Bugger off 2008, hurry up 2009!!

It's two weeks today since I was banded, and I'm not following the pattern of other bandits, who zoom down in weight at breakneck speed at the beginning. They told me at the hospital to have slop and mashed foods until the date of my first fill - Wednesday 28th January - but I should have asked why. I assumed it was because I just wouldn't be able to keep anything solid down, but a week after the op (Christmas Day) I was starting to eat normally. I'm no good at blind obedience, I need to be told why. I was totally fed up with dopey snacks from the month before the op (usually sweet, and as a diabetic I've tried to train myself over the years to opt for the savoury choices), and I dipped a toe in the water, so to speak.

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Now a week later, I'm eating bread - all colours and textures - had bacon and egg yesterday, and planning to have a salad tomorrow. Up to now the scales show no gain, but this is clearly not the object of the exercise, who am I kidding. 28th Jan feels like years away.

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Last night another lesson: I had a bowl of home-made turkey-based (!) soup, and a laaarge piece of bread-machine fruit bread. I imagine the problem was combining liquid and solid, and although it wasn't the unpleasant experience of the mince pie, I had chest pain for several hours, and couldn't go to bed till 1 a.m. I kept muttering "serves you right" to myself, but it didn't make me feel any better.

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Why do other bandits lose so much before their first fill?? Surely there's no restriction there? Are they feeling virtuous and full of willpower because they've just paid out a lot of money?

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I need Bandy's help - NOW!!

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New Year Resolution: Try to be patient...

-oOo-

"Cold turkey"

I overdid the insulin again last night, and woke up at 3 needing a glucose tablet. I sat in the bathroom so as not to wake John, waiting for it to take effect, and was hit by a powerful wave of hunger first (unusual for me in the middle of the night) and then a bucket-of-cold-water awareness that I can no longer tell myself, as I've done so many times in the past, that when the ideal weight is reached the foods I love so much will still be there waiting for me, even if only eaten occasionally.

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These are beef dishes such as steak, schnitzel, Latin-American pasties... the specialities of Argentina, where I was born and grew up. I gather that if the band is working properly, beef and pastry can be eaten only in minute quantities, if at all, ever again. Things always seem blackest in the night, I find, and it struck me that this would, for me, be the higest price to pay. Not the smaller portions, the general avoidance of high fat foods such as chips and chocolate, the much loved British jam doughnut (with apologies to any possible US readers - sorry, there's no contest!) - or even the impossibility of eating and drinking at the same time. These I am willing to learn living without.

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The steaks, schnitzels and pasties are favourite foods which spell childhood, security, flavours that take me back to a more innocent time - and it felt as though I was turning my back on (some of the happier aspects of) my past, and for a while I felt inconsolable.

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In the morning it didn't seem so dramatic, and as with most coming-to-terms situations, it'll probably be OK in the end if I just take it a day at a time.

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That was my first 'cold turkey' - I'm sure there will be many more on the way. So this had better be worth it.

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I'm off to give myself a little less insulin. Goodnight.

-oOo-

Er...more liquidised turkey & brussels sprouts anyone?

The nurse at the local surgery looked at my 6-day old wounds yesterday and pronounced that they're healing very well - two of them no longer requiring dressings. She asked if the adjustments in insulin control were proceeding OK & I said yes, but forgot to mention that in fact I've had two hypos in the night - the result of too much insulin. It's unpleasant to feel so weak and have to get out of bed to do anything about it, but also it's infuriating to have to consume unnecessary sweet calories to bring the glucose levels up again at the one time of day when I don't want anything. I'll get it right eventually.

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It's only been a week, but I'm so fed up with soup, yoghurt and sloppy mashed vegetables that today Christmas Day I took a chance. John cooked the whole turkey meal for the first time, and lovely it was too. I had intended (honest!) to liquidise it all, but the very idea gave me nausea, and I was dying to have a meal of meat and two veg, however modest, for the first time since before the crash diet (i.e. mid November), so I had a tiny bit of nearly everything, well chewed, and all swimming in gravy as a precaution, plus a small glass of red wine, and I had no problem at all. I realise this is because there is no restriction, and I won't get away with this after the first fill, but I'm banking on the fact that when that day comes the restriction will help me feel full a lot sooner. At the moment the feeling is more a case of eating till I start to get that chest pain - i.e. there's no forewarning. I think the fact that I was able to have solids is because the swelling in my stomach has subsided a lot. Psychologically it did me good because it was a normal meal, even if I shouldn't be on solids yet. I hate living on snacks.

