bfrancis

It’s Sod’s Law that the one person that I expected to support me in this procedure has been the only one person that hasn’t. Damn that Sod and his bloody law making! Without wanting to sound like an angry young (ahem!) man and post my second negative post, I thought I would try and do it in a defensive way rather than go in with guns a-blazing. The gloves were originally taken off as I pressed the “new post” button - but they have duly been put back on. In fact, I have retired to the changing room, away from the ring to write a considered response with the help of a bit of Rufus Wainwright serenading me and a hot cup of jasmine tea. Actually, forget that - I am going to have to snipe a bit, so decaf coffee it is. Firstly, I won’t bother going through my reasons for undertaking this surgery. If you want those, you can easily read through the swathes of words I have on the subject. Secondly, I will start my defence a bit absurdly. I will start with a list of mistakes that I made leading up to the surgery and a few of my most outstanding weaknesses. This way, I can be judged in full for the actions I took. Thirdly, I intend to iterate why this blog was set up and why I continue to push people here instead of talking about it face to face. Fourthly, I will try and defend the accusations that have flown recently and put them in their place once and for all. I won’t be going over it again - so listen carefully! Lastly, I intend to lose some weight with dignity and pride and hopefully a bit of happiness - so if you don’t like it - back off and let me get on. Please. So, as detailed above, I launch my defence with point 1. Go read. The biggest mistake I made before undertaking this step was not to make the decision with my partner. Instead I chose to research and make the decision entirely alone. I chose to not discuss my fears with anyone and let the decision be made before I told a soul. When I did tell, it was already well decided in my mind that I would do it. In hindsight, I would probably have realised that this was to be a shared experience and needed buy-in and approval from everyone affected. I do admit that the way I did it was perhaps selfish. I won’t defend it, as I believe now it should have been done another way. My second mistake - but one that I am not so sure was entirely wrong, was not to inform my friends until it was all done. This was again because the procedure was so huge to me that I wanted to be in and out of it before anyone could grill me and make my life too stressful before I undertook the seemingly controversial operation. I think that they now feel slightly distant from me as I was unable to share this with them - which perhaps I should have done. My excuse for that is hopefully well understood and forgivable. My weaknesses can be pretty much listed out verbatim. I am well aware of them and pretty much everyone who knows me is also very well read on the subject. Again, I won’t excuse the failings - just lay them out on the table. I am absolutely CRAP with money. I don’t quite understand its value and I can’t hold onto it as long as I should. It has gotten me into some dire situations and I am aware that it has caused some distress to those around me. Never ever lend me money. Ever! I am a frightful coward. Everything that has any kind of danger attached fills me with dread. I hate roller coasters, flying and high speed. I cower at spiders and tremble at heights. If you are looking for courage in a burly man - look elsewhere. I am pretty stubborn. Once I have decided upon something - that will always be the right thing in my mind. It takes a lot of persuasion to talk me around to another point of view. Some people may well recognise this as arrogance! I was (no more) a big drinker. I binged and usually got very “bombastic” in the process. Imposing one’s personality on friends and stranger can be quite daunting for them. Using booze as a crutch to overcome my utter shyness and inability to have a conversation with people was probably not the best therapy. I have many other weaknesses, but are probably irrelevant for this post - so I will stop self-flagellating. [*]This blog was set up for two reasons. I needed an outlet where I could do a bit of cathartic self-therapy. Writing everything down in this way seems to be a brilliant tool for exploring one’s mind and really coming to terms with issues that bother you. I recommend it for anyone undertaking a journey like this that they have concerns about. Even if you don’t publish it - write it down. The honesty you can deliver to a uncaring, uninterested computer screen is immense. The second reason was to enable my friends to read my reasons behind my decsion and see more into the process. It gives them the full picture without taking up my entire life talking about it. If people want to know, they go to my blog. Also, I figured it would help people contemplating the operation in the future see the thought processes I went through stage by stage and help them to come to terms with the options available. I’m not entirely sure my readership is that enormous nor whether people actually take in what they read in between the rambling sentences. But, from the few comments I have received, it is ringing a similar chord with other people who have had the surgery. Time will tell if this helps anyone else. [*]Now, the accusations! This blog is simply self-indulgent crap. Well, it has been an important part in my decision and coming to terms with opting for the surgery. It has also helped others close to me to fully understand what I did. Whereas with talking and conversation - they would only have had the full story. I just wouldn’t have the time to quote the articles in teh blog to all my friends. I can’t really defend the “crap” bit. I didn’t cater for the feelings of my partner when I made the decision on my own Yes I did. I shouldn’t have made the decision on my own, but her feelings were very much considered and put into the equation. The trouble is - I didn’t accurately predict what her feelings would actually be. Hence the discussions should have been made. Half of a defence there. I wasted money on the operation when I could have invested in the family unit and dieted instead like most people. Sorry - but there is no basis to that one. Firstly - here is a fact. Of all diets - only 3-5% are successful in the long term (reference Dr Jessie H. Ahroni Ph.D., A.R.N.P.). A whopping 95 to 97% of people who diet are wasting their time! I have tried dieting and my mental and physical make-up is such that I was one of the 95-97% of people who failed. I tried for 15 years. This was a last resort as you will probably know by now from my self-proclaimed cowardice. Secondly, me paying for a surgery to keep me alive for many more years than previously expected IS an investment into the family unit. Imagine my salary over, let’s say, 20 years. Lastly, the money spent on the operation is approximately how much I overspent on food and alcohol over two years. So, in conclusion - this has not only cost nothing - it has actually put money BACK IN to the family unit (remembering my fiscal weakness - you may wish to check these facts!). Along with that, it is giving me the opportunity to live a bit longer. So, there you have it. Now I intend to get on with my new life, in a slightly different way than I had originally planned - but get on with it I shall. Originally posted at: Lap Band Blog

Thanks for your feedback back chapesses! voiceomt2002 - thanks. Just to clarify though - my partner was a she not a he...unless she had an operation she didn't tell anyone about either! Band_Groupie - as ever, a well qualified and indepth post! Thanks for your thoughts - I'm all up for long posts...um actually, based on what I just said to voiceomt2002, I take that back... Thank you again!

