to get a little nervous about the impending appointment. As I mentioned in a previous post, I am a terrible coward. I started to fear the obvious needle that was amplifying in my mind into a rusty bayonet. Then I started to insanely ponder about the possibility that if the band was over-filled it would explode and send shards of medical prosthesis into my now rapidly beating heart. I had to take my mind off such ridiculous meanderings, so I took hold of my iPhone and Twittered something juvenile about small pricks and my forthcoming swallowing abilities. At the tender age of thirty six, I like to think I can publish puerile innuendo along with the best of them. Mr Byrne, the surgeon that performed the operation and the recent object of my total gratitude, walked into the hospital. A knight in the shining armour of a rather expensive looking suit. He approached the receptionist to ask where he could park his steed called Range Rover. After leaving again to settle her into the stables of the private car park, he came back to check into his non-permanent residence of the private hospital. As he walked past, he greeted me…then another two people in the room. It dawned on me - they had been sitting next to me in quiet consideration of the same fate. These were the same people that had been under the knife that day at the end of February. They were fellow bandsters! We all shuffled in our seats and returned to the inner sanctums of our own contemplation. I was immediately called in. The time had come. When I first met Mr Byrne, he seemed a very cold and aloof person. His distant emotional approach caused me a little concern. I rather xenophobically assumed he was German. But, having met a few Germans, I now realise they are not quite as cool and emotionally reserved as Indiana Jones had led me to believe. The surgery day reaffirmed my opinion that his bedside manner was a little chilly. However, he was now an entirely different person. He was affable and entirely friendly. I confirmed my thoughts of the last month. I very much doubted that anyone would like to get to friendly with someone they were about to slice up and put their life in your hands. It would be much easier to play around with the offal of someone who was more of a statistic than a person. So, at this visit, I was happy to see he was indeed a human and not a weight-loss designated cyborg. After an initial bout of banter, I was invited to lay on his bed. As much as I have yearned for similar situations with the occasional lady-friend, I mounted the tissue-lined trolley with a tad less excitement. I made the mistake of briefly glancing over to see the preparations that were underway. My fears of a bayonet were well founded. I had never seen such a thing! Before I wonder off into what seems like another tirade of smutty double-entendre, I must confirm that I am describing the medical syringe that he was filling with saline. The needle was pretty much akin to a Biro pen. I tensed up and shut up. With his newly found amiability, he attempted to ease my tension (please people…gutter minds!). He said that I would feel a small scratch and I tensed every muscle in my body as I awaited the stabbing sensation. I started to wonder how long he would take faffing around before I felt the imminent piercing. As I wondered, he walked back to his desk saying it was all done. What?! I felt nothing. “Bloody hell”, I pondered to myself. I really need to insert a little courage into my life before I tremble to death. Oh my lord..do you think I could tremble to death!? Mr Byrne, then turned round and proclaimed “Strawberry or Raspberry?” - he was offering me a low-fat yogurt! How very nice of him. It was apparently time to see if the 4cc of saline pumped into my band was enough to cause ample restriction to help and not hinder. If I could swallow about half the pot without throwing it back into my lap, it would be alright for me to go home. If it did end up all down my shirt, he may need to deflate the band slightly. I was shown to the waiting room, where I could self-consciously chow down on the chosen Strawberry, while he attended to one of his other flock. As I sat down, I tried to think of a way that I could casually open a pot of yogurt in a waiting room filled with strangers (probably in for a variety of consultations unrelated to weight loss) without them assuming I was a glutton unable to eat in the privacy of my own home. There was no way. I just had to turn the pot slightly so that “low-fat” was visible to all and sundry and read the paper casually as I spooned it in carefully. By the time I had eaten half the pot, I had read quite a lot of the news and fifteen minutes had passed. Was this possible? Was I feeling…full?! On half a pot of yogurt!! I nearly wept. It seemed as if the dragon had been finally slain. The effect was immediate and astounding. A lady sat very sheepishly opposite me. She produced a small pot of yogurt. I gave her a knowing smile and raised my half full pot in a toast to our new adjustment. And there we sat for a few minutes discussing our experience to date, until Mr Byrne came out to give us the all clear to go home. He pointed out that he was going on holiday for a week the next day - so if we had an urgent need for deflation…could we have it in the next few hours. As I sit from the comfortable position of having been “adjusted” and see how pathetic my struggle against hunger was last week, I can perhaps understand a little why the majority of naturally lean people look down on us more fleshy creatures. With the benefit of having a suppressed appetite - the huge emotional strain of over hunger looks ridiculous. I looks like an easy-to-conquer and dare I say lazy affliction. However, having been involved in the fight, I know very differently. Originally posted at: Lap Band Blog

