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I go to support groups and browse the postings in the RNY forum and I find myself so jealous. All these people who have enjoyed the fabled "honeymoon" period after surgery, who have stuck to their programs and found themselves enjoying success. I had problems from the beginning and never had a "honeymoon."  I suppose I set myself up for failure from before the beginning and I have no one to blame but myself. My therapist strongly cautions me not to buy into defeatist thinking and I try to accept her advice, but the truth is that I can't help remembering a former therapist who wouldn't okay me for surgery. I can't help thinking that maybe she was right, that I shouldn't have had the surgery. But I did and, as promised, I've lost a lot of weight in the months since, but now I'm really struggling. My eating is totally out of control and my weight has began to slowly inch back up. I'm so afraid of gaining it all back, plus more, but that fear doesn't seem to be strong enough to do anything about it.

I've been in and out of Overeater's Anonymous for years. I always thought that I'd taken the first two steps, that I'd admitted I was powerless over food and that I believed my higher power (God) could help me. The other night, after a particularly bad binge, I got out my OA books and started reading them. I made it through the first two steps and stopped because I realized, for the first time, that I had NOT taken those first steps after all. I've always had an easy time admitting that I have a problem with food but I've never accepted it on a gut-deep level. Admitting I am powerless goes against everything I believe in. And the second step? I've never doubted the existence of God but apparently I don't believe He can help me. Now it feels like I'm stuck on a pin, like a butterfly in a science project. I can't go backward but I can't seem to go forward either. So I struggle.

These past months haven't been all bad. I had lost a total of 135 lbs from my high weight and a lot of my co-morbidities have eased or even gone completely away. I am more mobile, finding it easier to get around, and I can even go without my cane much of the time. I don't want to lose all this success, but if I don't get a grip on my eating and get with the program that's exactly what is going to happen.

Over a month has passed since my last blog entry and things have improved for me overall. I no longer regret having the surgery but it is still a struggle to embrace all the changes necessary for success. There are so many and for someone who tends toward perfectionism it can be overwhelming!

I have tried to stick close to the recovery timeline given to me by my surgeon's office but have learned the hard way that they were right when they told me it was a guideline, rather than a timeline, and in no way specific to my own recovery. Sometimes it has seemed as if I lost two steps for every one I took because I would be going along, doing fine, then suddenly the food I was able to eat yesterday was no longer tolerated today. It can be so frustrating! Usually, though, I can trace the real problem to something I've done that I shouldn't have done. Like eating too much and/or eating too fast. This last setback was caused by my taking Benefiber for constipation, something that was recommended by the nurse at our support group meeting. A different nurse told me to stop the Benefiber and start taking stool softners. So far, so good.

Compared to some accounts that I've read, my weight loss has been rather modest. Six weeks out I've lost about 30 lbs. I've been plateau-ing for the past two weeks. When I weighed Tuesday night, the first time in two weeks, I'd only lost 2 lbs. Since I didn't have the dreaded three week plateau I'm calling it my six week plateau. My clothes continue to get baggier and baggier, though, so I know I just need to be patient. The pounds will start falling away again eventually.

My surgeon finally cleared me to return to the gym today, something that makes me very happy. I had only been going to the gym for three weeks when I had my surgery and I've been afraid that the small cardio gains I'd made then will have disappeared. I asked them specifically to mention that it was OK for me to start strength training when I go back. The gym I go to is actually an extension of the cardio-rehab unit and they are very protective of their members. They only allowed me to do the recumbent stepper and the "hand crank" (like a bicycle for your arms) before. My surgeon agrees that I need strength training as well so hopefully with his endorsement I'll be able to start that upon my return.

After such a dark beginning to my "rebirth," the future is finally looking brighter and filled with all the hope I had held before my surgery. Would I do it again? I don't even have to think about it. My answer is most definitely, yes!