It’s Sod’s Law that the one person that I expected to support me in this procedure has been the only one person that hasn’t. Damn that Sod and his bloody law making! Without wanting to sound like an angry young (ahem!) man and post my second negative post, I thought I would try and do it in a defensive way rather than go in with guns a-blazing. The gloves were originally taken off as I pressed the “new post” button - but they have duly been put back on. In fact, I have retired to the changing room, away from the ring to write a considered response with the help of a bit of Rufus Wainwright serenading me and a hot cup of jasmine tea. Actually, forget that - I am going to have to snipe a bit, so decaf coffee it is. Firstly, I won’t bother going through my reasons for undertaking this surgery. If you want those, you can easily read through the swathes of words I have on the subject. Secondly, I will start my defence a bit absurdly. I will start with a list of mistakes that I made leading up to the surgery and a few of my most outstanding weaknesses. This way, I can be judged in full for the actions I took. Thirdly, I intend to iterate why this blog was set up and why I continue to push people here instead of talking about it face to face. Fourthly, I will try and defend the accusations that have flown recently and put them in their place once and for all. I won’t be going over it again - so listen carefully! Lastly, I intend to lose some weight with dignity and pride and hopefully a bit of happiness - so if you don’t like it - back off and let me get on. Please. So, as detailed above, I launch my defence with point 1. Go read. The biggest mistake I made before undertaking this step was not to make the decision with my partner. Instead I chose to research and make the decision entirely alone. I chose to not discuss my fears with anyone and let the decision be made before I told a soul. When I did tell, it was already well decided in my mind that I would do it. In hindsight, I would probably have realised that this was to be a shared experience and needed buy-in and approval from everyone affected. I do admit that the way I did it was perhaps selfish. I won’t defend it, as I believe now it should have been done another way. My second mistake - but one that I am not so sure was entirely wrong, was not to inform my friends until it was all done. This was again because the procedure was so huge to me that I wanted to be in and out of it before anyone could grill me and make my life too stressful before I undertook the seemingly controversial operation. I think that they now feel slightly distant from me as I was unable to share this with them - which perhaps I should have done. My excuse for that is hopefully well understood and forgivable. My weaknesses can be pretty much listed out verbatim. I am well aware of them and pretty much everyone who knows me is also very well read on the subject. Again, I won’t excuse the failings - just lay them out on the table. I am absolutely CRAP with money. I don’t quite understand its value and I can’t hold onto it as long as I should. It has gotten me into some dire situations and I am aware that it has caused some distress to those around me. Never ever lend me money. Ever! I am a frightful coward. Everything that has any kind of danger attached fills me with dread. I hate roller coasters, flying and high speed. I cower at spiders and tremble at heights. If you are looking for courage in a burly man - look elsewhere. I am pretty stubborn. Once I have decided upon something - that will always be the right thing in my mind. It takes a lot of persuasion to talk me around to another point of view. Some people may well recognise this as arrogance! I was (no more) a big drinker. I binged and usually got very “bombastic” in the process. Imposing one’s personality on friends and stranger can be quite daunting for them. Using booze as a crutch to overcome my utter shyness and inability to have a conversation with people was probably not the best therapy. I have many other weaknesses, but are probably irrelevant for this post - so I will stop self-flagellating. [*]This blog was set up for two reasons. I needed an outlet where I could do a bit of cathartic self-therapy. Writing everything down in this way seems to be a brilliant tool for exploring one’s mind and really coming to terms with issues that bother you. I recommend it for anyone undertaking a journey like this that they have concerns about. Even if you don’t publish it - write it down. The honesty you can deliver to a uncaring, uninterested computer screen is immense. The second reason was to enable my friends to read my reasons behind my decsion and see more into the process. It gives them the full picture without taking up my entire life talking about it. If people want to know, they go to my blog. Also, I figured it would help people contemplating the operation in the future see the thought processes I went through stage by stage and help them to come to terms with the options available. I’m not entirely sure my readership is that enormous nor whether people actually take in what they read in between the rambling sentences. But, from the few comments I have received, it is ringing a similar chord with other people who have had the surgery. Time will tell if this helps anyone else. [*]Now, the accusations! This blog is simply self-indulgent crap. Well, it has been an important part in my decision and coming to terms with opting for the surgery. It has also helped others close to me to fully understand what I did. Whereas with talking and conversation - they would only have had the full story. I just wouldn’t have the time to quote the articles in teh blog to all my friends. I can’t really defend the “crap” bit. I didn’t cater for the feelings of my partner when I made the decision on my own Yes I did. I shouldn’t have made the decision on my own, but her feelings were very much considered and put into the equation. The trouble is - I didn’t accurately predict what her feelings would actually be. Hence the discussions should have been made. Half of a defence there. I wasted money on the operation when I could have invested in the family unit and dieted instead like most people. Sorry - but there is no basis to that one. Firstly - here is a fact. Of all diets - only 3-5% are successful in the long term (reference Dr Jessie H. Ahroni Ph.D., A.R.N.P.). A whopping 95 to 97% of people who diet are wasting their time! I have tried dieting and my mental and physical make-up is such that I was one of the 95-97% of people who failed. I tried for 15 years. This was a last resort as you will probably know by now from my self-proclaimed cowardice. Secondly, me paying for a surgery to keep me alive for many more years than previously expected IS an investment into the family unit. Imagine my salary over, let’s say, 20 years. Lastly, the money spent on the operation is approximately how much I overspent on food and alcohol over two years. So, in conclusion - this has not only cost nothing - it has actually put money BACK IN to the family unit (remembering my fiscal weakness - you may wish to check these facts!). Along with that, it is giving me the opportunity to live a bit longer. So, there you have it. Now I intend to get on with my new life, in a slightly different way than I had originally planned - but get on with it I shall. Originally posted at: Lap Band Blog

Stepping on the scales a few days ago to realise that I had cast aside the title of "morbidly obese" was almost as thrilling at when I first discovered Sicilian lemon pudding. Almost. As I left the bathroom, adorned with my new proud banner of "obese", I was mentally working out when my next heavy-weight title adjustment to "overweight" would be. Perhaps I wasn't savouring my obese label with as much pureed relish as I should have been. What it took to lose my "morbid" moniker! The one thing about slowly shedding a life-long disability is the dawning realisation that you may well not be fully ready to throw away the crutches and run as soon as you would like. Having hidden behind morbidly obese for so long and realising that in a few months I would be just overweight started to make me feel a little edgy. What excuses would I be able to conjure up when I didn't fancy going for a walk? What reason could I give for feeling depressed some days? What lies could I make up for the reasons I never made it as a singer? I remember being filmed for a documentary for the Discovery Health channel and giving the sob-story that my songs would never make it because no one wanted to see a man of my weight on stage. I didn't conform to the marketable beauty that all rock and pop stars must have. Soon, my only excuse will be that my music just isn't that good. It's a scary prospect that I may well have to admit that to myself one day and not blame the belly. Such massive life adjustments, whether for the best or not, are bound to be scary. It's new territory that I am totally unused to. I can't remember ever being anything but fat and, this time next year, I will be in the nerve-wracking zone of a normal, healthy weight. I just have no idea what lies ahead because of this change. Also, moving on from a long-term relationship into a small flat on the other side of town brings an even greater anxiety of uncharted seas ahead. In the old days (ie last month), I would take a short overview of the situation and settle down with a big fat steak - and forget it all. Bury my head in the sand of that huge unending desert that is emotional gorging. Now those wastelands are not part of my life - I have to find a new way of dealing with my upsets and fears. Maybe, just maybe, I will have to...gulp...deal with it! All this change and personal turmoil is certainly going to be one interesting ride and I think the best and only thing to do is sit back, watch it all happen and enjoy the ride. Originally posted at: Lap Band Blog