I’m suffering. I’m rubbish. I’m a failure. I can’t do it. I didn’t think I should write about this on a weight loss surgery blog as it doesn’t entirely have relevance. Especially as I signed out almost two months ago saying I wouldn’t be writing any more. Ah, but how the slow winter nights of insomnia have a way of thrusting the urge to splurge upon one’s frame. So, why am I suffering? Why am I rubbish? A failure? And what exactly can’t I do? All will be revealed in the next exciting paragraph. With as much stalling as I can muster – I am slowly coming to the painful realisation that I might well be an alcoholic. Ouch. Did I say that? Well – I may not be an alcoholic, but indeed I am a heavy drinker. All who know me and love or hate me will vouch for that very fact. But when it comes to being a true alcoholic – the definitions seem so muddy, I am not sure. Or am I? I have no withdrawal symptoms when I stop and I am not dependent, but – I continue to drink despite the negative social effects, despite the financial drain on my less than healthy financial state and despite the effects it has on my health. This is where I am stretching the relevance to a weight loss issue. But lately, I am wondering whether it is more closely linked than I initially thought. Over the last few months, my progress into the halls of The Temple of Normal BMI has halted. My eating has lessened and my exercise has increased. My drinking has also picked up a tad. Goddammit, there lies the big bloody bastard bugger-face staring me straight in the eyes. I know it’s there. I can see it plainly and simply. Alcohol is causing me to not lose weight, despite being over-tightened on the band front. Alcohol is causing me to slowly lose friends. Alcohol is causing me to lose money. Alcohol is having great effects on my family life and alcohol is causing me to hate myself. So you can see the attraction I have to it, eh! I am writing this because I am so disappointed in myself and have used this outlet to vent and eventually feel better about the problems at hand. However, I don’t think this problem is going to be sorted by vitriolic venting. What has become clear in this whole gastric band journey is the addiction I had to food – and probably still do. You may well catch me of an evening desperately trying to eat a juicy steak. After each mouthful – running to the lavatory to expel what I have just swallowed as my band is currently just a little too tight. I could easily eat less cumbersome things to ensure ease of passage – but I want the steak. And I will return to the plate and repeat the same procedure perhaps four or five times. Because the band hasn’t cured my need to satisfy my desire for flesh! But it has offered me a way to control it should I so desire. It has helped me realise my addiction more than anything else. A knowledge which I am grateful for; but sometimes a little foolhardy with. I have so far, despite my pitfalls and apparent bulimic state, been relatively good with all other food (I won’t bore you with my chocolate rushes). Booze on the other hand has no control in place. I am at its mercy. In fact, I am at MY mercy. Let’s face it – I decide when to drink – I am aware and I am fully conscious of what it is doing. I was under the grand illusions as I started to lose weight that I would quit drinking. I know the reason I do it and it is sadly very simple. I do it because I am terribly shy. When I have had a drink however, I am quite the opposite. I become bombastic, gregarious and hugely annoying and people, despite their best efforts, can’t fail to notice me. Something in me likes that. The shy retiring giant hates being shy and retiring and craves people to remember him. Even if it means the memories for them are bad and the memories for me are non-existent. I figured it would be the end to my drinking because I wouldn’t be so shy. Losing weight would give me more confidence and make me more outgoing and allow me to stand tall and have conversations with people on an equal standing knowing that they were talking to a person, not a walrus. But, such is life that when a walrus loses weight – it is still a walrus. I am still painfully shy and I still find it difficult to talk to people. Maybe years of fatness have ingrained shyness into my psyche or maybe I am just shy because I am. The gastric band has given me a great opportunity to overcome some of my demons. An opportunity that I sometimes abuse and take for granted – time has a wonderful way of letting one forget their blessings. What it hasn’t done is offer me a cure for all of my other failings. Perhaps writing this will be the first step on another journey of self-discovery and perhaps it will just be another piece of prose that adds to my posthumous biography that will never be written. I decided to write this because I do feel it is of relevance to people considering having the surgery as it has shown me that I was perhaps a little over-eager to consider it the answer to my problems instead of a pretty good guide to help me find my own answers – a guide that is sometimes ignored. So, after that marathon outpouring of in most angst and in summation: I’m suffering - yes I am, but I am admitting I need help, so my suffering on that side of things is perhaps no longer in silence and it may well help my future efforts. I’m rubbish - yes again. But, I know I have a way to crawl out of the trash can. It’s just up to me to do it. I’m a failure - not entirely, because it’s not yet over. Maybe I can turn things around. I can’t do it - Yes I can. Originally posted at: www.lapbandblog.org.uk

I stand and tip my hat to you all. Thank you for your positive encouragement and words of concern. awill - they do indeed help. Thank you. imaluckydog - very much appreciated thank you - I believe! PJB - If I knew what the exact issues were, that would be a way to help out a million others. Not only would I bottle that - I'd sell it too! Thank you. arkansasbandster - a lot of encouragement there. I indeed need to find my internal source of inspiration (as opposed the the external sauce I am currently working with!). A very strong quote there. I'm hoping this has been the first step on the ladder - indeed four little extra steps have been added on top of my first. Thanks again people (here's me with a big fat glass of water in my hand...and a piece of chocolate - baby steps!)

