My formula for world peace!

I think some of Tina’s comments to my last post are worth airing in a new post (I hope she won’t mind my using them!) - she says:

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"I get so sick of this societal belief that the road to weight loss is the strong arm method (just put your arms out and back away form the table). It is so much more complicated than that and deeper. Whether our internal food-o-meter is the result of poor habits, the result of our vegas nerve failing to give us the full signal, or our metabolism to tell us when our weight is where it should be, speedup our calorie burning and shut the voices in our head that say we need more up.

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"Whichever it is the medical profession has finally found a series of interventions that can provide us with hope. I think the program you watched was negligent in pandering to the strong armers by discounting the band. There are plenty of successful cases and others who chose different surgical interventions who are also successful. Statistically the rate of success on our own is abysmal."

I agree, and I share her indignation. I would also add that it's not just TV programmes that pander to the "we slim people know what's good for you fatties" school of thought - almost every doctor in the land thinks that the answer to it lies only in common sense, (eat less and exercise more) with willpower being conjured up in the same way that burning your finger will cause a reaction in you that will stop you from carbonising yourself.

These doctors are soooo clever. Would somebody double their salaries please. They’ve stumbled upon the solution to the world’s problems. Hold the front page folks, it seems that …. deathly hush in the audience… (drumroll)….my voice is rising to a hysterial crescendo…

ALL YOU NEED IS COMMON SENSE AND WILLPOWER!!!

The solution to lung cancer? Look no further! All you have to do is to STOP SMOKING!

Drug addiction? Easy! JUST SAY NO!!

Alcoholism? You shouldn’t need to ask - just DON’T LIFT THE GLASS TO YOUR LIPS!!

Clear the jails? WHY, TELL PEOPLE TO COUNT TO TEN WHEN THEY’RE CONTEMPLATING A CRIME!

Stop all wars? Ask a doctor – he’ll tell you! CONTROL YOUR TEMPER!!!

Well, for heaven’s sake, why didn’t they tell me this years ago, and I would have stopped worrying about the world, agonising about my childhood and making my parents feel guilty…

As she says, at last we're being offered a tool to help us. And yet the medical profession is already tut-tutting because so many people want it, and it all so simple to them – save money by telling people not to eat in excess and do lots of exercise. But the world of the overweight is not like that, as they should well know: we try > we fail, we try > we fail > we suffer expensive complications > we cost the system more as we get older.

So here’s my suggestion for world peace:

Addictions to food, cigarettes, alcohol and drugs are problems with the brain not the body, invest in solutions to them and you’ll have a happier population which therefore would be better motivated to make money honestly, and be less likely to have sexual problems, turn to artificial alternatives or comfort eating… and people would therefore not lose their tempers and start wars!

I reckon that should earn me a Nobel Peace Prize at the very least.

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A rant about a TV programme on banding

I watched a TV programme this evening on some of the ways the National Health Service is dealing with the problem of obesity in the young in the UK, with particular emphasis on gastric banding and the hospital in Birmingham which is treating them. My post has turned out a bit long - but bear with me please? I feel it's so relevant to us...

Three girls around the age of 20 were interviewed at some length, and it was clear their attitudes revolved around not knowing or not caring about why they were overweight, they were quite happy to admit to their failings, they wanted gastric bands and that was that. One and two were told they didn’t qualify for an NHS band, and were encouraged to eat healthily and do more exercise. № 1 had help from her mother, who got her a personal trainer and helped her plan her meals and disregard the unhealthy eating habits of the young boyfriend, and № 2 tried on her own but was getting married soon and knew she couldn’t lose enough by the big day so couldn’t get motivated. № 3 was given the go ahead for the band, but was told she had to lose a stone – 6 kg – before the op. She told the cameras she was doing the right things, though as her partner was as big as she was it seemed doubtful that she would manage it.

№ 1 lost a couple of stone over the next few months, and was the pride and joy of the dietician treating her, № 2 lost virtually nothing by her wedding day but was weighed several months later and had lost a bit. № 3 had the band fitted. During the op the surgeon commented that he could see from the state of her insides and her liver that she hadn’t followed much of a diet beforehand, and that she would probably have lifestyle adjustment problems in the future. The girl herself said she had “suffered a lot in the op, and that she was now finding that it didn’t always work”. She lost about the same as the other two over the same period, and the voice over pointed out in several different ways that the successes of №’s 1 and 2 hadn’t cost the system very much, as opposed to № 3’s.

The consultant, who fitted 20 gastric bands a week, thought the NHS shouldn’t waste time assessing which few people would be allowed a band, but that as many should be fitted as possible, to avoid the drain on NHS resources later on when the consequences of diabetes and joints wearing out became apparent.

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The programme left me with the usual indignation – yet again the self-righteous point had been made that there’s no substitute for a healthy diet and exercise, yet it was obvious that № 1 wouldn’t be able to keep up the expense of a personal trainer and no doubt her motivation either once the TV cameras had gone home, and the same for № 2. № 3 will lose weight – a bit, a lot, who knows – but mainly because the band will bring her up short.

It may take a whole generation of people with bands to see that the solution lies in the prevention of the problem, not its long-term cure, which does not exist.

Whereas it’s too late both for those young girls and for the likes of us whose minds are set into the groove of food = pleasure = guilt, there’s the hope that in becoming slim, we are motivated, not for ourselves, but for our children. We need to be taught the skills of how to take responsibility for our children’s future, not just their present, by dealing with the psychology of their overeating, their eating for comfort, their guilt, their reluctance to exercise, and so on. I can see a future time when overweight could cease to be an epidemic because parents had learned the hard way, and with the help of school and television the message finally got through to the kids in time before the bad habits set in. One day I hope to see a television documentary that will make this point.