Stepping on the scales a few days ago to realise that I had cast aside the title of "morbidly obese" was almost as thrilling at when I first discovered Sicilian lemon pudding. Almost. As I left the bathroom, adorned with my new proud banner of "obese", I was mentally working out when my next heavy-weight title adjustment to "overweight" would be. Perhaps I wasn't savouring my obese label with as much pureed relish as I should have been. What it took to lose my "morbid" moniker! The one thing about slowly shedding a life-long disability is the dawning realisation that you may well not be fully ready to throw away the crutches and run as soon as you would like. Having hidden behind morbidly obese for so long and realising that in a few months I would be just overweight started to make me feel a little edgy. What excuses would I be able to conjure up when I didn't fancy going for a walk? What reason could I give for feeling depressed some days? What lies could I make up for the reasons I never made it as a singer? I remember being filmed for a documentary for the Discovery Health channel and giving the sob-story that my songs would never make it because no one wanted to see a man of my weight on stage. I didn't conform to the marketable beauty that all rock and pop stars must have. Soon, my only excuse will be that my music just isn't that good. It's a scary prospect that I may well have to admit that to myself one day and not blame the belly. Such massive life adjustments, whether for the best or not, are bound to be scary. It's new territory that I am totally unused to. I can't remember ever being anything but fat and, this time next year, I will be in the nerve-wracking zone of a normal, healthy weight. I just have no idea what lies ahead because of this change. Also, moving on from a long-term relationship into a small flat on the other side of town brings an even greater anxiety of uncharted seas ahead. In the old days (ie last month), I would take a short overview of the situation and settle down with a big fat steak - and forget it all. Bury my head in the sand of that huge unending desert that is emotional gorging. Now those wastelands are not part of my life - I have to find a new way of dealing with my upsets and fears. Maybe, just maybe, I will have to...gulp...deal with it! All this change and personal turmoil is certainly going to be one interesting ride and I think the best and only thing to do is sit back, watch it all happen and enjoy the ride. Originally posted at: Lap Band Blog

I was a caffeine addict last year - I kicked it about two months ago. In prep for the surgery I was taking at least 16 strong espressos every day along with 8 Solpadeine (medication with huge caffeine amounts along with the addictive codeine) It was the hardest but second best thing I had cut out in my life (guess the first!) It was probably three weeks of utter hell; headaches, nausea and desperation. But boy - when you're through - what a difference! The headaches that caffeiene cured me of turned out to be the cause. The reflux and lack of sleep (obviously) were a thing of the past. And now - I can't bear the thought off coffee (bit of a bitch when I was given Solpadeine after the op - but I managed to stick to plain old paracetomol). However - I am now addicted to the replacement I made peppermint tea - I await the fresh pee consequences...

Just like the words of a blues song: I had me a woman I cute as can be I came home from havin' Weight loss surgery She done packed up her bags And taken my son I got me no money Damn, what have I done? At least she didn't take the dog. Not that I have one. But if I did, I guess that wouldn't be here either. As I read through the many books on having weight loss surgery - I couldn't help but hover over the chapters on the way this kind of thing could have an impact on relationships. In so much as it can strengthen a strong bond - but destroy a weak one. I guess I saw it coming. I kept my thoughts from her for several months before I made my decision to have the surgery - after which I told her. A word of warning for those that are thinking about this - it might be worth making the decision WITH your partner rather than on your own. Perhaps I was selfish in making one of my biggest life decisions on my own. Or perhaps it was teh way it was meant to be. Either way - I have come clean with everyone I know - let's await the flack!

Once again - thank you all for being so kind and supportive. You're all far too lovely - along with the fantastic resource of information you get from this forum, its such a great thing to have support where one wouldn't usually receive from local communities (mainly because the people around this place would never admit to the procedure, so I can't seek them out and demand a hug!) Happy_Girl: <blush - aw stop it!> Thanks for your comments. Unfortunately us Brits don't care for the accent as much as other nationalities seem to. I need to find me an American! heidib: Uh oh - do you think men will start to notice me a bit more as well...? WannaBSkinnyB: Thanks - and I am a songwriter (although some people like to say I'm not!) - shameless promotion...Benedict Francis: Music Melody2006: Hug coming straight back at ya! JABBA THE MUTT: Brilliant quote! Glad to hear the "quality time" is picking up...rub it in why don't you! (um...wrong turn of phrase there I think...) aubrie: That's exactly what I am positive about. Although, Rafi (my boy) maybe a few miles further away, I know that I will be able to play football with him this time next year. Being a full time dad and not being able to participate in those kind of things is probably much worse than an active part-timer. Thanks everyone.

Thanks for your comments fellow (and soon to be fellow) bandies! Always good to know someone is reading this veral diarreah!

My blackness has duly had its burial procession. Hidden at the back of an unvisited and unkept cemetary. I just couldn't go out without giving one final "up yours"! Thanks spud.mama!