I’m suffering. I’m rubbish. I’m a failure. I can’t do it. I didn’t think I should write about this on a weight loss surgery blog as it doesn’t entirely have relevance. Especially as I signed out almost two months ago saying I wouldn’t be writing any more. Ah, but how the slow winter nights of insomnia have a way of thrusting the urge to splurge upon one’s frame. So, why am I suffering? Why am I rubbish? A failure? And what exactly can’t I do? All will be revealed in the next exciting paragraph. With as much stalling as I can muster – I am slowly coming to the painful realisation that I might well be an alcoholic. Ouch. Did I say that? Well – I may not be an alcoholic, but indeed I am a heavy drinker. All who know me and love or hate me will vouch for that very fact. But when it comes to being a true alcoholic – the definitions seem so muddy, I am not sure. Or am I? I have no withdrawal symptoms when I stop and I am not dependent, but – I continue to drink despite the negative social effects, despite the financial drain on my less than healthy financial state and despite the effects it has on my health. This is where I am stretching the relevance to a weight loss issue. But lately, I am wondering whether it is more closely linked than I initially thought. Over the last few months, my progress into the halls of The Temple of Normal BMI has halted. My eating has lessened and my exercise has increased. My drinking has also picked up a tad. Goddammit, there lies the big bloody bastard bugger-face staring me straight in the eyes. I know it’s there. I can see it plainly and simply. Alcohol is causing me to not lose weight, despite being over-tightened on the band front. Alcohol is causing me to slowly lose friends. Alcohol is causing me to lose money. Alcohol is having great effects on my family life and alcohol is causing me to hate myself. So you can see the attraction I have to it, eh! I am writing this because I am so disappointed in myself and have used this outlet to vent and eventually feel better about the problems at hand. However, I don’t think this problem is going to be sorted by vitriolic venting. What has become clear in this whole gastric band journey is the addiction I had to food – and probably still do. You may well catch me of an evening desperately trying to eat a juicy steak. After each mouthful – running to the lavatory to expel what I have just swallowed as my band is currently just a little too tight. I could easily eat less cumbersome things to ensure ease of passage – but I want the steak. And I will return to the plate and repeat the same procedure perhaps four or five times. Because the band hasn’t cured my need to satisfy my desire for flesh! But it has offered me a way to control it should I so desire. It has helped me realise my addiction more than anything else. A knowledge which I am grateful for; but sometimes a little foolhardy with. I have so far, despite my pitfalls and apparent bulimic state, been relatively good with all other food (I won’t bore you with my chocolate rushes). Booze on the other hand has no control in place. I am at its mercy. In fact, I am at MY mercy. Let’s face it – I decide when to drink – I am aware and I am fully conscious of what it is doing. I was under the grand illusions as I started to lose weight that I would quit drinking. I know the reason I do it and it is sadly very simple. I do it because I am terribly shy. When I have had a drink however, I am quite the opposite. I become bombastic, gregarious and hugely annoying and people, despite their best efforts, can’t fail to notice me. Something in me likes that. The shy retiring giant hates being shy and retiring and craves people to remember him. Even if it means the memories for them are bad and the memories for me are non-existent. I figured it would be the end to my drinking because I wouldn’t be so shy. Losing weight would give me more confidence and make me more outgoing and allow me to stand tall and have conversations with people on an equal standing knowing that they were talking to a person, not a walrus. But, such is life that when a walrus loses weight – it is still a walrus. I am still painfully shy and I still find it difficult to talk to people. Maybe years of fatness have ingrained shyness into my psyche or maybe I am just shy because I am. The gastric band has given me a great opportunity to overcome some of my demons. An opportunity that I sometimes abuse and take for granted – time has a wonderful way of letting one forget their blessings. What it hasn’t done is offer me a cure for all of my other failings. Perhaps writing this will be the first step on another journey of self-discovery and perhaps it will just be another piece of prose that adds to my posthumous biography that will never be written. I decided to write this because I do feel it is of relevance to people considering having the surgery as it has shown me that I was perhaps a little over-eager to consider it the answer to my problems instead of a pretty good guide to help me find my own answers – a guide that is sometimes ignored. So, after that marathon outpouring of in most angst and in summation: I’m suffering - yes I am, but I am admitting I need help, so my suffering on that side of things is perhaps no longer in silence and it may well help my future efforts. I’m rubbish - yes again. But, I know I have a way to crawl out of the trash can. It’s just up to me to do it. I’m a failure - not entirely, because it’s not yet over. Maybe I can turn things around. I can’t do it - Yes I can. Originally posted at: www.lapbandblog.org.uk