I finally had my surgery April 2nd, about ten days ago now, and am doing really well. It didn't start out well, however, and that is the purpose of this particular blog. I want to warn as many people as I can about the possibility of having an emotional meltdown after surgery, perhaps beginning as soon as you wake up in recovery. No one warned me about it so I was totally unprepared for the roller coaster ride the first week of my recovery would become.  I hope I am able to help others through it should the same happen to them.

In my case, I went to sleep absolutely convinced that I was doing the right thing. I woke up equally convinced that I had made the biggest mistake of my life, and things just went downhill from there. Within twenty-four hours my mood had hit rock bottom. I was severely depressed and extremely irritable. I had a hair trigger on my temper and I cried almost none stop. I managed to keep a smile (of sorts) on my face whenever anyone else was in my hospital room but inside I was a basket case. I hated what I had done to myself and despaired of ever being able to "live normally" again.

When I was discharged and went home things got worse. There I didn't try to keep a mask on my face. My tears flowed freely and even my cherished pets quickly learned to stay out of my way. At one point I caught myself contemplating suicide and that is when I finally called for help.

It seems that I was hit by a number of things, any one of which would have been enough to cause the meltdown. First, I am bipolar and my medications had been suspended beginning the day before surgery (Sunday) and continuing until the next Friday when they were finally resumed. Secondly, ANY major surgery has the power to knock your emotions out of whack for a period of time afterward. Thirdly, I am very sensitive to most painkillers. I can't take morphine or even synthetic morphine, and many other painkillers also have the power to depress my mood. Repeated doses only make the situation worse. And, finally, there's the fact that I was in deep mourning afterward for the death of my lifelong dependence on food to pick me up when I was down. Who, or what, would I turn to now?

Post surgical meltdowns usually get better on their own. It's just a matter of plugging ahead and working to keep the faith that things WILL get better. But sometimes they don't so if they don't or if, like me, you have other conditions (such as depression or bipolar disorder) that can make it that much worse, be prepared to reach out for the help you need to overcome it. There's no reason you should have to try to white nuckle your way through something that intervention by a professional can help.

Today I am 200% better than I was a week ago. My mood is positive, I'm no longer sorry I had the surgery (In fact, I'm thrilled!), and I'm losing weight. I'm filled with hope and peace with myself and I'm hoping that my story will help others who may find themselves in the same boat I was in. Good luck to you all as you progress on your own particular journeys!

Time seems to be speeding up as my surgery date approaches, but it's still not passing fast enough to suit me! I work out three times a week, on Monday, Wednesday and Friday, and that helps. I'm still far from fit, though, and I get frustrated that I'm not able to do more.
 
I exercise at the Medical Fitness Center of the hospital where I'll be having my surgery. It's actually a step down program from the cardiac rehabilitation unit but anyone can join. I decided it was the best choice for me because everyone is medically supervised and you can't just walk in and make up your own fitness regimen. For someone in such poor shape physically and who is prone to biting off more than she can chew it was a very wise choice.

The first time I went up there I had to be wheelchaired because I couldn't walk the distance from the parking lot to the center. The person I needed to see for information was out to lunch so I was wheeled into the gym to wait. I immediately noticed that, at 49, I was easily the youngest person there. Most everyone appeared to be in their late 70s or early 80s. Many were on walkers and a few were even tethered to oxygen tanks but wow! Were they ever going to town on their respective equipment! One man in particular caught my attention. He appeared to be one of the oldest in the room and he was using the Nustep, a recumbent stepper. I don't know how long he had been on it when I arrived but when I left 45 minutes later he was still going strong! I couldn't help comparing him to myself and finding myself wanting!

Four months passed before I was finally able to join the Center but the day after being scheduled for weight loss surgery I was at the gym for my assessment and to learn what equipment I would be assigned to. The bottom line is that I was in such poor shape they would only allow me to use two pieces of equipment, the Nustep and the hand crank, which looks like bicycle pedals for your hands, and I could only work out three days a week. I was told not to do more than five minutes on each and that I could build myself up one minute at a time with each visit. I admit that didn't sit well with me and I groused a bit while I was huffing and puffing on the hand crank. A little old man sitting across from me listened patiently as he cranked along at a much faster pace than I could maintain before giving me a beautiful smile and promising, "It's okay, Honey. Pretty soon you'll be able to keep up with us!"

