DutchessLisa

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Well, I joined AA two weeks and three days ago. Since that time, I've battled a yearning for sweets... A common thing, I've learned, as alcohol is sugar-based, and addictive. And here I've thought that vodka and diet tonic was a slimming beverage choice.

Anyway, I've lost in that battle with sweets in this period of time, resulting in the slowing of any weight loss. Heck, I put on a few pounds. But I'm 171 this morning, so I'm back on track. I'm only losing about ten pounds a month at this point, give or take, but I'm twenty-five (twenty-six as of this morning) pounds away from goal.

So, even though weight loss has slowed down, I have to think of it like this: Since the end of May, I've quit smoking, quit eating addictively in the beginning of June, and quit drinking alcohol in the middle of September.

It's been a hard year in some ways, but a good year so far, all things considered.

I'm down to 181 pounds! I haven't seen these numbers on my scale for a very, very long time.

On the VSG message board, someone asked about if we missed food, experienced hunger, etc. I know sometimes I do miss food. It's not so much food itself but everything that went with it....dinner with friends, husband, etc., enjoying the taste of everything, enjoying simply the ACT of CONSUMPTION. Yes, I still go out to eat with them all, but I generally only get teeny portions of what my husband orders.

Then I think that I should move to Europe... These portion sizes are how Europeans commonly eat! It's only in America where leftovers from my portions would provide one or two more meals...and that was before the operation!

Only once have I experienced hunger. It was about four weeks after the operation, and I woke up late at night and my stomach was making its displeasure known. I got up and had a protein shake, and was fine. Then once, on the way to church, I told my husband (probably with a whine in my voice), "Honey, I'm hungry!" And my dear slender Steve said, "Are you really hungry, or is your stomach empty?" And I realized that was what I was feeling. My stomach wasn't growling or anything. I was just so accustomed to having a FULL stomach that I was equating not being sated by food as hunger. And they're really not the same.

So there's no doubt that my relationship with food has definitely changed. As I commonly say (usually to encourage myself), "I eat to live now, I don't live to eat anymore."

And I love slipping on jeans another size smaller and being able to zip them up without laying on the bed to do it!

It's all worth it, in the end.

August 5, 2006 - Just a quick note. About a week ago, I did something I haven't done in a long, long time ... I painted my toenails! Bending over to do so had been so difficult that I only had my toes painted when I went to a beauty salon. Well, running low on cash, I was desperate and gave it a shot. No problem!! I was such a happy camper.

Also, gardening was very hard on my back, and my gardens had clearly been neglected as my weight climbed. It's gotten progressively easier since the operation, and these days, 30 pounds lighter, I can now spend much more time in gardening.

These are little accomplishments for others, but to me they are cause for celebration. I feel like I'm getting my life back!

August 7, 2006 - I calculated my BMI today, and it's change from 2 (two) months ago. It's down 5 (five) points!

August 15, 2006 - My 44th birthday yesterday. Weight is down 33 pounds, about 30 from goal weight, about which I've never been really serious. After all, it's been many, many years since I've seen this weight. I'm a lot older. How do I know the healthy weight for me at this point in life?

Anyhow, my 23-year old daughter wanted to buy an outfit for a birthday gift. She took me to Ann Taylor, and helped me choose many outfits. I loved the look and fabric of the dress I tried on first, and chose a size 16. (18s were getting tight on me by the operation on 6/6/06.) Well, the dress was too loose! Lydia picked out a size 14, which I haven't worn in many years, AND IT FIT! We were both so psyched.

Steve and I have a semi-formal fundraiser to attend on Wednesday, and this dress will be worn on that date. I need to buy a new bra and panties, because everything is baggy on me. But I am delighted. THANK YOU GOD FOR POINTING ME TOWARDS A VSG!!

Almost one month since the operation, and I've lost about 27 pounds! Many friends comment that I not only look more thin, but more peaceful. I feel great, although it's not easy establishing new eating habits. I only eat about five forkfuls, chew everything well, and that's about it. I feel full. Some would say the joy of eating is gone, but really it's just morphed into the joy of being healthy.

Still should get to the gym, but for the first couple of weeks I felt really tired. I will get there soon (tomorrow, if it's not beastly hot).