Having been in this game for only about 2 months now, I feel somewhat reticent to write on the subject of slimming down - but having dropped over 50lbs in eight weeks, I am perhaps able to see the results more clearly than had I lost weight more slowly. A large drop in a small timescale has left my memories of Billy Bunterdom less hazy that most. For all those sending me cyber-daggers as they read about the initial success, please relax in the knowledge that my primary sprint has turned into a deatlhy crawl and that you have plenty of time to catch up. Remember the tale of The Tortoise & the Hare…? Having discussed much of this in length with another one of my close buddies and actor friends, Mr Christopher Barlow, I figured it would be an interesting topic to scribe aimlessly about. I met Chris about 18 months ago during a production I was staging of The Merchant of Venice and in that time, without any surgical assistance whatsoever, he has managed to shed almost 100lbs. So, I was quietly confident that our shared experience of weight loss was one that many people would be going through also. This article is simply about the things one tends to experience during weight loss that may not have been instantly obvious when starting out on the journey. I also must take this opportunity in the proceedings to advise all ladies and those of a sensitive nature, that during this article, I will be slightly touching upon male genitals (excuse the deliberate and well intended pun). Probably, the biggest issue faced during The Sheddage, has been confidence. For all those yet to embark on the cruise upon SS Not-so-Titanic, you will probably be assuming that I mean - with weight loss comes confidence. Let me stop you there, rewind the tape (or DVD if you are too young to remember tape) and correct that now. What I actually mean is, the speed you lose weight seems to have no bearing on the speed you gain your confidence. None whatsoever. I am very much aware that I look very different having lost the weight that I have done recently and over the past two weeks have been paid slightly more attention by the opposite sex. Not much - but slightly more. I am also able to wear my clothes (purchased from a normal shop!) in a more publically acceptable way. Shirt tucked in instead of Smock-central, a la Demis Roussos. Not to mention that Hawaiian shirts are no longer part of my wardrobe. I now only have two chins instead of four and all in all - I know that I look better. However, I don’t seem to be able to let that knowledge boost my confidence. When anyone catches my eye, I automatically assume they are thinking the worse. My posture is still uncomfortably poor as I try to hide my 6′3” frame away from people’s seemingly accusatory glares. I drink far more than I should of an evening just so I can talk to people. All in all, I would consider myself an emotional wreck! Why wasn’t my 50lbs of flab converted into 50lbs of pride? I know deep down that it should have been. Obviously enough, the years of self-hatred and self-consciousness that is often hidden beneath The Jolly Fat Man image, takes far longer to heal and be rebuilt as one gets used to the new life. Just beware when you start out - it will take longer and quite a lot of effort to fix that part - but it will no doubt be fixed in time. Another thing they don’t tell you is what you should do with your day once eating is out. You will get so very restless because time seems that much longer without a side of cow in your mouth! Boredom it is not. I find the whole idea of eating a lot very opposed to my life now - I don’t miss it and I don’t crave any kind of forbidden mastication. What I do crave, is something to replace those moments of my life when I would automatically reach for a packet of crisps (or chips for those across the water), just to pass the time. Luckily enough, I have hobbies that have come to the rescue. I have been more prolific in my music writing over the past two months than I have ever been. I wrote ten songs yesterday and I do believe my skills at such things are getting better. And all because, I don’t want to snack. So - before you start off - prepare yourself a list of things to do in the quiet, fidgety moments. Our lives are hectic these days - but those quiet times will come and you will need to have something to entertain your grey matter or risk going ever-so-slightly mad. At this juncture, people who do not need to hear about “man bits” can turn off. I write this for the men out there that need that extra little kick before they decide whether weight loss is right for them. I suppose it may well interest their lovers also… Imagine, if you will, a tree. A tree that has stood the test of time in a garden, overlooked perhaps by an all girls school. Each day, the tree would look up to the sun and stretch out its branches to welcome the new dawn, as the sun beat down upon the boughs. Because the gardener loved the tree so much, he used to ensure that its roots were well tended and that the soil below was well stocked. So nervous was he that his pride and joy would topple, that he overlaid much of the lower section of the trunk with turf and soil. This made the tree look very small indeed. But the tree didn’t seem to notice, or even mind. He just enjoyed the occasional attention he sometimes received! However, the girls at the school were mean. They used to look out of their dormitories and laugh. Laugh at the size of this little tree. The tree spent many days listening to the laughter and brushing it off as a fundamental fact of life. “They can laugh” thought the tree, “but that is how God built me, and there is nothing I can do about it”. But the gardener saw the tree slowly wilt over the years with sadness, as his own words of support no longer seemed to be helping. So, one day, the gardener decided that he would help the tree. He woke up bright and early and set about removing much of the soil from around the trunk, exposing far more of the tree than had ever been visible before. When the horrid girls woke up in the morning and leaned out of the window to laugh at the tiny tree, they were shocked to see that it had become so big - they all ran away screaming. This made the tree very happy. It was also fair to point out that the gardener still prays to this very day that that the tree doesn’t fall down after this rather quick soil loss… Enough said? So - there are things to think about and some things that I am sure to find out about as I delve further into this brave new world. I suppose you can guess which particular surprise I am most happy about in a shallow man kind of way - but who knows, there may well be more deep Zen and emotionally deserving surprises just around the corner - at which point I may write a part 2! Originally posted at: Lap Band Blog