That was last week. Today I managed to make it up to eight minutes and was feeling pretty good with my accomplishment. But my bubble took a serious hit when the nurse came along and asked us how we were doing. Everyone at the hand crank table had been at it for at least 40 minutes. Everyone, that is, but me. I took it with good grace, however, because I realize that I didn't get into this shape all at once and it will take time to reverse years of neglect. I reminded myself that I'm already improving and I'm doing it at a safe pace. Sometimes I still have to be wheelchaired up but more and more I'm finding I can sometimes walk at least one way (It's kinda hard right now, though, since they've taken away my arthritis meds and replaced them with tylenol.). I've accepted as gospel the promises of the many WLS patients I've met over the years who assure me that miracles will occur as the weight drops off. At this point I am looking forward to the day when I really can finally keep up with my elderly friends at the gym.

It's been nearly eleven years since I started this journey and it's been a journey of frustration, heartache, and self-discovery. Just last fall I gave up for a while because I couldn't seem to pass the wretched psych eval. I'd been trying since February 2008 to gain one psychologist's approval or another. All they would say was that they believed I wasn't ready, this despite jumping through every single hoop they placed in front of me. What else, I wondered, could I do to please them?

To a degree I have to admit they were partially right. I wanted the surgery and was willing to do most anything I had to to have it. Problem was, I also wanted to please my family and they were not supportive of my efforts. They believed that weight loss surgery was the "easy way out" and frowned down on me for pursuing it. Many still do. The bottom line with my family is that they want me to lose the weight but they themselves don't want to be bothered by my struggle. I have a good friend acting as my primary support person. An aunt is acting as my secondary, but I'm not convinced as to her committment to the job. I hate writing that. My insecurity hurts.

Despite all those bumps in my road, I did finally pass the psych eval and within a very short period of time was awarded insurance approval! Yesterday my surgery was finally, at long last, scheduled and I have a little less than three weeks before my rebirth into a healthy person. It will be nice to fit into off-the-rack clothes, but it will be even better to be able to walk without pain and to kiss my comorbidities goodbye! There are so many reasons why this is the best decision I have every made, more than I can list here. The bottom line, I'll be able to live a fuller life.

I stopped believing the surgery was a magic bullet long ago. I continue to grapple with emotional issues that could derail my success. I live in fear of failure. But I've come a long, long way over these past eleven years. I'm stronger and clearer on the demands that must be met. And most importantly, I'm no longer so concerned with my family's attitude. I'm doing this for me and me alone.

It's been a while since I've posted anything here. The reason? I gave up. I couldn't get a grip on my weight loss that the surgeon requires of me and I couldn't seem to pass the psychologist's evaluation. After trying for four years I threw in the towel and just gave up. It was a pretty dark time for me.

Then, suddenly, the weight started to drop. Not much, but it dropped. It was enough to build on so I went back to the used book store and repurchased the books I'd sold weeks before. Books on eating, exercise, and, of course, weight loss surgery. I started reading them again. I also returned to support group where I realized my biggest fear is failing. I'm terrified that I won't be able to lose my excess weight and that whatever I do manage to lose will just be put back on. This is the reality of my past. I want so much to change that reality so I'm working on improving my attitude and setting goals. I'm learning how to take care of myself and teaching myself how to believe that tomorrow, that even today, will be different. The most important lesson I've brought with me to the present day is that by giving up, I failed. I had already realized my biggest fear!

Last week I learned that the psychologist had finally approved me for surgery. My surgeon will review my chart then the letter will go to medicare for approval. I'm told that the turn around time is approximately 3 weeks once the letter is actually sent. How will I ever stand the suspense??