This is one blog article I started to write before I went into hospital. I decided to postpone it until afterwards, because I didn't want my final cyber-words to be ones of negativity if things did go wrong. The surgery was a success and now I feel able to voice my thoughts on the subject that has been very much a part of my life since I can remember. Belly bashers! Growing up in a relatively privileged way, my early years of verbal abuse were pretty much limited to the playground, as most are. My nickname at school for a while was Ben the Bubble. Pretty lame and innocuous really, but when delivered with spite by all and sundry at an all boys school, it caused quite a large amount of distress. To be honest, my self-awareness was so low in those days, they could have called me "bathroom tile" and it would have hurt as much. It was simply the hateful delivery that always got me. Going home from school to be comforted was always the option I chose to get through...despite my size (upwards and outwards) I was quite a sensitive soul, so fighting for my pride was never an option. "Ben the Bubble?" questioned my mother. "Bubbles are lovely, bubbles come from champagne!". It wasn't until years later, when becoming a lover of all things alcoholic, that I really understood or appreciated that sentiment. As I reached sexual awareness that the comments and constant digs really started to kick in. I know, typical man! But, I imagine the same goes for woman-kind. Adolescence was the time that I really started to care what people thought of me physically and when my emotions where truly being developed; when they were at their most fragile. And, with the way of the world, this is when people's remarks started to get more vicious. Nice timing. As is the case with most people who feel the need to bully others across the world, the people who bothered me were never ones you would consider intelligent. In fact, it is fair to say that the people who abused the hardest were the most stupid. I guess it is a titanic lack of social unawareness and an even greater inferiority complex that urged them on. If they could make me more upset about myself than they were about themselves, that would mean (in the great scheme of things) they were happier. Unfortunately, what bullies lack in brain power, they have in numbers and venom. The easiest thing for me to cope with was the aforementioned intellectual prowess in the delivery of their scorn. I mean, it doesn't take Einstein to come up with "fat bastard" or "tubby c**t". In fact, I haven't ever heard a jibe directed at me that has ever made me deliver a mental score card of over two out of a hundred. There have been some pretty excellent jokes created on the subject in film and television but, in the necessity of a speedy jibe, the aggressors tend to opt for the more direct and easy to remember ones. Generally those under three syllables. I'm not entirely sure why overweight people are picked on so much. Perhaps we make bigger targets? Perhaps we are seen to be too lazy to chase after someone who upsets us? Certainly too greedy to put down our chicken wings to throw a punch. I guess it is the blot we cause on the wonderful society we live in. All fat people, by their very nature, are obviously so carefree about their bodies that they couldn't possibly wash and therefore smell horribly of sweat and even worse. Of course - this is utter nonsense. The vast majority of the body odour I have ever encountered has emanated from "normal" sized people, who are so worried about what other people smell like, that they forget themselves. It seems that, in the real world, us lardites are fully aware that extra skin needs more attention and we cater for such - sometimes I even admit over compensating with a few more spoonfuls of cologne than most humans can stand. If not the smell - then it has to be grotesque way we ruin the vistas of an otherwise beautiful world. Stand me at a bar full of svelte supermodels and muscle men and the whole scene is ruined for everyone. People get up from their chairs and leave their favourite drinking hole throwing up because the sea of beauty has been tarnished with the sludge of a sphincterless whale. Shame on me. Oh no - wait, it can't be that. I seem to remember most bars I have frequented have been littered with some of the most repugnant abusive assholes, throwing amazingly quite and witty jibes about my size at me - I still stand astounded and amazed at the ingenuity of "blubbery twat". Simply put - these narrow minded Neanderthal people have such a poor view of themselves that they pick on people who the believe pose no threat to them and will roll with the punches like all us chubby funsters (to quote Ricky Gervais - a surprisingly fattist fatty). I won't say it's not my fault that I'm morbidly obese (actually - today I stepped out into the simply obese category - but as it would currently take a small lollipop to tip me over, I will stay on the bigger side for the purposes of this rant). I also won't also pretend that my life would have been totally amazing without the name calling and aggressive comments that have been hurled at me - no, that would be all too much of a lie. However, what I will say is that at the point that I realised how bad this all was for me, I was already there. My way to normal was blocked by the ties of this most frustrating condition. So very blocked, that I found it an physical and mental impossibility to change my ways permanently. I did try and I tried very hard. But I failed...and got heavier. So there I was - fat and not very proud. My will power alone just wasn't up to the job. Even if it meant that I had to spend my days living with the barrage of arrows that were thrown my way to make other more figure-fortunate people comfortable with their own lives. So, I developed quite a hatred for these people. I'm a human being with the normal human feelings most people have - including vengeance. I wish them all the pain that the delivered to me and to be dished back at them a hundred-fold. Being as I am, that is my nature and it's where I stand. Not entirely honourable I know - but this set of gurglings I have decided to throw together is designed to be a therapeutic release for me and it would be pointless of me to pretend to be an other-worldly saint who forgave everyone - for they knew not what they did. I sit and write this as a small punch back at them because I know most of them knew damn well what they did. I do wish to "let it go" with time - and maybe I will as I push myself further away from the firing line. It's probably healthier that way! Most of the people who read this blog are people in my position having decided to undergo weight loss surgery or are making that decision now. Most of the people reading this are simply reliving exactly what they have been through their entire lives. Most of the people that read this will be some of the most unassuming pleasant people around, because of how they have had to grow up under a tirade of readily accepted banter, designed to tear them apart and amuse or satisfy others. Most of the people that read this will also be aware, that they are reading this without the danger of bumping into a anti-fatty browsing through the pages. I mean, would they have really made it past the word "negativity" in the first sentence? Come on - it's five syllables long! Here endeth my negativity...amen. Originally posted at:

Thanks for your support everyone. Toooooo kind! It would be a llittle narrow minded of me to pretend that the surgery was the only reason - I think it was just a catalyst. Never mind, onward and upward (or indeed downward). I have far too many mushy recipes to concoct to be worried about abandonment issues! Thanks again Ben