I recently received some distressing news that has meant that I will be bringing this blog to a close for the foreseeable future. The news from my doctor was sudden and very sharp. Having been basking in the speedy weight loss glory that the Lap Band enabled me to have has been nothing short of amazing for me. But it was over the last couple of months that I noticed a change in my eating habits and frame reduction. I have been eating less, feeling unwell and not losing any weight at all. This prompted a visit to the doctor. A visit that left me cold. After the array of basic tests that were performed on me – a diagnosis was delivered in perhaps the worst bedside manner that any man could muster. “Well Mr Francis”, the doctor sternly opened with. “I don’t think we need any blood tests, it’s pretty obvious what the problem is”. The words left me curious and somewhat scared. “You need to pay close attention to me here, as I am going to say something that may well initially distress you”. I braced myself for the worst possible scenario. “You are going to…” Time stopped – I knew exactly what he was going to say…and he confirmed my worst fears in just a few words… “You are going to…have to start exercising”. Oh god no. I left the surgery having just been diagnosed with terminal laziness. I reached out for sympathy when I got home – but there was none to be had. I was in this on my own. After the initial shock subsided, I realised that perhaps I had been far too melodramatic for anyone to pay attention to; melodrama that may well have come across in the above prose, who knows? I moved through the stages of grief pretty quickly. Denial came and went in a brief flash – “What does that quack know? I have a gastric band godammit!” No sooner had denial crossed my mind, that the thought of complaining to the Medical Council about his delivery of such a ridiculous prognosis entered my mind. I would demand that he was struck off immediately! The angry stage left just as speedily as it came and was replaced with bargaining. I tried to think of ways I could bribe him to give me magical beans that would speed up my metabolism in a less unhealthy way than amphetamines. I realised there were no such beans. And so, by the time I arrived home, bargaining was replaced by depression. The very thought of changing my sedentary life style to something less stagnant left me in need of a pantry populated with Prozac. Self-pity is a funny thing. It’s heroically tedious. This led to the fifth and final stage, acceptance. I got very bored of being in a black mood over something as trivial as raising my heart rate above sluggish. I turned myself around very quickly with some financial therapy and a new excercise bike. Only forty kilometers and a rather large bucket of sweat later – I am convinced that I may well start feeling excited about this whole thing again. I am very easily bored – and may well find myself in everlasting ennui with my new excercise machine – but, if I do, I am going to do my utmost to replace it with something that will keep this new life that the Lap Band has offered me. I entitled this article Goodbye because I feel I have reached the end of scribing anything useful to the weight-loss community and I would only be serving to fill empty space with nonsensical rambles. As per this one. I may well return for an update if and when I feel there is something of relevance to say in relation to this blog – but until then, I sign off. I do hope you have enjoyed these stories or found them interesting, useful or reminiscent of your own experiences. If not, then I pity the fact that you have read this far! Feel free to make cyber-friends with me on Facebook, Twitter or see my website. Goodbye fair fellow and wannabe fellow banders, I wish you success and pleasant trails on your life ahead! Ben x Originally posted at www.lapbandforum.org.uk

Thanks for the comments people - still here - just not posting blogs until something of interest happens. Time for me to be reading about you guys!

Go for it: Lap Band | Gastric Band Weight Loss Blog Taking a look at your this evening after some hefty karaoke! "She's Like the Wind" is obviously on the cards....

It seems to be a huge balancing trick to me. I was there too. Sounds like you need a tiny, tiny bit more restriction and to re-educate the chewing system. Half a year down the line - I sometime still forget to chew properly. Just when you find your sweet spot - you'll lose enough weight in a few weeks to start all over. Great fun!