To date I've lost right at 50 lbs and am below 300 lbs for the first time in three years. My surgeon wanted me below 300 lbs before he would even consider scheduling my surgery. Now I've met that requirement and am working to keep going. On March 1st, I'm scheduled to begin working out at my hospital's medical fitness program. Next to my fear of failing, my refusal to become more active is my biggest obstacle to overcome. I've set my sights on overcoming it!

In July I'm scheduled to attend a convention in San Diego and meet a friend I haven't seen since 1976. I want to be able to walk distances, visit with my friend and see the town, not remain confined to the hotel. This is giving me focus for the short term. Those in my support group who've had the surgery give me other things to focus on. Things like maybe being able to throw away my diabetes and hypertension medicines, being able to buy cute outfits off the rack and maybe even throw away my cane. And perhaps the best thing to focus on is being able to go out in public and hold my head up, not stare at the ground in shame. It seems I'm always learning some new thing to focus on.

So here I go again, putting one foot in front of the other and keeping my eyes on the prizes awaiting me. Wish me luck!

Finally! After 3-1/2 years of trying I have passed my psych eval for WLS! At the moment I'm more relieved than happy, I think. I don't know what I did or said to change things but I'm glad that part of the process is finally over. Now my paperwork will be sent to my insurance company and, hopefully, in 2-3 weeks I'll have my approval.

I think of all the people I've met, both online and in person, and I notice one big difference in myself and them (and, yes, I talked about this with the psychologist who evaluated me). For ten years I've been educating myself about WLS and as a result I'm no longer "gung-ho" about having surgery. In fact having the surgery makes me nervous and sometimes I even find it frightening. It's such a big decision with even bigger demands for change in my life and I'm terrified that I'm going to fail at this, too. But when I look forward into the future I see things that frighten me even more. Things like an early death and/or continuing to gain weight until I'm bedridden. I see my quality of life continuing to spiral downward as the pain I'm already experiencing increases until I can no longer do anything that I once enjoyed.  If I continue on this path I'm currently on I might as well die early because life just doesn't seem to be worth living if I can't find joy in my existence.

Over the years I've made lists of pros and cons with regard to WLS. It's funny how some cons, like dumping, have become pros as I learned more about their place in the greater scheme of things. Now my list of pros far outnumber my cons. I see hope in that list and in the words of everyone I've met who've traveled this road before me. Yes, it will be wonderful to lose weight and look good for a change, but what I am looking forward to more than anything are the other benefits of WLS. Perhaps my diabetes, hypertension and the constant pain in my legs will go away. Maybe I'll be able to shower and know without a doubt that I'm clean all over for a change. And maybe, just maybe, I'll be able to spend a day with my friends and really, truly be one of the gang again. Most of all, maybe I will no longer be filled with shame whenever I go out in public. 

So, you see, my anxiety and fear about the surgery are outweighed by blossoming hope. Ten years of research and soul-searching are going to pay off because now I have a very balanced view of what lies ahead. I've a very good surgeon and a wonderful support team to see me through so faith in a successful outcome is growing. Most of all I have my own vision for a future far different than my past to focus on. As the saying goes, the best is yet to come.