My trip to Brazil had some dark moments. I travelled there from New York City, and had to transfer planes in Miami, then Sao Paolo, before I made it to Curitiba. Long flights! I have not travelled without my husband for twelve years, nor have I been away from him for that same number of years. Steve takes care of me incredibly, and being without his encouragement and support - being entirely alone - was really tough at times. Physically, it was especially so the first three or four days after the surgery. Getting in and out of bed was really unpleasant, the pillows were horrendous, and I've been sleeping on my side for 43 years...suddenly, I had to remain flat on my back! Then I got a little cold and was sneezing frequently...that was AGONY to my stomach! (Now I know that I should have held a pillow to my stomach and leaned over it, but I didn't have a clue at that point.)

Emotionally, there were times I would call my husband, just crying. Of course, taking antidepressents was not possible for about six days, and I've been on them for 22 years. At the same time, I was grieving my sister who had passed away with no warning less than two weeks before I left for Brazil. Those were tough days. But the nurses were really sweet (somehow they could understand it when I spoke, although I don't know the variant of Portunguese spoken in Brazil; I speak Spanish, and usually, it must have been close enough for communication to be sufficient.

Dr. Marchesini was phenomenal. One night I was so depressed that I could not sleep, and he came from his home (it was a Brazilian holiday), and gave me a sleeping pill for under my tongue. His care cannot be compared to anything I've experienced in the U.S.

I'll keep adding to this!

My weight loss has been on a slow crawl for weeks now. I'm drinking what I should, eating what I should. Of course, the operation was on June 6 and I've lost 23 pounds, so that's good. But the first 20 were lost in Brazil! This means I'm losing about a pound a week.

I'm taking my protein, drinking my water, etc., etc. I guess I should just start going to the gym again.

July 26 - I'm down to 184-6 (depending on water weight & time of day). As previously stated, the weight comes off really slowly. But as my dear husband has repeatedly told me, the scale is no indication of what's going on in my body. Clothes that I used to wear less than two months ago hang on me!

FROM where the weight comes off can be a problem. My face; my legs (which are always pretty slender usually, etc., especially under the thighs and down); and my butt have lost lots. My arms are more thin, too, but I often carry weight over the elbow, and that fact hasn't changed. But the place where I carry weight the most (just like my mom and my sister) is the abdominal region. This area seems to CLING to excess weight. I went to the gym once, on Friday; it's Wednesday, and I haven't been back.

I reason with myself not to go, since Steve and I adopted an almost-five year old Pomeranian-West Highland Terrier mix on Friday night; she was abandoned and alone in a back yard for 12-14 hours a day. She has abandonment issues, and I hate to leave her at this point. (Add to the fact that she's not housebroken and cries miserably when I leave & put her in the crate, and anyone who's "been there" would understand.) But anyway, I WILL go today through Saturday. I just have to make myself do it. Lay my gym clothes out the night before and set the alarm. I know the procedure! (Been there, done that, too, but never have "felt led" to do so!!!)

Why is it that the most harmful things we can do to ourselves are the most enjoyable? It's like sin against God...always appealing in the short term, but it's long term effects are damaging (TO SAY THE LEAST!). Damaging to our self-perception, to our health, to the way others perceive us, and eventually even to our relationship with God. Because if we can't love ourselves, it's hard to accept the love of others, including God.

Okay, time to get off my soapbox. Anyway, I'm 40 to 45 pounds away from my goal weight. My relationship with food has changed drastically; with this operation, I eat to live instead of the opposite. It's not difficult. I can't fit in much food, and the act of eating itself is not as appealing. Also, Steve and I used to eat out very often; now, I can maybe fit in an appetizer, depending on its size. (More than once, they've been too big as well.) Bring on the doggie bags!!

I know I'm healthier. My legs don't ache and my heart doesn't pound with slight physical activity like it used to. God knows I eat much more healthy, as well as much less! And take my liquid vitamins and minerals. I feel like I've invested in the length and quality of my life (not to mention what quitting smoking and drinking only small quantities of alcohol, infrequently, have done)!

If it hadn't been for my VSG, I hate to think of where I'd be today. Besides heavier and miserable and feeling out of control!