I recently received some distressing news that has meant that I will be bringing this blog to a close for the foreseeable future. The news from my doctor was sudden and very sharp. Having been basking in the speedy weight loss glory that the Lap Band enabled me to have has been nothing short of amazing for me. But it was over the last couple of months that I noticed a change in my eating habits and frame reduction. I have been eating less, feeling unwell and not losing any weight at all. This prompted a visit to the doctor. A visit that left me cold. After the array of basic tests that were performed on me – a diagnosis was delivered in perhaps the worst bedside manner that any man could muster. “Well Mr Francis”, the doctor sternly opened with. “I don’t think we need any blood tests, it’s pretty obvious what the problem is”. The words left me curious and somewhat scared. “You need to pay close attention to me here, as I am going to say something that may well initially distress you”. I braced myself for the worst possible scenario. “You are going to…” Time stopped – I knew exactly what he was going to say…and he confirmed my worst fears in just a few words… “You are going to…have to start exercising”. Oh god no. I left the surgery having just been diagnosed with terminal laziness. I reached out for sympathy when I got home – but there was none to be had. I was in this on my own. After the initial shock subsided, I realised that perhaps I had been far too melodramatic for anyone to pay attention to; melodrama that may well have come across in the above prose, who knows? I moved through the stages of grief pretty quickly. Denial came and went in a brief flash – “What does that quack know? I have a gastric band godammit!” No sooner had denial crossed my mind, that the thought of complaining to the Medical Council about his delivery of such a ridiculous prognosis entered my mind. I would demand that he was struck off immediately! The angry stage left just as speedily as it came and was replaced with bargaining. I tried to think of ways I could bribe him to give me magical beans that would speed up my metabolism in a less unhealthy way than amphetamines. I realised there were no such beans. And so, by the time I arrived home, bargaining was replaced by depression. The very thought of changing my sedentary life style to something less stagnant left me in need of a pantry populated with Prozac. Self-pity is a funny thing. It’s heroically tedious. This led to the fifth and final stage, acceptance. I got very bored of being in a black mood over something as trivial as raising my heart rate above sluggish. I turned myself around very quickly with some financial therapy and a new excercise bike. Only forty kilometers and a rather large bucket of sweat later – I am convinced that I may well start feeling excited about this whole thing again. I am very easily bored – and may well find myself in everlasting ennui with my new excercise machine – but, if I do, I am going to do my utmost to replace it with something that will keep this new life that the Lap Band has offered me. I entitled this article Goodbye because I feel I have reached the end of scribing anything useful to the weight-loss community and I would only be serving to fill empty space with nonsensical rambles. As per this one. I may well return for an update if and when I feel there is something of relevance to say in relation to this blog – but until then, I sign off. I do hope you have enjoyed these stories or found them interesting, useful or reminiscent of your own experiences. If not, then I pity the fact that you have read this far! Feel free to make cyber-friends with me on Facebook, Twitter or see my website. Goodbye fair fellow and wannabe fellow banders, I wish you success and pleasant trails on your life ahead! Ben x Originally posted at www.lapbandforum.org.uk

Today’s exciting instalment does not revolve around me. In fact, it’s not exciting either. And indeed, I wrote it yesterday. So it’s not actually today’s…let’s move on. Of late, I have had several people contact me from the gastric band communes across the globe commenting about our shared experiences. One good thing about this procedure is that it is encourages people to seek out fellow bandibulars to discuss what we are going through or are likely to go through and in doing so, encourages virtual friendships – which is a decent first step to real-life friendships I suppose. This urge to find like minded bandicles seems to have its roots firmly entrenched in the shame that a lot of people still seem to have with the operation. The fact that I know there are an awful lot of people out there even in my own home town that have had it done but are not willing to discuss it. This article will hopefully act as commentary rather than a soap box and is written from the perspective of someone who has gone through this in public view – with friends, family and even the unfortunates who really have no interest whatsoever, but find themselves under the hypnotic cast of my conversation on the subject (and by that I mean my incessant drunken ramblings that many people have been subject to). When I set about researching the surgery – I too was part of the secret sect – those that have taken an oath of silence concerning their desires to seek out help on the road to fatlightenment. I used to read about people’s experiences on the Internet discussion boards and delete all history and temporary browsing files as if I had been partaking in pornographic fun times. What if somebody found out that I was looking at Lap Band surgery – oh the shame! It was only when I had decided to definitely go ahead and undergo the procedure that I looked at the experiences of the like of Fern Britten and see the mistakes made previously by others before me. For the non-UK contingent out there – Fern Britten is a TV personality over here that was banded and decided it was a good idea (either by her own volition or by her press team’s insistence) to not admit to having it done. In fact, she even went so far as to release an exercise video pushing the fact that she lost all her weight on her own. This led to a big public outcry when they found out she had had surgery. I believe it also did a lot of damage to the perception of gastric bands in the UK for a while after also. It became a bit of a shameful stigma and taboo. Now, I understand the urge to keep it quiet. It struck me in the first phases of my Passage to Thindia that I had failed on my quest by resorting to medical help. I had not been strong enough to do it on my own and my personality was so weak that I just didn’t have the ability to succeed in losing my excess weight. I suppose there is a small part of me that still feels that. But, it is a very small part indeed. I would have loved to have had the motivation, the will power and the control without going through the operation. Anyone would. But, the simple fact of the matter is – I didn’t. I read an interview with Richard Branson once, where he proclaimed that a turning point in his life was when he started to admit that he had weaknesses. When he realised he was unable to do things that others could. In doing so, he brought on board people with skills that he lacked to fill the gaps. And this act of self-awareness allowed him to succeed. Along with the discovery of Mike Oldfield. This is the way I look at the band. I have hired a thick-necked doorman that stands at the entrance to the nightclub that is my stomach and send the trouble makers on their way. Allowing me to get on and run the bar. Pouring drinks – doing what I do well. I have found that my openness about the surgery has caused an awful lot of interest from almost everyone I talk to. Morbid curiosity about the practicalities mainly – but nonetheless, a very healthy interest. Most have also congratulated me on taking the steps to do something about my weight. It may well not be their cup of tea, but I am lucky to surround myself with nice people who seem to believe that I did the right thing. People who would no doubt by upset if I passed away too soon because of my stegosaurus eating habits of a bygone era. My over-sensitive and paranoid nature has made me obviously look at some people and silently accuse them of judging me as a failure – but I imagine that would have been there had I lost the weight naturally and unaided. That’s just one of my personality traits and failings. When people write to me and ask me to not announce on their Facebook pages or the like that they have had surgery upsets me for a couple of reasons. Firstly – of course I wouldn’t do that. That’s not the way it works with me. I will proudly announce my own inner-most thoughts and dark secrets – but leave the revealing of yours, to you. The other reason I am dismayed (over-exaggeration is a lovely thing) is that I believe you are painting yourself into a corner. The surgery can cause such a dramatic change that the deep dark secret will eventually surface. Through suspicion or evidence – people will start to whisper and you will probably find yourself in an awkward position of having to come out of the banded closet and admit your procedure under scrutiny and shame. Fuelling the undeserved frowns that the band already seems to engender. I guarantee that I know of at least two local ladies who have had surgery but won’t admit it – making them look bad. My recommendation to anyone undertaking this procedure is be open and honest with everyone. There is nothing to be ashamed of. Where you fall in one area, you rise in another. So what if you weren’t built the same way as the lucky slender – your life experience in being a rotund has no doubt given you the knocks and pain that has given you something that they will never have. And when you eventually become the healthy figure you yearn for – you will have the looks as well as the “great personality” that us tubbies have always been accused of having…something that natural beauties always seem to lack in abundance. Originally posted at: Lap Band Blog

