Unlike the celebrities - I welcome interviews! Go on then...

It's great the way Nola's idea has taken off... I'd be delighted to answer any questions as best I can, so ask away, the more the better... I'll reply in a future post.

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(Though I don't think the tabloids and the paparazzi need get too excited...)

-oOo-

First Fill! The train is at last pulling out of the station...

(Between burps) I'm happy to report that the first fill went very well. I thought the session would feel like a slimming club evening, but it was so liberating to realise that it's far from being that because my success will no longer be totally reliant on my own willpower alone. I don't need to lie any more or make excuses - I'm just going to tell it how it is.

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I saw the nurse first, who weighed me, and I felt silly having told her beforehand I felt like a failure because I hadn't been able to do much dieting after the first three weeks, so I was bound to have gone up... and then found I had lost one kilo since the op. It's not much, but it's amazing, because I felt I was putting it on slowly. But there must have been a little restriction, enough to make a slight difference.

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I was seen by the surgeon as it was the first fill - thereafter it probably won't be. And having studied all the blogs so carefully, here's the surprise: my port is nowhere near the side of my ribcage, but bang in the middle by the central scar in my chest. New LapBand design? My shape is even more weird than I thought? He put saline into my lungs by mistake?!

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He inserted 5 ml of saline (I have a 10 ml band apparently) and with the needle held still asked me to sit up and drink a glass of water ("What, all of it?" "Yes, there's gin at the bottom") After half a glass I was gurgling like a water-cooler and in some discomfort, so he removed 1 ml and made me finish the glassfull ("You lied, there's no gin there" - he just grinned). They want to see me again in 3 weeks for an adjustment, or if I should need an unfill I can contact them any time and they'll fit me in. Thank goodness it's all part of the package to have 2 years of fills etc, so I won't need to worry about shelling out more money.

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Most of the people I deal with, nurses included, have lapbands, so there's advice available everywhere. I'm told that if at night I wake up because of saliva accumulating in my throat it's a sign that I need an unfill (and I'm also remembering all the comments Tracey has made).

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Of course the greatest advertisement for the procedure are the bandsters that go back more than 6 months - the squeals of "I can't believe it's you!" from the other patients, and their stories of how they're getting on make you want to hurry up and start your journey. And everybody's happy - it's amazing, like being in a parallel world.

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As instructed I've had only soup for dinner... oh well all right then, I also had two cream crackers with butter on, pinched off John who was having cheese and biscuits. I'm afraid I'm still hungry, but I'll be obedient tonight because it's the first 12 hours... so when you say in your blogs "I feel restriction", I still don't know what you mean...

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Tell you next time. Hey, guess what - I'm on my way!!

-oOo-

7 Morbidly Obese Dwarfs and not a Snow White among us...

OK, so I'd never make a very good forger,

but you get the picture...

-oOo-

The Sat-Nag

John was given a little device for Christmas called a "Sat-Nag", which looks just like the real thing, only made of black plastic, and the front has a drawing of a road map, with "Desperation Way", "Nag Street", "Moaning Road", "Earache Avenue" and the inevitable "Backseat Drive" marked thereon. When a button is pressed, a female voice makes statements in clipped tones, most of which are quite amusing.

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However, in mid-chortle I realised that the side-splitting witticisms had clearly been written by a bloke, so here are the best ones (the really macho ones make me gag, so they've been censored) - followed by another set of statements (mine) which I reckon could be made by women about men. Any similarity with what John as the front-seat driver says to me is not purely coincidental.

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Written by him about her

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If you don’t slow down and start driving within the speed limit I’m going to ring the police myself.

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At the roundabout I’m going to say again that I told you not to buy this penis-extension of a car.

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At the next junction I’m going to explain that it’s not what you said but the way you said it that annoyed me.
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In 50 metres - if you fart again I’m going to get out of this car and catch a bus.

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In 20 metres I’m going to remind you that you’re not invisible in traffic jams, and people can see you picking your nose.

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I know you’re a man, but it’s been 45 minutes now, so can you please admit we’re lost and ask someone the way?
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OK so we didn’t have sex last night, but could you stop driving like a lunatic?

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In 50 metres when we’re stuck in traffic I’m going to ask you if your shortcut is really faster.

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Written by her about him

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In 50 metres I’m going to ask you if you realise that this car has five gears.
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In 25 metres I’m going to repeat what I say at the beginning of every journey when you’re driving: Now what are we not going to do…. yeees, we’re not going to rush, are we?
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Every 20 metres I’m going to suggest overtaking/not overtaking or slowing down/speeding up.
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At every traffic light I’m going to let you know its colour.

