Who will I become?

I am scheduled to have gastric bypass surgery 17 days from today. I’ve started my low-calorie, low-carb diet and I’ve already dropped a few pounds. I am excited for all the possibility that my future holds.

I imagine, though, that I know a bit what a drug addict feels like knowing he is going to rehab. Since I started the post-op diet, knowing that the success of the operation itself depends on how well I adhere to the diet, I keep thinking about all the drugs I’m giving up…sneaking through the Chick-Fil-A drive-through for a secret helping of nugs and waffle fries and eating them in the car before I get to wherever I’m going; gallons of coffee and diet Coke; bags of salty, crunch things like Doritos or chips and salsa. For years and years now, food has been my addiction. Although, like an alcoholic, I’ve tried to largely keep the volume of food a secret, anyone who looks at me can plainly see I eat too much and move too little. Not even my husband realizes the true volume of food I have been consuming. The day I realized that by giving all of this up, I was really going to be gaining a whole lot more was the day I decided to have the surgery. And although I know this is the right thing for me to do and this is the right time to do it, I am still mourning the loss of my old friend.

I’ve spent the past 9 months working with an eating disorders counselor, let’s call her Ann, and have come to realize a lot of things about myself and they way I live my life. Things that I think many people either take for granted or never give a second thought to. When I am anxious or bored, I soothe myself with something deep fried. Some people drink too much, so people have sex with strangers, some people are mean to their loved ones…I eat. It has taken me these past months working with Ann to learn better ways to take care of myself and to deal with my feelings. I spent a lot of evenings alone thinking about whether I’m actually going to eat the entire pizza I just ordered or not. I have gone so far as to throw food away or even throw it out the window of my car. I have made a lot of improvements and changed a lot of bad habits. All the same, I know I still have a very long way to go and I know that post-bypass, I physically just will not be able to indulge my food cravings and all those feelings are just going to be there and need to be dealt with. I guess this is why, when they do an intervention, they take the addict away to treatment immediately – no time to contemplate the loss of your way of life and way of coping.

Knowing and understanding this, I am wondering what my life will really be like post-op. Will there be a transfer of addiction? Having gone through the recovery process now with several loved ones, I know that addictions often get traded. Alcoholics often trade their wine for meetings. My mother became something of a compulsive shopper (a very expensive addiction) and then a compulsive home improver. It is harsh to say, but cancer came along and gave her something else to obsess about for a couple of years. Now she is healthy and she’s on to cooking. I think she also has an excessive number of “medical problems;” she’s always wearing a new brace or device or needing some sort of appointment with some specialist or another. My sister became a compulsive runner, running so much she was facing back surgery. Then it was dogs, always rescuing dogs to the point of getting herself in over her head. She flirts with a sex addiction, and now that she is engaged to man who will not sleep with her until they are married, she is rushing a wedding through, allowing sex (or lack thereof) to cause her to make poor decisions that are negatively impacting her family relationships and her future. Although both of them no longer drink alcohol, the addictive behavior has not stopped.

Will surgery and weight loss consume my thoughts and time? Will I spend hours at my support group instead of eating? Or will I finally learn to live a balanced life?

Oh, Christmas Tree!

I love Christmas. I love the music, the decorations, the gift-giving, all of it. Christmastime makes me really happy. I especially love Christmas trees. Ok, not all trees, just my tree – my beautiful, elegant, simple, gold-silver-and-white-only tree.

My husband hates Christmas. He doesn’t like all of the expectations and subsequent disappointment that have gone along with his Christmases in the past. This is our fourth Christmas together, and over these past four years, we’ve alternated between having a tree and not. To my delight, this is a have-a-tree year. We got new furniture a few months ago, and now we really don’t have any room for a tree, so we agreed that we’d get a small, artificial table-top tree to place right on top of an end table in the living room. I was pleasantly surprised when Beau told me that he wanted to go with me to pick out the tree. We got to the store last night and decided on a larger tree than I thought he’d be in for. Excellent. We had the tree in the buggy and it was time to go home and decorate it! But then he says we need to get some decorations. What? No, we don’t. We have beautiful, lovely decorations already at home. Well, he’s really getting into this whole tree thing, and I love that he is. I don’t want to crush any of his new-found Christmas spirit. His excitement over the whole thing made my love for him and for the holiday grow even more.

We spent an hour in Target picking out some of the worst Christmas tree decorations ever made. It’s our Christmas, I decided, and we can make it however we want; new traditions that are just ours, without all of the old heartaches and disappointments. We went home and decorated it up, with Beau’s joy growing all the while. There’s palm tree garland, a scuba diving bee, cars, a motorcycle, and flashing multi-colored lights. And sitting right on top, a life-sized cardinal with a long, feathered tail. It’s the awfulest, most wonderful Christmas tree there ever was.

My gift this year has been the best yet: learning that the power of a relationship can turn something bad into something wonderful.