Thanks for the feedback ladies. BG - Do you really think there will be negativity? If so - best off brushing away those people who frown on you surely? Shed the pounds as well as the bigots! We're all in this together - let's Band together and fight the prejudice! Anyhow - most people on this board who are hiding teh fact from their friends have their pictures on the profiles - so I guess there is an awful lot of reliance on the fact that the people who would beat us up about it are too stupid to use the Internet...in which case they are too stupid to have any valuable opinions! Look at me - all gearing up for my entry into the trenches of La Resistance! Allons-y mes amis! Q09 - hope you are feeling less blue today - this time next year you will be...um...what's a happy colour...pink? Green? Puce? Probably teracotta!

Today’s exciting instalment does not revolve around me. In fact, it’s not exciting either. And indeed, I wrote it yesterday. So it’s not actually today’s…let’s move on. Of late, I have had several people contact me from the gastric band communes across the globe commenting about our shared experiences. One good thing about this procedure is that it is encourages people to seek out fellow bandibulars to discuss what we are going through or are likely to go through and in doing so, encourages virtual friendships – which is a decent first step to real-life friendships I suppose. This urge to find like minded bandicles seems to have its roots firmly entrenched in the shame that a lot of people still seem to have with the operation. The fact that I know there are an awful lot of people out there even in my own home town that have had it done but are not willing to discuss it. This article will hopefully act as commentary rather than a soap box and is written from the perspective of someone who has gone through this in public view – with friends, family and even the unfortunates who really have no interest whatsoever, but find themselves under the hypnotic cast of my conversation on the subject (and by that I mean my incessant drunken ramblings that many people have been subject to). When I set about researching the surgery – I too was part of the secret sect – those that have taken an oath of silence concerning their desires to seek out help on the road to fatlightenment. I used to read about people’s experiences on the Internet discussion boards and delete all history and temporary browsing files as if I had been partaking in pornographic fun times. What if somebody found out that I was looking at Lap Band surgery – oh the shame! It was only when I had decided to definitely go ahead and undergo the procedure that I looked at the experiences of the like of Fern Britten and see the mistakes made previously by others before me. For the non-UK contingent out there – Fern Britten is a TV personality over here that was banded and decided it was a good idea (either by her own volition or by her press team’s insistence) to not admit to having it done. In fact, she even went so far as to release an exercise video pushing the fact that she lost all her weight on her own. This led to a big public outcry when they found out she had had surgery. I believe it also did a lot of damage to the perception of gastric bands in the UK for a while after also. It became a bit of a shameful stigma and taboo. Now, I understand the urge to keep it quiet. It struck me in the first phases of my Passage to Thindia that I had failed on my quest by resorting to medical help. I had not been strong enough to do it on my own and my personality was so weak that I just didn’t have the ability to succeed in losing my excess weight. I suppose there is a small part of me that still feels that. But, it is a very small part indeed. I would have loved to have had the motivation, the will power and the control without going through the operation. Anyone would. But, the simple fact of the matter is – I didn’t. I read an interview with Richard Branson once, where he proclaimed that a turning point in his life was when he started to admit that he had weaknesses. When he realised he was unable to do things that others could. In doing so, he brought on board people with skills that he lacked to fill the gaps. And this act of self-awareness allowed him to succeed. Along with the discovery of Mike Oldfield. This is the way I look at the band. I have hired a thick-necked doorman that stands at the entrance to the nightclub that is my stomach and send the trouble makers on their way. Allowing me to get on and run the bar. Pouring drinks – doing what I do well. I have found that my openness about the surgery has caused an awful lot of interest from almost everyone I talk to. Morbid curiosity about the practicalities mainly – but nonetheless, a very healthy interest. Most have also congratulated me on taking the steps to do something about my weight. It may well not be their cup of tea, but I am lucky to surround myself with nice people who seem to believe that I did the right thing. People who would no doubt by upset if I passed away too soon because of my stegosaurus eating habits of a bygone era. My over-sensitive and paranoid nature has made me obviously look at some people and silently accuse them of judging me as a failure – but I imagine that would have been there had I lost the weight naturally and unaided. That’s just one of my personality traits and failings. When people write to me and ask me to not announce on their Facebook pages or the like that they have had surgery upsets me for a couple of reasons. Firstly – of course I wouldn’t do that. That’s not the way it works with me. I will proudly announce my own inner-most thoughts and dark secrets – but leave the revealing of yours, to you. The other reason I am dismayed (over-exaggeration is a lovely thing) is that I believe you are painting yourself into a corner. The surgery can cause such a dramatic change that the deep dark secret will eventually surface. Through suspicion or evidence – people will start to whisper and you will probably find yourself in an awkward position of having to come out of the banded closet and admit your procedure under scrutiny and shame. Fuelling the undeserved frowns that the band already seems to engender. I guarantee that I know of at least two local ladies who have had surgery but won’t admit it – making them look bad. My recommendation to anyone undertaking this procedure is be open and honest with everyone. There is nothing to be ashamed of. Where you fall in one area, you rise in another. So what if you weren’t built the same way as the lucky slender – your life experience in being a rotund has no doubt given you the knocks and pain that has given you something that they will never have. And when you eventually become the healthy figure you yearn for – you will have the looks as well as the “great personality” that us tubbies have always been accused of having…something that natural beauties always seem to lack in abundance. Originally posted at: Lap Band Blog

