Do as I say, not as I do...

I shall have to accept the fact that in my mid fifties I'm not likely to succeed in losing weight at a rate other than slow and steady. I was trying so hard to to ensure that I felt very much slimmer by the time of my impending trip to Argentina (a month away), and as usual I can see that I've overestimated my body's capacity for weightloss, gym or no gym.

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It came down with a bump last week because of the overfill, stayed down for several days, enough to make me adjust my sights, then whoosh, up it went again, and has stayed there. I'm still very restricted till the evening (and I don't listen of course, so it ain't been very comfortable), then I feel so undernourished that I'm obviously having more than I should - and late at night at that. Slops by day and carbs by night, what a recipe for failure!

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But as Tina said in a recent post, the band stays with you whether you like it or not, working through your "what's the point of bothering" moods - and thank goodness for that. It's not that I'm despondent overall - I've lost as much as most people my age since banding 9 months ago - but that I wanted a short-term concerted effort by the end of October, and I was 'putting my money where my mouth is' by doing what I've said all along I hate - effing exercise. As if there's some bariatric deity up there who's looking down on me kindly and saying to her bandit handmaidens "poor thing, she IS trying hard, isn't she - she deserves the reward of losing a couple of kilos a week... see to it immediately, Fatty-ma!" What planet am I on.

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I recently had my regular check-up with the diabetic nurse, who is pleased with my progress, and no doubt also about the small fortune the National Health Service is saving on my supplies of insulin, and after she weighed me I noticed her screen had a chart with my weight over the last 6 years. I asked her if I could copy it down (always thinking of ways to entertain my bandit friends, see?) - and here it is:

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Dec 2003..... 97 kg..........214 lbs..........15 st 4 lbs
Jan 2004..... 99 kg...........218 lbs..........15 st 8 lbs
Sep 2004.... 105 kg..........231.5 lbs........16 st 7 lbs
Dec 2004..... 98 kg..........216 lbs..........15 st 6 lbs
Apr 2005..... 97 kg...........214 lbs .........15 st 4 lbs
Sep 2005.... 102 kg..........225 lbs..........16 st 1 lb
Mar 2006.... 107 kg..........236 lbs..........16 st 12 lbs
Jul 2006..... 108 kg...... ...238 lbs..........17 st
Jan 2007.... 107 kg..........236 lbs..........16 st 12 lbs
Jul 2007..... 110 kg..........242 lbs..........17 st 4 lbs
Oct 2007.... 105 kg..........231.5 lbs........16 st 7 lbs
Jun 2008.... 105.5 kg........232.5 lbs........16 st 8 lbs
(Pre-op Nov 2008 114 kg....252 lbs..........18 st)
Jan 2009.... 107.5 kg........237 lbs..........16 st 13 lbs
Aug 2009..... 97 kg..........214 lbs...........15 st 4 lbs
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May I draw your attention to the first and last weights? Nuff said.
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I was leafing through a catalogue today, looking wistfully at some of the pretty dresses I'd love to wear one day, and thought I would share my favourite with you.
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So I'm off to the effin' gym 'n swim....

-oOo-

Overfill (ew...)

For bandits only

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I'm posting this in case it's useful to other bandits - I have to admit I'm not really enjoying writing about it!

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After a very restricted day yesterday when I was only able to drink (just about) and nibble (barely), I went to the gym in the evening and did my usual 50 minutes. I was pleased to discover that taking a book to read worked better than listening to the piped rock music and watching the soundless screen, because it helped to pass the time - it can be so mind-numbingly boring. I noticed that I couldn't do as much as usual, no doubt because I had consumed few calories during the day. I didn't drink any water because I was afraid that the new restriction would make me bring it back up...

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Then I went for a swim with John - it was 9 p.m. and wonderfully quiet, but to my disgust I had to give up after 4 lengths because I got cramp in both feet and felt quite clearly that with the weightlessness in the pool, the band was working its way up to strangle me - horrible feeling. I believe the cramp may have been due to lack of fluid, but - catch 22 - I couldn't drink because I was too restricted. A couple of PB's later I was able to get dressed and drive home. The last drink I had managed to keep down had been at 4 p.m., and that was it folks till 1.30 p.m. today.

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The PB's continued after I got home, and I had a terrible night choking every 15-20 minutes, scared sick I would dislodge the band with my violent coughing, and by morning I was hoarse. I was also 3 lbs down, but knew it was because of dehydration. I hoped that once at work the swelling would have calmed down and I would be able to drink, but when I couldn't even do that I confess I began to panic a little. I managed to get hold of the bariatric team at Taunton, and was told to drive in there and then because I was having the classic symptoms of an overfill.

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The nurse took out a whole ml, then with the needle still in she got me to sit up and drink three glasses of water while she put the saline back in a quarter of a ml at a time. That water was sheer nectar. I've ended up with 9.75ml - so just a quarter removed. It feels marvellous, though it hasn't been severely tested yet because I was so exhausted by the whole experience that I've slept the rest of the afternoon.

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Well, no harm done - I'm fine now and about to attempt some scrambled egg.

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I feel overwhelmed by the wonderful support from those who have left comments on my last post. Thank you dear friends, it really did make me feel a whole lot better. I hope I can do the same for you when you need it.

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-oOo-

10!

I've been concerned for over a week now that although I feel occasional restriction, the satisfied feeling eludes me, and willpower is thin on the ground, as usual. With the self-imposed deadlines coming up, desperation was beginning to set in and I've been going to the gym three times a week, and swimming twice.

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This is gritted teeth time, as I've mentioned before, because walking fast on a treadmill or cycling for 20 minutes each while listening to pop music and watching the soaps without sound (the volume through the headset doesn't seem to work properly, and I don't have an mp3), is not my idea of fun. (The characters on the soaps seem to be opening their mouths a lot when they speak - most un-British, so they must all be shouting and feeling unhappy. No change there then.)