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I've much enjoyed reading Leeanne's blog

(cuddles-thelongandwindingroad.blogspot.com) on her journey to slimness and identify with a lot of what she says, though it's early days for me and I've yet to apply it. She remarks for example that food addictions and comfort eating don't vanish because of the band & we have to find ways to control them, and that it's OK to give into them occasionally as long as it's only for a strictly pre-determined time, after which the temptations are put out of reach. (However I work in a hospital environment where chocolates are constantly available - and they're bad for me on two counts, not one. It remains to be seen how I cope with them never being out of reach...)

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Merry Christmas and Happy New Year full of dreams coming true for everyone.

-oOo-

It was only a mince pie...

I'm feeling much less sore, though hiccups come every 20 minutes or so, and hurt a bit. I'm managing to sleep almost flat with two pillows and a third wedged beside me. In the first couple of days I had only soup, juice and Optifast, but then made myself a large tupperware full of mashed potato, sweet potato, carrot & broccoli, with semi-skimmed milk, ProActiv, garlic salt and a generous quantity of grated cheddar. With no restriction at all at the moment, I'm surprised that I can still only have a small pudding bowl full of it.

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Then I got over-confident. Over the next couple of days Special K cornflakes came first, then some cherries, a fresh pear... and my downfall tonight. A bowl of soup followed by... a mince pie. I ate it terribly slowly thinking 'this is a doddle' and then after about 5-10 minutes (long enough to almost have forgotten I'd had it), I got the simultaneous pain in the chest, nausea and too much saliva in the mouth. I was really grateful that I had done my homework reading other blogs (Tracey or Nola I think?) and recognised that this was Bandy making her presence felt, and followed the advice I remembered. I wasn't sick but had my head over the basin for a while. An hour later I'm still not that comfortable, but I'm almost pleased that I've learned an early lesson, and confirmed that it does work. So, no more pastry.

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What the sisterhood didn't warn me about however is what to do with a partner who says annoyingly for the next ten minutes "I did tell you not to have that mince pie, but no, you wouldn't listen..." (When I'm dictator, anyone who uses the phrase "I told you so" will be strung up by his thumbs for at least a week.)

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I have meekly abandoned tentative plans not to liquidise Christmas Day fare...

-oOo-

With this band I thee wed.....

I was a hospital virgin till last Wednesday, so it’s been a steep learning curve. Now I feel as if I’d been punched in the stomach. All in a good cause however…
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It was a bizarre beginning, because no sooner had I said goodbye to John and settled in my room at 7.30 a.m., still half asleep from the 5 a.m. rise, than a scruffy individual appeared in Dr Scholl flip-flops, jeans, clipboard and a token stethoscope round his neck, to tell me he was the ‘night doctor’ and needed to ask me a few questions and examine me. I couldn’t understand why I kept having to ask him to repeat his questions till I gathered he was Hungarian. I was too groggy to do more than guess at what he said after that, but the word “obesity” featured prominently in his comments, so I thought what the heck, he’s got the right patient at any rate. When he came to examine me he was clearly surprised and a bit taken aback that I was already wearing the op gown, and examining my stomach turned out to be a bit more than he bargained for. To his embarrassed comments I replied that he could examine what he liked, I really couldn’t care less (and thinking to myself ‘for heaven’s sake, I could be your mother’). Doubtless he was impressed by the dozens of insulin puncture marks.
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At 9.30 I was escorted to the operating theatre on foot in my dressing down by a nurse, and the staff there was so professional and relaxed that I was hardly aware of what was going on. What felt like five minutes later I heard people talking down a long tunnel, and finally felt able to answer the question as to whether I wanted a bit more morphine (yes please).
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Once I was wheeled back to my room at 11.30 or so, I kept expecting them to drag me out of bed to walk around, or put horrible stockings on my legs against blood clots, but they didn’t, just told to wiggle my toes. I dozed all day, unable to wake up sufficiently to even watch telly. My blood glucose levels kept rising, but they let me control it myself, as I had brought my own meter and insulin. I felt no more than a general discomfort in my stomach and didn’t need pain killers – the bit I hated was the after-effect of the anaesthetic (or the morphine?) I was giddy and nauseous every time I was helped to the loo, and got a backache from being in the same position. They had struggled to find veins to put the canulas in my hand and arm, and that was sore. But there were kind, friendly nurses on hand the whole time, and thank goodness I didn’t faint. Thanks to one of Melanie’s early photographs I knew what to expect when I examined my tummy, otherwise the number of wounds would have alarmed me. The surgeon breezed in (isn’t it funny how doctors “breeze” everywhere? Must be part of their training), told me it had gone well, but my liver is still enlarged, and somewhat lumpy (ugh), he thinks that losing plenty of weight should sort that out (I’m guessing this is also diabetes damage). He swept out again twenty seconds later with coat-tails flapping.
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The nurses kept urging me to drink water, and it was an effort. Coughing was a bit painful, hiccupping far worse. But all in all, I found it much easier than I had expected, and at 3 the following morning I finally woke up and tried to watch Cagney & Lacey at very low volume (“What shall we do with this punk, Christine?” “Book him, Mary Beth”)
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Now I’m home, moving around in slow motion. I’ve disobeyed them in one thing: I tried sleeping flat (well, two pillows), and apart from moaning and groaning every time I turned over, particularly on the left, so presumably that’s where the port is, I slept more or less OK, with the help of a pillow placed parallel to my body, so I could rest my arm on it and not put pressure on my tum. I saw stars when Rusty, one of my cats, jumped all over me this morning, and couldn’t hold him for the usual cuddle for very long, to his great indignation, but I’m not complaining. What does make me cross is that the scales are UP, for crying out loud. How bloody dare they.
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I’ve started to own up to people who’ve phoned wondering how I am after my “gynae op” (well, how else do you discourage people from asking questions…) and the reactions have been very positive. They keep calling me “brave” (have you all been called that?) – as I see it courage doesn’t enter into this. I feel I was heading at full speed towards a brick wall, and I chose to climb over it rather than fall in a heap at the bottom. Survival instinct.