This has been a very good thing!

I leave for Brazil in a few days. I'm trying to think about all the things I hate about being fat just in case I regret having this operation.

Like: Being out of breath; not being able to tie my sneakers very easily; the difficulty of doing something as simple as weeding my garden; trying to hide when someone tries to take a picture; realizing that I'm the fattest person in a room; rarely shopping for clothes because they won't fit, plus utterly avoiding the mirrors of the dressing rooms; my facial bones being hidden by fat; my back always hurting despite frequent chiropractic visits; the back of my legs aching from the stress of varicose veins (brought on, no doubt, by my weight); weighing about sixty pounds more than my husband; the inability to find anything that fits when I go out; the lack of control I feel when I'm eating something I shouldn't; the looks of dismay I receive when I run into someone who knew my when I was about 90 pounds lighter; not using my membership to the gym because I feel like I stand out like a sore thumb when I go there; my daughter's disappointment about my weight (she is currently size 0 to 2); and the fact that I feel ruled by my gut! I have so little self-control! I am so unhealthy! I don't want to die like my father because of obesity!

I used to be considered very pretty. Now I notice how people often avoid looking at me. I know that vanity (pride) is a sin, but having no control over what I eat makes me think of the Scripture: As a dog returns to its vomit, so a fool repeats his folly. (Proverbs 26:11)

I'm not looking forward to the pain following the operation, but it's a step towards getting in control of not only my eating, but my life as a whole.

My first entry. I've avoided doing this. The subject seems so vast. How does one encapsulate the journey in weight issues honestly, effectively, and succinctly? I'll do my best, but fear I'll fall short in the process.

Falling short has been a pervading concern most of my life, and it has shadowed every step in the history of my weight changes. Every step. I lose, feel proud of myself, briefly, and in time this temporary, unfamiliar sensation eventually has driven me to self-annihilation, in the form of the consumption of boxes of chocolates, pints of ice cream, glasses of wine, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. (The voice of Yul Brenner, playing the King of Siam from "The King and I", echoes in the caverns of my mind.) Of course I gain in the process, then, I lose, using whatever mode seems most inviting and promising at the time. Weight Watchers. LA Weight Loss. Fen Phen (or however it's spelled). Protein shakes for meal replacement. Going to the gym four times a week. Sometimes it has worked. Even for a couple years at a time. But when stress enters the picture, I'm back where I started. Plus ten. Or twenty. Or forty. (You've got the idea.) Radically up. Radically down. (But the down has never been as radical as the up!)

Now, at forty-three, happily married to a wonderful man, the down stage is no where in sight. My metabolism seems to have become extinct! And self-discipline has abated in the process. I've tried so many times to lose weight; it's like my subconcious is now saying, "No more. Steve loves you no matter what. Celebrate that fact with another cookie!" And I've gained about seventy pounds in less than twelve years.

I wasn't a light weight to begin with. My family is built for the hard times; big, muscular, and heavy boned. Even when I was thin I was heavy! But my father was the heaviest by far. He was a general contracter/roofer/tin smith/backhoe operater; you name it -if muscle and a toughened character were needed, he was the man. He would flex his arm, and the size of the bulging muscle would be amazing. (I'm not exaggerating!) But he ate. Large quantities. And he was fiercely protective of his food, almost like a dog protecting his bone.

At dinner time, we were given small quantities of the meat or chicken, potatoes or rice, and vegetable. If there was something which we didn't want to eat, we weren't allowed to eat any dessert or ANYTHING until we finished eating everything on our plate. If we couldn't eat it that night, it was served for breakfast. Cold. And we couldn't eat that day until we finished that food. If we wanted seconds of something that he liked, watch out! I remember once my brother reached to get seconds of steak, and my father stabbed my brother's hand with his fork. And drew blood. You didn't cross my father. Especially (though definitely not exclusively) when it came to food. I could tell stories that would curl someone's straight hair! But it's not worth it.