This is one blog article I started to write before I went into hospital. I decided to postpone it until afterwards, because I didn't want my final cyber-words to be ones of negativity if things did go wrong. The surgery was a success and now I feel able to voice my thoughts on the subject that has been very much a part of my life since I can remember. Belly bashers! Growing up in a relatively privileged way, my early years of verbal abuse were pretty much limited to the playground, as most are. My nickname at school for a while was Ben the Bubble. Pretty lame and innocuous really, but when delivered with spite by all and sundry at an all boys school, it caused quite a large amount of distress. To be honest, my self-awareness was so low in those days, they could have called me "bathroom tile" and it would have hurt as much. It was simply the hateful delivery that always got me. Going home from school to be comforted was always the option I chose to get through...despite my size (upwards and outwards) I was quite a sensitive soul, so fighting for my pride was never an option. "Ben the Bubble?" questioned my mother. "Bubbles are lovely, bubbles come from champagne!". It wasn't until years later, when becoming a lover of all things alcoholic, that I really understood or appreciated that sentiment. As I reached sexual awareness that the comments and constant digs really started to kick in. I know, typical man! But, I imagine the same goes for woman-kind. Adolescence was the time that I really started to care what people thought of me physically and when my emotions where truly being developed; when they were at their most fragile. And, with the way of the world, this is when people's remarks started to get more vicious. Nice timing. As is the case with most people who feel the need to bully others across the world, the people who bothered me were never ones you would consider intelligent. In fact, it is fair to say that the people who abused the hardest were the most stupid. I guess it is a titanic lack of social unawareness and an even greater inferiority complex that urged them on. If they could make me more upset about myself than they were about themselves, that would mean (in the great scheme of things) they were happier. Unfortunately, what bullies lack in brain power, they have in numbers and venom. The easiest thing for me to cope with was the aforementioned intellectual prowess in the delivery of their scorn. I mean, it doesn't take Einstein to come up with "fat bastard" or "tubby c**t". In fact, I haven't ever heard a jibe directed at me that has ever made me deliver a mental score card of over two out of a hundred. There have been some pretty excellent jokes created on the subject in film and television but, in the necessity of a speedy jibe, the aggressors tend to opt for the more direct and easy to remember ones. Generally those under three syllables. I'm not entirely sure why overweight people are picked on so much. Perhaps we make bigger targets? Perhaps we are seen to be too lazy to chase after someone who upsets us? Certainly too greedy to put down our chicken wings to throw a punch. I guess it is the blot we cause on the wonderful society we live in. All fat people, by their very nature, are obviously so carefree about their bodies that they couldn't possibly wash and therefore smell horribly of sweat and even worse. Of course - this is utter nonsense. The vast majority of the body odour I have ever encountered has emanated from "normal" sized people, who are so worried about what other people smell like, that they forget themselves. It seems that, in the real world, us lardites are fully aware that extra skin needs more attention and we cater for such - sometimes I even admit over compensating with a few more spoonfuls of cologne than most humans can stand. If not the smell - then it has to be grotesque way we ruin the vistas of an otherwise beautiful world. Stand me at a bar full of svelte supermodels and muscle men and the whole scene is ruined for everyone. People get up from their chairs and leave their favourite drinking hole throwing up because the sea of beauty has been tarnished with the sludge of a sphincterless whale. Shame on me. Oh no - wait, it can't be that. I seem to remember most bars I have frequented have been littered with some of the most repugnant abusive assholes, throwing amazingly quite and witty jibes about my size at me - I still stand astounded and amazed at the ingenuity of "blubbery twat". Simply put - these narrow minded Neanderthal people have such a poor view of themselves that they pick on people who the believe pose no threat to them and will roll with the punches like all us chubby funsters (to quote Ricky Gervais - a surprisingly fattist fatty). I won't say it's not my fault that I'm morbidly obese (actually - today I stepped out into the simply obese category - but as it would currently take a small lollipop to tip me over, I will stay on the bigger side for the purposes of this rant). I also won't also pretend that my life would have been totally amazing without the name calling and aggressive comments that have been hurled at me - no, that would be all too much of a lie. However, what I will say is that at the point that I realised how bad this all was for me, I was already there. My way to normal was blocked by the ties of this most frustrating condition. So very blocked, that I found it an physical and mental impossibility to change my ways permanently. I did try and I tried very hard. But I failed...and got heavier. So there I was - fat and not very proud. My will power alone just wasn't up to the job. Even if it meant that I had to spend my days living with the barrage of arrows that were thrown my way to make other more figure-fortunate people comfortable with their own lives. So, I developed quite a hatred for these people. I'm a human being with the normal human feelings most people have - including vengeance. I wish them all the pain that the delivered to me and to be dished back at them a hundred-fold. Being as I am, that is my nature and it's where I stand. Not entirely honourable I know - but this set of gurglings I have decided to throw together is designed to be a therapeutic release for me and it would be pointless of me to pretend to be an other-worldly saint who forgave everyone - for they knew not what they did. I sit and write this as a small punch back at them because I know most of them knew damn well what they did. I do wish to "let it go" with time - and maybe I will as I push myself further away from the firing line. It's probably healthier that way! Most of the people who read this blog are people in my position having decided to undergo weight loss surgery or are making that decision now. Most of the people reading this are simply reliving exactly what they have been through their entire lives. Most of the people that read this will be some of the most unassuming pleasant people around, because of how they have had to grow up under a tirade of readily accepted banter, designed to tear them apart and amuse or satisfy others. Most of the people that read this will also be aware, that they are reading this without the danger of bumping into a anti-fatty browsing through the pages. I mean, would they have really made it past the word "negativity" in the first sentence? Come on - it's five syllables long! Here endeth my negativity...amen. Originally posted at:

Following a very strict liver-reduction diet and five days of post-operative mush, I am a quarter of the way to my ideal weight. At this rate, I will be at my target of 14 stone (196 lbs or 89kgs) in about two months. Now, obviously I am not stupid enough to think that this is a) possible or :w00t: entirely healthy. But it makes me determined that this thing is going to work. I have another 24 days left of the puree diet (yes, I am counting the days) and I think I may well burst into tears of joy when I finally get round to chewing on something less akin to toddler poo. That said, the toddler poo to date has been truly satisfying and quite tasty following far too many days on water and herbal tea. I should stipulate that the band I have been fitted with may well not be operating to full effect at the moment, as I have not yet had my first saline fill, which is due in four to five weeks. However, the restriction due to surgery is currently quite effective and doing a damn good job. The interesting thing about this procedure for me has been an awakening of senses. My life before was very much a case of "I don't care what it tastes like - as long as there is plenty of it". Now, unable and uninterested in quantity, I am very much focused on the taste of the small portions that I am eating. My initial fear of losing my love of food may just be unfounded; my passion seems to be adapting to becoming a dedicated follower of "small and exquisite" instead of "bloody huge and bland". The other thing I notice is the fact I am now able to distinctly tell the difference between the physical and the more dangerous emotional hunger. Where as, I was always hungry and needed to eat until I was in very great danger of "doing a Hendrix" one night, I am now able to see how it all works and expose my true desire for satiation. My two girls came over for lunch a couple of days ago and they were given pizza. Normally, I would have joined them in this Mediterraneandecumbent feast - but I was fresh out of hospital and full up from a half a cup of jasmine tea I had been given an hour previously. Yes, half a cup. I looked at the pizza pieces - sumptuous with melted cheese and tender sweet corn. The pepperoni pieces calling to all and sundry like the Harpies enticing Jason. I looked...and my stomach waved away the notion with ablasé gurgle. That is when I saw my emotional hunger show its face for the first time. For 36 years, the yearning desire for emotional satiety through food had been hiding behind my real physical hunger - sometimes disguising itself as such. But never showing its true face. Up it popped out of nowhere. I felt myself thinking - "you deserve that pizza...it will make you a happy man indeed". Unfortunately for said beast of an emotion - without the ability to hide behind the true need for sustenance or pretend to be growls of hunger - it looked pretty pathetic. Standing naked in the spotlight in front of a rather bemused audience. It wasn't too many seconds later that the ridiculous thought embarrassingly shuffled off to weep in the changing rooms. It was a very bizarre experience and one that I am indebted to the little piece of silicone that is now part of my body for having. When you see the demons that have been part of your life for so long exposed in such a manner - you begin to realise how wonderfully deceptive your own brain can be. Seeing such deception played out in the cold light of day also makes it look quite stupid. However, before I write off the power of my subconscious; being millions of years in the making, I guess it won't be long before it adapts and I have to expose its new tricks. Originally posted at: Lap Band Blog