-oOo-

Thoughts on hypothermia

I left my job at 6 last night, and as I made my way to the hospital carpark to pick up my car I was aware of what a clear, icy night it was, the roads slippery and everything glistening - it must have been several degrees below zero. Got into my car, turned the key... and there wasn't even a cough from the engine. Totally dead.

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The AA took two hours to get to me, insisting that in the meantime I stay in my car, and after 30 minutes of huddling miserably trying to keep warm, I realised that 1. my blood sugar was going down, (which makes me feel weak); 2. so was the battery on my mobile, which I was forced to keep switched on for when the AA man needed to know which carpark I was in; 3. It dawned on me that I could catch cold >>> and the op would have to be postponed; 4. I couldn't feel my feet or ankles and I was getting quite drowsy. Self-pity is quite a feature when you're physically very uncomfortable! You do feel so alone in situations like this, don't you? My partner was out carol-singing so I couldn't even phone him for sympathy, and anyway I couldn't waste the quarter battery I had left. I did however use it to ring the AA 3 more times (I admit, with increasing hysteria) to ask when the patrolman would arrive.

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At 8 p.m. the guy appeared, and soon got me on my way, even kindly scraping all the windows for me so I could focus the heating on my non-existent feet. He seemed surprised by the amount of ice that had accumulated on the inside. Half an hour later I was home, having soup, a hot bath and an early night.

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Today with no obvious ill effects, and feeling warm and comfortable, I can appreciate that I was seeing the black side of everything - and how little it takes to turn our world upside down. And I also wondered if there are other ways to lose calories apart from exercise... literally through being very cold for a sustained period. Not recommended I'm sure - but would it help lose a few ounces, I wonder? OK OK, I'll go and get a life, shall I?

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Nighty night.

-oOo-

Pre-admission

I went to the hospital today for my pre-admission appointment. They're pleased at the weight I've lost (13 lbs since the consultant asked me to do it), but I was a bit upset to note that my scales at home (an old-fashioned big heavy thing that came from a doctor's surgery originally, with the clunky weights that slide up and down) are marking 7 lbs too little. The loss is still a loss, I know, but it just means I have an even longer road to travel.

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The anaesthetist commented that with the amount of insulin I'm taking, it's just as well I'm having a gastric band fitted now, perhaps in time to limit the damage to my organs from the diabetes, and while I'm still able to move around. Sobering thought.

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He warned me that if I get any type of infection at all, the op next Wednesday will have to be postponed, so I'll just have to hope that my kidney infection doesn't recur, and that my colleagues at work with colds (at least 2) will be of the type to which I've acquired inmunity over the years. I just so want to get this over with...

-oOo-

20 stupid remarks made by thoughtless people - anyone want to add?