When my father was 42 years old, he got sick, although we didn't realize it. He would wake up in the night and drink massive amounts of whatever was available, even water, which for him was unheard of. He appetite became ravenous. Of course, we didn't notice. His rapaciousness was nothing new. And he never admitted to sickness, so he went on for a little while in this state. When, in a short time, he became weakened, he could no longer ignore his condition. (My father? Weak? That concept was an abomination to Dad.) He was taken eventually to the hospital. The doctors were shocked when they checked his blood. The level of sugar in his blood was so high, they said that that another man would either be in a diabetic coma or dead.

I can't say that obedience to the new diet forced on him by his diabetes changed his eating habits radically. I still remember seeing him trasferring huge spoons of ice cream directly from the carton to his open mouth. But he got smaller. He had been a huge man. Now he seemed to diminish monthly; still bigger than most men, but a fraction of what he once was. As common for many diabetics, he lost most of his toes. Picture a large, muscular man trying to balance without his toes. He swayed as if he were a sapling blowing in the wind. Unaccustomed to weakness of any sort and facing the possible eventuality of the loss of his legs, he kept a loaded pistol in the bookshelf at the head of the bed. Just in case. Fortunately, it was a brain aneurysm that took him very suddenly one morning, twenty-three years after the onset of diabetes, at 42.

I will resist the temptation to relate the weight changes in my ensuing years. Again, I've been way down and up, but never as high as I am now. At 43, I can't ignore what happened to my father when he was approximately the same age. I suffer the same addiction to food; the sweeter, the better. There had been no end in sight for the continued direction assumed by the indicator on my bathroom scale. When I saw an old friend at her son's wedding in Florida where they had moved eleven years previously, and another close friend of old who also had been very close to this girlfriend. She had moved to California at approximately the same time (call it the mass exodus from New York!). They were both shocked at my weight gain, though neither mentioned it. They had known me as a size seven, and the last they had seen me, I was size 9. Now I was twice that. I think they were both sensitive to the depression which had followed suit. In a quiet moment together, they discussed the cause of the radical weight loss both demonstrated. Bariatric surgery. I was ignorant to the meaning of that phrase at the time. Little did I know then that that subject would be the cause of months of research and, admittedly, lost sleep.

Fast forward! In one month and one day, I will be leaving for Brazil to see the same doctor had by both my friends, for a June 6 operation. Their confidence in his skills was contagious! They both had a DS (duodenal switch), while I am having a VSG (vertical sleeve gastrectomy), which is the same as a DS, only it simply involves the sectioning of the stomach. (The results of the rerouting of the intestines in the DS were the cause of my great concern. When my surgeon said that my BMI was low enough to not require such a radical surgery, I was very relieved!) I will be in Brazil over two weeks; arrival on one evening, lab test such as an upper G.I. and other things I didn't need to have done in the U.S. the next day, hospitalization for four to five days, then I go to the beautiful hotel immediately next door to both the hospital and the surgeon's office. The surgeon (the great Dr. Marchesini!) will be caring for me throughout this time, assuring that there will not be in continued need when I return home. At that time, he stays in communication with my GP in case of any problem.

What are my feelings at this stage of the game? Multifaceted, needless to say. While I am relieved that my propensity to become ill and die in the likes of my father will be unlikely after my VSG, I'm nonetheless concerned in my ability to follow a lifetime of strict adherence to diet requirements, founded partially in my lack of shortterm memory (which I fear will negatively affect my ability to get in all the protein needed daily - how will I remember what I ate?) as well as the concern about the diet's affect on my lifelong health. The latter part of those fears are quickly silenced when I reason that my health is sufficiently hindered by the lack of exercise (I belong to a great gym, but feel too fat when I go there), by the aches in my legs and lower back (requiring a chiropractic adjustment at least every other week), and the lack of sufficient nutrition provided by the foods and drink consumed. I've always done better when boundary lines are clearly defined, as required by the eating plan required after this operation.

In two and a half weeks I'll be in Southern Italy, on the Mediterranean, for a week. I'm seeing it as my last hurrah. I'll be able to eat/drink whatever I want! I'll be back home for six days before leaving for Brazil. When a new life will begin. It's kind of exciting. And more than a little scary.

Well, I've written enough for the first entry. Hopefully I'll become disciplined in writing about future experiences, problems, and concerns, as well as future victories. It's a little difficult to conceive of the latter at this point, but that day is coming...I say in faith!

Ciao!