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Less like restriction, more like stranglehold

I had my fourth fill last Wednesday, and now have 7.5ml in my 10ml band. Margaret, who weighed me (still snail's pace, though steady), and asked me how I was getting on, thought I should only have half a ml this time - and I thought oh no, this is all so slow... So when the surgeon gave me the choice of a half or one ml, I jumped at the chance. Was I sure? You betcha. My bowlfull of cornflakes when I got home was sublime: I felt full and satisfied though I hadn't eaten much that day. I imagined triumphant post in blog - it's working!

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Thursday managed sandwich at lunch and salad in the evening (one morsel at a time and couldn't eat the tomato skins - took ages) without feeling too bad, though I went to bed hungry. Friday morning at work my boss offered me a Ryvita, one of the new ones with berries in them that taste ever so slighty sweet. Divine... I ate it slowly, then washed it down with a small cup of coffee... and for the rest of the day I felt awful. I had to rush to the loo three times, where I also tried jumping up and down, without success. Thought I was fine at lunchtime and managed two bites of a sandwich made from soft brown bread and tuna mayonnaise, but I was uncomfortable all afternoon with the same running up and down. (Doesn't being sick make your face go awful and blotchy, not to mention all puffy? It made me feel all the more self-conscious.)

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"Surprise!" says John - "I've got us some fillet steak for dinner". Lovely, my fave. "You've got to chew it properly" says John "I'm going to count your chews". Talk about invasion of privacy. I'm watching the news and he's watching me, going "...five, six... eighteen, nineteen, come on, you've got to get to 25 at least". Three hours and many trips to the loo later I had to admit that all I was going to keep down was water. I remembered Tracey's posts of a couple of months ago, and her despair of being able to keep herself fed at all, and wondered if Margaret had been right, and I should have stuck to half a ml. I didn't even dare give myself any insulin before going to bed.

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Today we visited a friend in Tewkesbury, and we lounged in her conservatory as she gave us raw vegetable sticks and dips for lunch, with cheeses and some sliced ham, and it was as if nothing had happened. No problem at all, though I was glad it all took a couple of hours. Home-again-home-again, hot cross buns as a treat. Oh dear - I had one half with butter on it, and for the next hour - i.e. four or five times - I was going backwards and forwards to the loo. It would have been better to have just sat there and eaten it... So - still blotchy and puffy. Sight for sore eyes... I don't think.

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All this discomfort is miserable, but I suppose it's going to be the only way to find out what I can eat and what I can't. The band is now clearly working with a vengeance, and most of the weight loss recorded in the last entry on my snail's chart is the result of the last three days performance. My fear (as Dawn says in a recent post) is that this learning process should have to be learned in front of guests, or in a restaurant.

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I'll blog more often from now on - the long silences were due to my unsuccessful struggle to overcome the devastating effect of the burglary. I can't write cheerful if I don't feel it, and outpourings of misery make for a boring blog. However, as with most things, you get used to anything if you wait long enough.

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Thank you, thank you for the very kind remarks left in the comments.

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Life goes on

Apologies for the radio silence - too blue to blog. I much appreciate the sympathy, and I'm still trying to get used to the fact that I won't see the family jewellery again and that my niece won't inherit anything.

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I couldn't give up just like that though - after two people told me they had recovered items of sentimental value by offering a reward, I put a fairly prominent ad in the local paper yesterday and today, saying I had "lost" some pieces, described them and offered £100 each for their return, and gave a mobile number, implying that no questions will be asked, but there has been no reply. On Saturday I'll go to an area frequented by pawnbrokers and hand out copies of the ad, hoping the thieves have tried to offload the goods there. A friend in the security business has put out discreet feelers with the same message, but he's heard nothing either. It probably sounds hopeless to you reading this, but I have to try. I keep being told that if you want to be lucky you have to make your own luck, and I'm doing what I can. I dare say I'll move on in the end.

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Bandwise, I feel it is helping me a little more following the third fill I had on 17th March. I now have 6.5ml in the band, and things are getting stuck a lot more often. But so much for the blurb about feeling satisfied after a teacup full of food - double D size bra cup, more like. However, I am aware of more "help", and I'm confident I will have lost more than a kilo next time I go to the hospital in mid April for the fourth fill.

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This is what happens:

I'm hungry, I start my snack/meal with hasty bites, improperly chewed. By the third bite I feel painful restriction, desire to burp, and fork clatters back on the plate. "What's the matter?" says John - and it's taken him all this time to realise that I can't speak! I just wave my arms feebly to shut him up. I wait for the discomfort to go away, sometimes trying to help it along by flapping about like a windmill, or holding my breath, as a blogger has recommended this week. I only allow myself tiny burps (relief!) so they aren't productive, and wait. Sometimes it passes after 10-15 minutes, sometimes I'm forced to give up the struggle and head for the loo. By the time I feel OK again my hunger has returned (it surprises me every time!) but of course the food is cold. In addition, my brain has caught up with my stomach, and because I've effectively slowed down, I rarely want to finish what's on my plate. So presumably that's when the satisfied feeling kicks in. The world's overweight problems would be solved if there was a way to prevent us from taking less than 30 minutes to eat a plateful of food...

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Thing is, I have to go through this palaver for it to work, and sometimes I want to sulk and say snotfair. It's better than the old me, though, so I can't sulk for very long.

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