Following a very strict liver-reduction diet and five days of post-operative mush, I am a quarter of the way to my ideal weight. At this rate, I will be at my target of 14 stone (196 lbs or 89kgs) in about two months. Now, obviously I am not stupid enough to think that this is a) possible or :cursing: entirely healthy. But it makes me determined that this thing is going to work. I have another 24 days left of the puree diet (yes, I am counting the days) and I think I may well burst into tears of joy when I finally get round to chewing on something less akin to toddler poo. That said, the toddler poo to date has been truly satisfying and quite tasty following far too many days on water and herbal tea. I should stipulate that the band I have been fitted with may well not be operating to full effect at the moment, as I have not yet had my first saline fill, which is due in four to five weeks. However, the restriction due to surgery is currently quite effective and doing a damn good job. The interesting thing about this procedure for me has been an awakening of senses. My life before was very much a case of "I don't care what it tastes like - as long as there is plenty of it". Now, unable and uninterested in quantity, I am very much focused on the taste of the small portions that I am eating. My initial fear of losing my love of food may just be unfounded; my passion seems to be adapting to becoming a dedicated follower of "small and exquisite" instead of "bloody huge and bland". The other thing I notice is the fact I am now able to distinctly tell the difference between the physical and the more dangerous emotional hunger. Where as, I was always hungry and needed to eat until I was in very great danger of "doing a Hendrix" one night, I am now able to see how it all works and expose my true desire for satiation. My two girls came over for lunch a couple of days ago and they were given pizza. Normally, I would have joined them in this Mediterraneandecumbent feast - but I was fresh out of hospital and full up from a half a cup of jasmine tea I had been given an hour previously. Yes, half a cup. I looked at the pizza pieces - sumptuous with melted cheese and tender sweet corn. The pepperoni pieces calling to all and sundry like the Harpies enticing Jason. I looked...and my stomach waved away the notion with ablasé gurgle. That is when I saw my emotional hunger show its face for the first time. For 36 years, the yearning desire for emotional satiety through food had been hiding behind my real physical hunger - sometimes disguising itself as such. But never showing its true face. Up it popped out of nowhere. I felt myself thinking - "you deserve that pizza...it will make you a happy man indeed". Unfortunately for said beast of an emotion - without the ability to hide behind the true need for sustenance or pretend to be growls of hunger - it looked pretty pathetic. Standing naked in the spotlight in front of a rather bemused audience. It wasn't too many seconds later that the ridiculous thought embarrassingly shuffled off to weep in the changing rooms. It was a very bizarre experience and one that I am indebted to the little piece of silicone that is now part of my body for having. When you see the demons that have been part of your life for so long exposed in such a manner - you begin to realise how wonderfully deceptive your own brain can be. Seeing such deception played out in the cold light of day also makes it look quite stupid. However, before I write off the power of my subconscious; being millions of years in the making, I guess it won't be long before it adapts and I have to expose its new tricks. Originally posted at: Lap Band Blog

Hi The shortness of breath had me too! Couldn't manage a flight of stairs without thinking "oh my, here come a thrombosis". Luckily, I think it's just a combo of the gas and diaphram/abdominal muscles just needing to settle a bit after being poked and prodded. It seems to be getting better with a bit of exercise. The main problems for me have been the gas and severe muscle aches mainly in my back. Can't share your experience on the bottom end though! Here's looking forward to this morning's mush! Ben

Well, the time has come for me to right my final blog as an unaided dieter. I will hopefully be signing back in soon after the operation at the weekend to update the few and far between people that read this that I made it through to the other side (well, not that other side...this side of that side!). I don't have much to talk about myself in this "instalment" - instead, I would like to focus on others. With the operation being so close, I have had to disclose details to a couple of very close friends and some family. Initially, I wasn't planning on telling anybody about this until after the fact; but good sense and a certain amount of social responsibility crept in. Being very fragile beasts, us humans don't take kindly to people doing things that apparently put themselves in danger and knee jerk reactions take hold. The first thing everyone did (and, if you are reading this as a friend or family you will probably do) was stand amazed. Their mouths drop and form the agape and hollow "O" of shock and horror. Then, they furrow their brows in utter confusion. "Did he just say what I thought he said?" "Is he serious?" Well, yes I believe I did...and I do think that I am. The reason they are doing this is primarily out of ignorance. Not in life in general, but to the procedure. They immediately see knives, death, butchers, stapling, cutting, more death, blood, guts, bruises, some more death and blood; but, most of all, they see failure. I often like to consider myself well educated and quite intelligent - just because I am very arrogant like that. But, this time I know for a fact that, on this particular subject, I am far more read up than everyone I have told and will tell in my circle of friends. Even more informed than one of my closest buddies, the heart surgeon. All because I have read everything there is to know about the procedure and the lifestyle changes involved - because it is happening to me. Not one person I tell will have read anything outside of the odd celebrity tabloid splash. No I am not so up myself to imagine I know more than all of them on every subject - in fact, I would say I know a tincy wincy bit less than the heart surgeon in the field of say, heart surgery. But, I'm sure he recoiled at the horrors of voluntary general anaesthesia. Something he himself went through for adicky shoulder not so long ago. Neither am I assuming I am better versed on my friend the multi-marathon runner and ultimate endurance athlete in the topic of fitness. Even with the best will in the world, his knowledge on the subject was so far superior than mine that nearly every word he uttered to me on the subject - and there was a lot - didn't fit into my brain and fell immediately out the other ear. So, when it comes to informed decisions on Lap Band surgery, I am the one who can make that and confidently know I am making the right decision. I would challenge anyone who is preparing to consider me a failure or taking the easy way out to do some research of their own on what I am going to go through and come back to me when they feel they are even half read as I am (and as the thousands of fellowchubsters across the globe become before making this decision) - and try and counter-argue why I have chosen this path and what I am doing it for. I bet your bottom cream cake that they won't attempt to. Immediate reaction is a good thing in terms of survival - but I would suggest that if you are finding out about my experience on this blog and you know me - please don't jump and judge me for taking my last resort on turning the corner on a very tiresome journey to 215lbs. For a simple and effective tutorial on how I came to this choice, follow these steps: Smoke the strongest marijuana you can find until your eyes nearly fall out of your head. Get hold of that feeling of the most uncontrollable munchies and maintain that pose for fifteen years - sitting opposite a bowl of your favourite comfort food. Keep smoking and stay in front of that food. When you succumb, invite people to mock you for another fifteen years for being a failure. Go into a hall of mirrors and look at the biggest, ugliest version of you that you can find and proclaim that you love the way you look in that mirror...do this for fifteen years, whilst praying that someone smashes the mirror. When they do, turn around and realise all mirrors now show the same thing. Go shopping for clothes that do not exist in your size and ensure that the assistants look down their noses for you having the gall to ask if they stock anything appropriate. Do this every weekend. For fifteen years. Strap a fully grown small adult woman to your chest and walk around for fifteen years like that - don't worry, she will just hang there and say nothing. She may prod you in the liver once in a while, give you diabetes and make people laugh and be disgusted at you - but that's not too much for you to take is it. When, after trying to get her off repeatedly for fifteen years and you decide the time has come to ask somebody to help you unstrap her...watch out - I understand that people maybe judging you for being a failure or for taking the easy way out. All I ask is that you close your agaped "O" and think. How bad must my health and self-image be for me to make this choice. Me - the coward of everything; from flying planes to tiny spiders. Me - the hater of hospitals and needles. Imagine how much misery and pain I have suffered quietly for over fifteen years to entrust myself to a surgery that I really wouldn't want to have if I did not have to. Imagine if you were as heavy as me. All I ask is that you empathise, do some research and realise it's not quite what you think and wish me well on my way to being healthy. See you all on this side of the other side. Respect! Originally posted at: Lap Band Blog

Never fear - I am told my pain receptors are far more sensitive than most people I know - on top of that, you won't have the downside of being a chap - see how we handle having a simple cold?! I do believe I have been as pathetic in the past as to use the words "flu", "shooting migraine" and even "bastard tumour" instead of the phrase "a little sniffle". All the best for your surgery next week - it won't be nearly as bad as I liked to moan!