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At every intersection I’ll do all the courteous-waving-at-considerate-drivers stuff (or apologise to them if I consider it necessary), you just concentrate on the driving.
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If I think you’re going too fast I’ll grip the dashboard with both hands till the whites of my knuckles show, while I ask you in a strangled voice what the hell you think you’re doing.
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If a decision is required which could be one of several alternatives, I’ll always let you know what I normally do in these situations, and not quite pick up on the “Yes, so you always tell me”.
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The fact that I’m letting you drive this evening has absolutely positively definitely nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that you don’t drink and I do. Nope.

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-oOo-

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(Can you tell I'm marking time waiting for my first fill? Well, go to the top of th class then).

Popcorn chicken for bandits

Here is a chicken recipe that also includes the use of popcorn as a stuffing - imagine that!

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When I found this recipe, I thought it was perfect for people like me, who just aren't sure how to tell when poultry is thoroughly cooked, but not dried out, and who are trying to diet. Give this a try.

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1 large chicken

1 cup melted butter

1 cup stuffing

1 cup of uncooked popcorn

Salt & pepper to taste

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Preheat oven to 220c. Brush chicken well with melted butter, salt and pepper. Fill cavity with stuffing and unpopped corn. Place in baking pan with the neck end towards the back of the oven. Listen to the popping sounds. When the chicken's arse blows the oven door open and the chicken flies across the room, it is done.

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Going without dinner and cleaning up the kitchen burns up no end of calories.

-oOo-

Not a good place for crisps

Being, as I've mentioned before, a virgin in these medical matters, I haven't found the dressings on my tum very comfortable, and have not until last week been very impressed with the quality of the dressings I was given (different, or so I thought, to what they put on me in the hospital).

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Before going to the local surgery nurse to have her check my wound the other day, I put on a fresh one - on the same principle that if I'm going to be run over by a bus I'd want to ensure that I have clean underwear on, because what are the paramedics going to think - and thank goodness John was with me at the time, because he pointed out that I hadn't removed the (inner) paper cover when I put it on, and all was explained. I've been walking around crackling as if I'd stuffed a bag of crisps down my bra, and feeling it was just one more thing to put up with. Hope nobody noticed.

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The wound has since healed thank goodness.

-oOo-

Speciality English traffic jam, guaranteed calorie-free!

Today I left work just after 5 p.m. for the 25 minute journey home - and arrived at 9.30 p.m. In one of my most stupid traffic decisions ever, I used the motorway instead of going through town. Further ahead a car transporter had overturned in the rush hour, shedding its 9-car load over the southbound carriageway, so 4 lanes of heavy traffic backed up 15 miles and had to be channelled through part of Bristol, which was a factor in the second accident on that road...

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I got through half a tank of petrol and the stack of CD's thrown on the back seat which someone had given to me when clearing out their stuff. The classical ones were a mixed bag - I like classical, but not for four hours solid. The last one of the pile I managed to grope for said "Aotearoa", and I thought good - some nice Maori harmonies coming up. Sigh. My last hour was spent listening to the twittering of bellbirds, tuis and saddlebacks, thoughtfully recorded by a dedicated NZ twitcher...

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...while trying not to think about wanting to go to the loo, and trying not to spot the men who suffer no such qualms, jumping out of their cars to point percy at verges and trees without a care in the world...

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On a positive note, after several days of being relatively careful with food intake, particularly at work, I had left the office feeling so hungry that I could think of little but what I was going to treat myself when I got home. Four hours trapped in my car and the corresponding discomfort cooled my ardour, and forced me to reflect that the more I cheat, the longer it will all take, and I was down a pound this morning. So goody goody two-shoes had a salad. Final thought on the subject: happiness is an empty bladder. Nuff said.

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The nurse checked my wound this morning and agreed it was taking a bit long to heal, but said it was OK, and give it another week.

-oOo-

Just ticking over...

I'm just ticking over until my first fill on Wednesday 28th January, doing my best to diet in the ordinary way, but finding it difficult, I must admit. The truth is I recovered from the op disgustingly quickly, and have been eating almost normally, though certainly a good third less than usual because of slight discomfort, and that's keeping me from going up. As my weight starts to go down I'll figure out how to keep a chart on view.

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What I would have liked in due course is to have pictures down the left side of the screen, but that's outside the limits of the blog, and as yet I haven't worked out how to broaden it.... It's fun working it out, as you can see from the odds and sods I've been adding. Can't compete with Tracey for gadgets though... None of the pictures are mine (except the one of me of course) - they come courtesy of Google images.

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My main wound still hasn't healed, and I consulted with the hospital today, who have advised me to get it checked, so I'm going to my local surgery tomorrow.

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Nola and her seagull have been making me laugh today - and come to think of it, the seagull if any is the greediest bird around, not one to set a good example! As Zena implies in her comment, here they're considered a pest in coastal resorts, and it can be an entertaining pastime just to watch them pinching tourists' food. It's probably no different in Australia...

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I'll just stop waffling and go to bed, shall I? It's 7C below zero outside, hooray for electric blankets...

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Nighty night.

-oOo-