(1) “When’s the happy day? … You’re not pregnant? (giggle) ooh, I thought you were, you’ve put on so much weight”.
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(2) “I wouldn’t sit on that chair, it’s not very strong”.
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(3) “I don’t understand it – how much do you eat, for goodness sake?”
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(4) “It must be a glandular problem.”
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(5) “Why don’t you have a glass of water before a meal so that you feel full? (Virtuously) that’s what I do.”
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(6) “Shall I tell you a secret? What I do when I’m feeling hungry and there’s a long time till my next meal, I put a little pebble in my mouth and suck it. It gives your mouth something to do, you see.”
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(7) “Gosh, aren’t you out of breath – why don’t you do more exercise and take off some of that weight?”
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(8) “Did you receive that article I sent you about the dangers of being overweight?”
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(9) “We were talking about you only yesterday – we think you really ought to lose some weight.”
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(10) “Why don’t you just eat less?”
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(11) In gathering with lots of people around, when conversation has been about other things, and there's a lull, person next to you turns and says: “I was thinking about you the other day – I found this amazing new diet, apparently you can lose half a stone in a week. I’ll cut it out for you.”
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(12) “Your problem is that you’re mixing carbohydrate with protein.”
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(13) “Why don’t you go on foot? You could do with the exercise.”
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(14) “My dear, it’s just a question of willpower.”
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(15) “No, I won’t have another chocolate thank you – and you shouldn’t be having any more either.”
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(16) “I hardly recognised you; you’ve put on so much weight!!”
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(17) “The trouble with you is that you don’t really want to lose weight.”
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Courtesy of my ex husband:
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(18) “It’s a fact. Fat people aren’t loved.”
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(19) “Yes I can see you’ve got into a smaller size of jeans, but jeans don’t suit you.”
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(20) “You’ve lost a stone? Well, that’s a bit better.”

-oOo-

I'm diving in to join you!

Epiphany for me came one day in September this year, when I had to accept that feeling really low for the past 6 months had caused me to eat for comfort and I had piled on even more weight. 105 kg went up to 110, then to 114 (18st), my heaviest ever. (Why couldn't unhappiness make me go all romantically thin and ethereal, damn it?)

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It all came to me at once: I'm 55, now it's not just vanity - my formerly twiglike ankles were now branches just as my legs were trunks, and let's not take the metaphor any further up. My arches hurt, ditto knees, ditto hips, ditto back if I walked or stood for more than 5 minutes, and the lift at work being out of order thus three flights of stairs felt like climbing the north face of the Eiger. I'm an insulin-dependent diabetic (dependent on industrial quantities of the stuff I'm afraid) And I thought "I'm not going to live to old age". My partner John, a kind and loving man who hates to see me unhappy, is quite a bit older than I am, and I have no children. Who's to remember me other than as the heavy person in the snaps? It felt like rock bottom.

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About that time I became aware of the publicity surrounding Fern Britton, a British TV presenter who had been banded a couple of years earlier and only recently talked about it. She may not have intended it to be a success story for the procedure, but it was. From the internet I learned that the cost of having it done privately was just about affordable for me. What clinched it were the blogs - all these brave women out there, a 'sisterhood-of-the-band', they all said the things I was thinking. It felt like dithering on the side of the swimming pool while people around you are all diving in and saying the water's lovely. I put it to John, and later that week visited my GP - and to my real surprise both were supportive.

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A bit of homework on different companies (and thank you Zena) led me to the hospital in Taunton where it could be done privately, and I've since had a couple of appointments to arrange it. I've chosen 17th December because it will give me the maximum time to recover using holidays (thank you Melanie for the advice here).

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So for the first time in 25 years I'm experiencing (about my image) what I had forgotten how to feel - hope.

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In the meantime I too have had my Optifast instructions - and don't anybody kid me that it's anything except flavoured bilgewater! A stone to lose before the op, and 9 agonizing pounds off so far - partly with the help of some slimming pills I had from goodness knows when. They helped kill my appetite alright, but my thirst too. I didn't realise till I got a kidney infection this week... Cheating doesn't pay, does it. This crash diet feels like holding your breath under water - you have a go because you know you'll surface for air shortly >> I've been able to starve myself because I believe what the bloggers all say - that the restriction really does work, and help is at hand.

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I had been wondering whether to start a blog, and had played around a bit with the site. I've only just realised that it's already "live" whether I like it or not! Goodness knows what keys I pressed. In a way it's like being pushed into the deep end of the pool so you gotta swim... Also, reading all your banding blogs without having one of my own, however feeble, feels as though I'm some sort of sneaky voyeur.

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Anyway, enough metaphors and rambling on. I thought I was pretty computer literate, but I'm puzzling over all the bits I've got to learn to have a blog design I'm happy with, so it's a bit basic for now I'm afraid. And (aargh) I shall have to upload a picture, I know. It's what keeps us all going. And essential to make regular entries - I know, I know...

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Thank you for reading this far - I think you're a brave lot.

-oOo-