So, here I am a day after surgery. Guess what! I made it through in tact. With a few scars, a little less hair and a lot of learning to do. The day went as planned. I arrived at seven thirty as instructed and was in my gown, support stockings and rather fetching paper knickers by eight. The formalities were taken care of - a couple of signatures were needed on well-guarded legal papers ensuring I wasn't able to claim for damages in the unlikely event of me failing the post operative "aliveness test". One point I would like to raise here is that the "unlikely event" was suddenly presented to me as 1in 1000; a dramatic increase of odds from the original 1 in 1666.6 recurring that I was originally quoted. Was this a method of getting people in then telling the truth so they were less likely to back out? Had the surgeon's month since seeing me last gone so drastically wrong? Either way - I was in my paper panties and nothing was going to get me out of them! Following the sombre surgeon's sojourn, I was introduced to the man who was in the responsible position of anaesthetising me. A very nice chap with the most god-awful dress sense. I get the feeling it was some kind of patient amusement tactic. Making me believe that, I may well look like a transvestite mental asylum patient in a floral backless dress that flashed tight disposable panties, but at least I didn't look as silly as him. Or maybe he was just partaking of his own drugs. I was led down the hall to the room where I was to be sedated and knocked out. This is where my innate coward pushed aside my bravado and made his way to the forefront of the stage. There, laid serenely in front of me, was what I can only describe as a mortuary slab with a green blanket. I looked back at the pendulous double swinging doors as they eased closed and surveyed my opportunities for a semi-clad escape. I was laying down before I could work out whether the doors would open outwards or whether a mad dash through would do the anaesthetist's job for him. The peer pressure of being so dressed on front of three professional people allowed a few more moments of assumed nonchalance to reappear through my devastated pride. I lay down and looked up. As I considered the six nostrils floating above me, an oxygen mask was put over my face. Panic time! I desperately searched through my arsenal of puerile wit and innuendo so I could disarm the team into such fits of hysterics that I could take flight, or at least delay this trip for a few more minutes. My hand was prepared for the drugs and a cannula inserted. I didn't have much time! Eureka! I created a joke. One so funny that they would be in stitches before me! I made my pre-emptive strike... As the first two words of my epic joke were muttered...I found myself rather confused about the fact that I seemed to skip right to the end, miss the middle, miss the punchline and awake sobbing in the recovery room. Here I would like to assure all readers that it's perfectly normal for emotions to run a little high whilst waking up from the anaesthetic. And that I am indeed a little girl. I had read as many stories about the post-surgery pain that I could. All searches that I had made under "no pain after surgery" had assured me that there would be very little to none at all. In fact, I was so annoyed by the discrepancy in these stories and fact that I wiped the tears from my face and questioned the nurse on whether they had actually had to do open surgery instead of the promised laproscopic one. She reassured me that everything had gone smoothly and requested more tissues for me from her colleague. Eventually I pulled myself together and allowed them to wheel me back to my room. All the way wondering if something wasn't quite right. Had my searches for "no pain after surgery" been misleading? As the hours passed by slowly and the pummelling leg massagers pummelled, I really got to grips with the pain I was feeling. After being sneered at by one nurse for not having the experience to understand true pain until I was able to give birth, I queried my tolerance to other feelings outside of my own comfort. Was I just "being a man" and not handling it at all well? I came to the conclusion, yes - I was. The pain, initially described as 9 out if 10 (10 probably feeling one step away from the gates of hell) was re-evaluated in my mind as the anaesthetic wore off, as merely "heavy discomfort". Apparently they pumped my abdominal cavity full if gas so as to spread the organs and make surgery easier. A little like the stories one hears of brattish children using straws to inflate frogs before popping them.And this was what was causing my distress. Imagine being forced to drink a litre of very fizzy Pepsi in ten seconds. That feeling of just before you erupt in a thunderous belch - held in place by someone tying up the opening of your stomach. Or that feeling when you under chew and rush swallow something far to big and indigestible for your narrow pipes - like a tough piece of steak. As it makes its way slowly down to the stomach neck - then momentarily fools you into thinking these are your last moments on earth. Immense and intense agony for people with a pain threshold such as mine - passable and manageable for others. This cause me to get very little sleep last night and I had to sit upright throughout. I also subjected myself to a truly dreadful film with Matt Damon and Thandie Newton. I was unsure at that point with was more painful to sit through. Today is a slightly different story. The abdominal gas is still present but now displays itself in "referred" format. The gasses press hard against my diaphragm and cause my shoulder and back to hurt. The muscles that I am using to move my excessive bulk about that are compensating for my temporarily retire stomach muscles are not used to carrying the majority of my weight and are, in turn, screaming back at me for subjecting them to such torture. I am able to drink clear liquids far more easily today and I can feel myself getting much better with every hour that passes. Touch wood, all will be back to normal fairly shortly. I am due to be on liquids until Monday then pureed food for four weeks. I am quite a fan of baby food - so don't think this is going to be much of a problem. After then I will move on to small portions of solid foods for the rest of my days. No bread, pasta or rice or anything that could block the passage way through my newly partitioned stomach. A regime of watching exactly what I eat will be in order from now on along with a healthy dose of exercise. The edge of my hunger will be abolished from when I have my first band fill in five weeks time, in which case it will give me that helping hand that I have been missing from previous efforts. All in all, I would say that I don't particularly want to go through surgery again (mainly because I am pathetic with pain, but slightly because of the disposable panties) - but I am very much looking forward to being able to explore a new kind of life in the coming years. I do believe I now deserve a co-codamol / Voltarol cocktail! For those of you who are starting to read these posts from outside the Lap Band community and want to know I little more about what I have had done, you can follow this link which sums everything up pretty nicely: Lapband.com - About the LAP-BAND® Adjustable Gastric Banding System If you would like to see the stories of others who have gone through the procedures, their trials and amazing successes, please visit http://www.lapbandtalk.com or http://www.ukgastricband.co.uk Originally posted at: Lap Band Blog

I'm just checking in too from hospital via my already slim and sexy iPhone. Not up to writing my usual novelettas! I feel pretty much the same...it would be so much better if they would have the decency to suck out all that air they pumped me with. Well done Le-Le and good luck for today Lisa-R and for the 3rd inri09, and I hope all went well with you Dixiedawgie. Back to trying to burp...