Well, didn’t I get a shock yesterday! My first venture into on-screen acting arrived in a neatly packaged DVD. Regular readers may well remember that I discussed the filming of this back in a post in February, “Killing With Kindness“. Seeing myself on screen five stone heavier was a bit of an eye-opener. It’s not as if I was blind when I was that heavy – but when you are actually behind all that weight, there is a certain amount of self-preservation that must go on in one’s mind when you look at yourself in the mirror. Something must trigger to make the brain think it’s really not all that bad which protects you from giving in and throwing yourself out of the window and causing much death and destruction below. But looking at it from this side of the chubby fence…it was that bad indeed. Here is a comparison picture… Now, I realise that there are heavier people than I was back then and indeed, lighter people than I am now – but by the Holy Staff of St Cheeseburger – why couldn’t I see what I was doing to myself?! I can only imagine that I didn’t want to see it. Or was it that the road to change was so bloody hard? Was it blindness by fear? Was it because I could put a brave face on it and convince myself that it really didn’t matter…and let’s face it – apart from the verbal digs and health risks – it didn’t. I was happy in a relationship, with three wonderful children and always looking at the bright side of life – I was always happy and laughing. And that is probably why it didn’t matter. Life was good. I just didn’t realise how much better it could be. I’m out of the relationship now and, thankfully, on great terms with my ex(es) and seeing my children whenever I want. I have a much better prognosis for living past 50 (touch wood) and I feel bloody great. It is very worrying to see pictures and videos of me pre-band and has made me thankful once again for the advances in medicine that have allowed me to get to where I am today (and for the marvels of interest-free credit from the private hospital!). Having just returned from a trip to my most favourite place in the world, Paris, I need to get myself back in the mindset of eating properly again. I took five days off from watching what I eat and spent far too many times in the cafe toilets throwing up because I was eating incredibly delicious and fattening food much too quickly for my band restriction. On top of that, the toilets were more often than not the disgusting holes in the floor that Europeans seem far too happy with for civilised people. Bad experiences all round! So, here I am after having watched my former fat self in a short film and reinvigorated on to my weight loss programme once again. Hovering around 70lbs down and ten inches off my waist, I am very much looking forward to losing the rest of the “muffin top” that sits around my belt over the next few months and will do so with a renewed avoid-the-horrible-French-holes-in-the-floor vigour! For those that are interested in seeing me portray a very camp speed dating host in the film…please feel free to visit my new channel on YouTube at YouTube - BenedictFrancis's Channel where you can see a couple of videos of me at my heaviest and most mincing! Here’s to hindsight…what a wonderful concept! Originally posted at: Lap Band Blog

As ever ladies, thanks for the comments! questions09 - here's raising a glass to your surgery in the Autumn (you guys say The Fall right?) and good to see your doing so well BG - don't worry about small gain you had - weigh your self every month - so much more rewarding not watching the short term hiccups!

Thanks Xavier - having played a few hefty Shakespearean roles - I wouldn't quite describe that charatcer as a "leading man" though...more of a leading lady!