I love looking through the before and after pictures here on OH. While the surgeons don't want me concentrating solely on what I'll look like, I can't help but look at those pictures and marvel at their outward success. I've been fat literally all my life. The closest I ever came to being a normal weight was after a 1984-85 starvation diet. I lost nearly 100 of my 130 excessive pounds and was down to eating 500 calories a day, if I was eating at all. Though I was loving wearing much smaller clothes, I was totally unprepared emotionally for the changes losing so much weight wrought. I harbored so much anger toward my family members who had hurt me, anger that had been simmering just under the jolly facade I'd cultivated since childhood and which now was coming to the surface with bewildering intensity. Instead of warming to their praise for my weight loss I wanted to vent my bitterness toward them. After all, all I'd had to do win their approval was starve myself, right? When I found myself with five guys following me around the college campus where I was studying I became terrified and it just so happened that Burger King was having a sale on their hamburgers. I started eating again, cramming it in as fast as I could instead of confronting my fears. Every one of those 100 lbs that I'd lost came back just as fast as I had lost them then continued on until I was a full 200 lbs overweight. And here I've been ever since. My highest weight was nearly 350 lbs. I've managed to lose 30-35 lbs in the past year. It's far from easy and my long-term success is uncertain without the WLS tool to help me. To prepare for the challenges that lie ahead I've already started making the necessary changes to my diet and am learning to chew my food thoroughly, protein first. I drink my water almost exclusively, sometimes rewarding myself for a good day with a little crystal light added in. Perhaps most important of all I sought out professional counseling to help me deal with the pain and anger, as well as a crippling fear of men, that have limited me in so many ways throughout my life. This, I believe, is the greatest gift I can give myself: the gift of peace of mind. There are still many challenges ahead but I am not shying from them. Eventually I will have WLS, when I and my team of medical experts believe I am finally ready. In the meanwhile I will continue to look at before/after pictures and read about other people's journeys, always keeping the goal of a sound and healthy body, and mind, before me. I will succeed!

I spoke with the patient advocate for Foothills Weight Loss yesterday to schedule a day and time when I could go have my stomach tested for bacteria. During the conversation she casually asked me how my weight loss was going. I told her, with much pride, that I was down to 313 lbs that very morning. There was a small pregnant pause before she told me I was doing well. AFter we hung up I went to check my binder containing my check list and information on the WLS journey. There in bold print was my last weight taken in February: 313 lbs! I was so disappointed at first but then I got to thinking to myself. I said, "Self, you had a pretty big change in your diabetes medication and had to start taking pills instead of Byetta shots. Those pills drove you to eat voraciously which caused your weight to climb. You are your own best advocate! Appeal the insurance company's denial! So that's where I'm at at the moment. At last contact they had yet to rule on my appeal. But in the meanwhile my primary has dispensed samples to me to use until a decision is made. Things at a crawl just now but I've a feeling those things are going to open up into a sprint before long.

To meet the pre-surgical weight loss requirements I've been on the South Beach Diet since June 1st and managed to lose 16.5 lbs in the time since. Well, that was until tonight when I weighed in and discovered that I'd gained a single pound in the past week. In the past that would have sent me into histrionics that only ended with the consumption of two or three BAGS of chocolate. Not so now! While I am disappointed in myself for my transgressions that led to this pound gain I'm much more interestd in learning what I can to prevent it from happening again.

First, do not allow anyone to feed you! I was doing really well until the church potluck this past Sunday. Based on previous potlucks I assumed that someone would furnish ham and a selection of veggies thus making it safe for me to partake. Not this time! There wasn't a single low carb dish on the table. Well, except for the ever present green beans. So did I politely decline? Nope. I took a small (and I emphasize small) serving of several different things and washed it all down with water, then patted myself on the back for doing so well. Mistake number one.

Second, do not sit passively by when someone suggests going out to eat at a (fill in the blank) restaurant! One of my aunts called and said she wanted to treat me to a belated birthday meal at her favorite Chinese eaterie. A buffet even! Now, I knew that, with the possible exception of terriyaki chicken (aka "rat on a stick"), there would be no "safe" foods there but did I speak up? Nope. I went along and ate what I thought would be dishes that weren't too bad for me. The meat wasn't breaded and there were lots of veggies so they should be safe, right? I conveniently forgot about all the sodium and MSG they load it down with, and who knows what is in the sauces. This mistake caused me to bloat up like the proverbial balloon and to feel physically as if I'd been hit by a speeding bus.

But, despite these things I did manage to do something right. I got right back on the wagon on subsequent meals and did NOT partake of any chocolate or other no-no foods. I was also painfully honest with myself and accepted responsibility for the feeding of my face and for not being more proactive in my own care. As I've heard Richard Simmons say many times, I hold the fork and possess the true power. Not the food. I think I'm finally understanding that.