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In the end I rang the hospital to ask their advice, and they suggested I visit this evening and talk to the surgeon who did my op. They decided that I should have all the saline removed to check how much there was, then return it to where I was officially (9.25ml) plus a bit extra. He removed enough to confirm there was nothing wrong with the band, and has now put in a total of 10ml. Restricted? I can hardly talk. A bowl of soup was fine, but only got half through some yoghurt. At least I'm on my way again. I'm to return in a fortnight so he can check how I'm getting on.

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Tomorrow is my monthly weigh-in for this blog. I was determined to lose 10 kg between August and late October, i.e. make 87 kg, or even 84 if I can, to make it a neat 30 kg since the beginning. However I can hear the laughs of derision echoing around the bandit blogging world from here... Groundhog Day - setting myself up to fail yet again... One good thing though - I don't feel like a failure any more, thanks to the band.

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Night night.

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-oOo-

Infatuation or true love?

Dogs have owners, cats have staff

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Meet two of the most important males in my life. These two brothers were born in April 2001 of different fathers (the hussy). This is Banjo, quiet, nervous, gentle, noble, always velvet pawed, given to binge eating and stretching full length across the middle of the bed, with a stride reminiscent of John Wayne's and a purr which turns into a song when he's specially happy :

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... generally overpowered by Rusty, who is very vocal, cheeky, brave enough to be completely unfazed when the fox terrier opposite runs threateningly towards him (thus making the little dog turn tail and run), with the grace and delicate walk of a ballet-dancer, yet capable of sending everything flying in his path as he "nimbly" entrechats his way across furniture with china ornaments on it, or dressing-tables with perfume bottles and creams carelessly left there by his female staff, which he likes to do when the house is quiet, say 3 a.m.

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Other pieces of furniture carry the proof that his claws are sharp, and though he knows better than to use them on his providers of food, treats and cuddles, nevertheless finds it very useful when ensuring that when he's picked up he doesn't fall off, or inadvertently slide away from a warm shoulder. The only creature known to man that can draw blood affectionately:

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Last week I was visited by Gaby, a hirtherto virtual friend from Germany whom I 'met' on the internet, and who has been giving me invaluable advice on how I should get my translation published (see two posts ago). I was nervous about spending a week in the company of a stranger, but I needn't have worried. She's a lovely person (who unfortunately prefers not to be photographed) of my own age and who loves dogs and cats. As soon as she and Rusty set eyes on each other... well, I don't know who was smitten first. Just as well I'm not a jealous person.

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They had eyes only for each other all week, what with the lengthy conversations, gazing into each other's eyes, and yes, I've got to say it, sleeping in the same bed. When Gaby departed last Friday she had the incriminating furry evidence all over her clothes and belongings, goodness only knows what her two golden retrievers thought when they welcomed her back.

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We had a difficult weekend, when much love and counselling had to be supplied on tap, as Rusty tried to get into the room where she had slept, mewing piteously, or perched stubbornly on my camera bag by the door, refusing to be comforted, and when picked up would jump off my shoulder almost immediately without even breaking the skin, although it was (rather generously I thought) on offer. We finally gave in and left the door open one evening, and after a night by himself on the spare bed, he's been fine ever since.

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John too thinks she was rather wonderful, and though we all hope she'll come back again to stay, Banjo and I just look at each other and roll our eyes when we hear them talking about her...

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-oOo-

Endorphins? Schmorphins...

I had another fill last Wednesday, and now have 9.25ml in my band. I decided that a quarter was sufficient, though I must admit now I'm not so sure. I expected to be 'stopped dead in my tracks' at mealtimes, and I'm not. Yes, I can just about feel I can stop (plus a little bit of willpower), but it's certainly not after a teacup full - more like several... I'm grateful that there isn't a PB in sight however...

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This time it hurt. They had to have three goes before they found the port, so I was nervous as well - and I feared they might puncture the band, though I didn't say so. My overall impression is that for only a quarter of a millilitre it wasn't worth that much discomfort, and I might as well have had a half. I now have to wait another four weeks until the next one.

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I learned an interesting bit of information which I was very glad to hear: that although the bands are 10ml, much more than that will fit, and I could well go up to 13 or 14 if I wanted. I was very reassured by this, as I was beginning to feel a bit panicky about reaching the top limit.

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As we took a friend visiting from Germany to the pub at lunchtime and I (stupidly) had (most of) three courses, this evening I spent 45 minutes at the gym, working myself as hard as I could, then did 20 lengths in the pool. Later at a friend's house I kept falling asleep sitting on the sofa while the others talked, so it must have tired me out more than I realised. However don't run away with the idea that I'm a convert to this ghastly regime, or that those little ol' endorphins are making me feel good, cos they ain't. I don't enjoy it at all, I just keep quoting Dickens in A Tale of Two Cities "T'is a far, far better thing I do now than I have ever done..." muttering it under my breath, like a mantra.

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I've now realised that among the numbers lit up on the machines, are the calories you've probably burned, and that demoralised me even further because I added them up as I went along and reckoned I had just about burned off the starter I had at lunchtime, and the other two courses would have to wait till the next session...

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Contrary to my own advice, I'm weighing myself every morning at the moment, and this is because a loss, however small, gives me the necessary boost to take me through the day.

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This post is boring me even as I type it, so I'll sign off for now. My German friend Gaby was very taken with my two cats, and as it was mutual, it has taught me something new about them - but I'll tell you about it next time, as I'm dead on my feet. I'm off to dream about rowing machines and tread mills... Nighty night.

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-oOo-