Thanks for your lovely comments. To quote the over inflated Mr Schwarzenegger...I'll be back!

Well, the time has come for me to right my final blog as an unaided dieter. I will hopefully be signing back in soon after the operation at the weekend to update the few and far between people that read this that I made it through to the other side (well, not that other side...this side of that side!). I don't have much to talk about myself in this "instalment" - instead, I would like to focus on others. With the operation being so close, I have had to disclose details to a couple of very close friends and some family. Initially, I wasn't planning on telling anybody about this until after the fact; but good sense and a certain amount of social responsibility crept in. Being very fragile beasts, us humans don't take kindly to people doing things that apparently put themselves in danger and knee jerk reactions take hold. The first thing everyone did (and, if you are reading this as a friend or family you will probably do) was stand amazed. Their mouths drop and form the agape and hollow "O" of shock and horror. Then, they furrow their brows in utter confusion. "Did he just say what I thought he said?" "Is he serious?" Well, yes I believe I did...and I do think that I am. The reason they are doing this is primarily out of ignorance. Not in life in general, but to the procedure. They immediately see knives, death, butchers, stapling, cutting, more death, blood, guts, bruises, some more death and blood; but, most of all, they see failure. I often like to consider myself well educated and quite intelligent - just because I am very arrogant like that. But, this time I know for a fact that, on this particular subject, I am far more read up than everyone I have told and will tell in my circle of friends. Even more informed than one of my closest buddies, the heart surgeon. All because I have read everything there is to know about the procedure and the lifestyle changes involved - because it is happening to me. Not one person I tell will have read anything outside of the odd celebrity tabloid splash. No I am not so up myself to imagine I know more than all of them on every subject - in fact, I would say I know a tincy wincy bit less than the heart surgeon in the field of say, heart surgery. But, I'm sure he recoiled at the horrors of voluntary general anaesthesia. Something he himself went through for adicky shoulder not so long ago. Neither am I assuming I am better versed on my friend the multi-marathon runner and ultimate endurance athlete in the topic of fitness. Even with the best will in the world, his knowledge on the subject was so far superior than mine that nearly every word he uttered to me on the subject - and there was a lot - didn't fit into my brain and fell immediately out the other ear. So, when it comes to informed decisions on Lap Band surgery, I am the one who can make that and confidently know I am making the right decision. I would challenge anyone who is preparing to consider me a failure or taking the easy way out to do some research of their own on what I am going to go through and come back to me when they feel they are even half read as I am (and as the thousands of fellowchubsters across the globe become before making this decision) - and try and counter-argue why I have chosen this path and what I am doing it for. I bet your bottom cream cake that they won't attempt to. Immediate reaction is a good thing in terms of survival - but I would suggest that if you are finding out about my experience on this blog and you know me - please don't jump and judge me for taking my last resort on turning the corner on a very tiresome journey to 215lbs. For a simple and effective tutorial on how I came to this choice, follow these steps: Smoke the strongest marijuana you can find until your eyes nearly fall out of your head. Get hold of that feeling of the most uncontrollable munchies and maintain that pose for fifteen years - sitting opposite a bowl of your favourite comfort food. Keep smoking and stay in front of that food. When you succumb, invite people to mock you for another fifteen years for being a failure. Go into a hall of mirrors and look at the biggest, ugliest version of you that you can find and proclaim that you love the way you look in that mirror...do this for fifteen years, whilst praying that someone smashes the mirror. When they do, turn around and realise all mirrors now show the same thing. Go shopping for clothes that do not exist in your size and ensure that the assistants look down their noses for you having the gall to ask if they stock anything appropriate. Do this every weekend. For fifteen years. Strap a fully grown small adult woman to your chest and walk around for fifteen years like that - don't worry, she will just hang there and say nothing. She may prod you in the liver once in a while, give you diabetes and make people laugh and be disgusted at you - but that's not too much for you to take is it. When, after trying to get her off repeatedly for fifteen years and you decide the time has come to ask somebody to help you unstrap her...watch out - I understand that people maybe judging you for being a failure or for taking the easy way out. All I ask is that you close your agaped "O" and think. How bad must my health and self-image be for me to make this choice. Me - the coward of everything; from flying planes to tiny spiders. Me - the hater of hospitals and needles. Imagine how much misery and pain I have suffered quietly for over fifteen years to entrust myself to a surgery that I really wouldn't want to have if I did not have to. Imagine if you were as heavy as me. All I ask is that you empathise, do some research and realise it's not quite what you think and wish me well on my way to being healthy. See you all on this side of the other side. Respect! Originally posted at: Lap Band Blog

Hey chaps - not tomorrow, or the next day...but the next day! Yulp!

Whilst laying awake last night, I started to do a bit of self-analysis (keep those gutter minds out of the sewers please!) and examine my psyche a little bit. It's amazing how overworked my mind becomes when I go to bed ("hit the sack" for all you States-side peeps out there). Amongst many other world-changing theories and famine-busting mental dissertations, I stumbled across my new hobby - which I believe will be a good enough one to serve as my emotional crutch when my "eat the food, eat the plate, eat the table" endorphin-driven support has been removed at the end of the month. It reminded me of what I tend to do when I purchase something on the Internet that will take weeks to arrive - I go back the site where I bought it and look at the picture. A few hours later, I go to the manufacturer's site and download a brochure and read that. The next day, I go hunting for pictures of it on Google and browse those. Then I go to other sites that sell it and read more reviews...and this continues ad-infinitum until the damn thing arrives just to help me pass the shopaholic yearning. That's what keeps me excited about what-ever it is that is arriving (most lately, I'm proud to say it was an elliptical trainer - now there's a first for me!). That is exactly what I am doing now. I am preparing for my purchase in two weeks time (Lap Banded on 27th). I am reading reviews and visiting sites like this and taking in the stories of others who have bought it. When I eventually buy it, I will know that UPS will take their time delivering...in fact, I am going to have to do an awful lot of the driving and lugging myself. It will probably take two years to get here. But I will continue to read the amazing stories and see the awe-inspiring before & after pictures that you guys post here - all just to see me through to the day when mine is finally delivered. For me, it's going to be a relatively private affair until I can get my head around the life-changes that will no doubt occur after surgery - but people like you, who post stories along the way - before, during and after - are the people that are starting to replace my lifelong friend & enemy, food. I raise a glass of my pre-op-diet water to the founder of this site and further raise the entire bottle to all of you who contribute. Cheers! (originally posted in the LapBandTalk forum and at: Lap Band Blog)