Just the Good 'Ole Boys, Never Meanin No Harm

My work can be incredibly rewarding. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saving babies and puppies from burning buildings, or anything like that, but every now and then, I realize that what I do makes someone’s life just a little better.

But most days, my job makes me want to rip my hair out. There’s nothing more frustrating that working on a project for months, putting your credibility on the line, collaborating and bringing groups together to formulate policies that are in the best interest of the entire community, only to be told near the end of the process that you can’t go forward because some greedy developer (who doesn’t even live in our community) might not be able to make enough money off of his project this way.

In the most recent election, less than 13% of registered voters bothered to vote. Maybe you didn’t vote because the choices were Dumb or Dumber. Maybe you didn’t vote because you think local elections don’t matter. Well, they do. I guess most people either don’t pay attention to local matters until they have a problem that affects them on a personal level or else they are happy with the status quo.

When will our community learn that the old way of doing things will lead to our downfall? We can’t be so afraid of change that we unwittingly rob ourselves of what made us great in the first place. When will our elected leadership (AND our electorate) learn that you can’t always do what’s best for your cronies/uncle/golfing buddy?

The old boy network is alive and well.

Oh, the Horror!

The worst thing happened to me yesterday. I had my annual ladies exam, but I went to a new doctor this year. I was sick of the terrible customer service (yes, doctors, your patients are customers!) at the old office, but that’s another post all together. Anyway, the entire event was wrought with embarrassment and shame. It’s bad enough to have the exam in the first place, but this visit was particularly awful.

Each visit starts with a weigh-in, which is always fun.

Next, I walk into the exam room where they have a lovely backless gown waiting for me on the table. The nurse told me to put the gown on so that it ties in the back and to sit on the exam table, the doctor would be right in. So I trade my work clothes for a hospital gown. Of course there is only one tie (at the neck) on this gown, so my entire arse is hanging out of the thing. Not that the missing arse-level ties would have met one another anyway, since that’s the widest part of me. Not uncomfortable at all, right?

Fully gowned, I climb onto the table, only to realize that, even sitting on the table, my entire coin slot is exposed. This wouldn’t be a problem at the old, crappy customer service office where they have a curtain hanging between the door and the table. But not here, no sir! At the new, nice people office, my butt is facing the door so that whenever that door is opened, whomever is in the hallway will have a sweet, sweet view of my shiny white hiney.

So I sit on the table waiting for the doctor to come in, all the while trying to cover my crack with my hands. The logical side of me realizes this is completely ineffective, but I can’t stop trying.

The doctor finally comes in and does her thing. She is gentle and quick and I think the horror will finally be over, just as soon she lets herself out of the exam room, exposing innocent hallway bystanders to my big naked bum.

Boy was I wrong. Once she leaves the room, I jump off the table, eager to put something on that 1 – reaches all the way around me, and 2 – doesn’t expose any unsightly parts. Well, I am standing there cleaning myself up before getting dressed and for some reason, I look over my shoulder. BIG mistake. I look behind me only to realize that, for some unknown reason, there is a full length mirror there, so I get a full view of my naked back side, jiggly thighs, and lady parts. Who puts a full length mirror in the gynecologist’s exam room? This is not the sort of mirror a doctor might use to help aid an exam. No, no, no, this is the sort of mirror you hang over the back of your closet door. It was a frightening, ugly sight, really terrible. In my horror, I thought of my dear husband. He is a sweet, sweet man. I never saw myself from that perspective before, and the very fact that he can look at that and still speak to me is just amazing. You might think I am being dramatic or giving the man too much credit, but you didn’t see what I had to see. I never want to see that again!

When I got home last night, I just sat down and looked him in the eye and told him how very lucky I am to have him. I even got a little choked up. He just held my hand and told me that he’s the lucky one.

Do you think they sat around at the gynecologists convention thinking up ways to traumatize their patients? As if the exam isn’t enough fun.

An Ounce of Prevention

Last night was a bad, bad night. I was home alone and I let it get to me. In my quest to unlearn years of disordered and emotional eating, I have learned  - ok, I guess I always knew – I have acknowledged that, for various reasons, my anxiety level can get really  high when I’m left alone and I soothe myself with food.  It happened last night. I’d been mindful and without a binge for so long and last night was a relapse. I almost feel like a recovering alcoholic who got drunk last night. Except that I’ve always thought it would be easier to recover from alcohol addiction (to clarify, I KNOW that this is not easy, just easier) than from food addiction just because you don’t need alcohol to live the way you need to eat to live.

I am disappointed in myself, not so much for what I ate this time, but more so for having put all this effort and time and money into getting better only to blow it last night. I won’t let this ruin today, though. So yesterday was a bad day. A really bad day. And now that I’m thinking about it, it was worse that I first thought. I grazed all day long yesterday. I think it was all related to knowing that I’d be alone last night and having some anxiety about it.

The last time this happened, my counselor told me that, if I have WLS, I simply will not be able to do this. Your body is just not capable of handling that volume of food, so you need to find some other way to deal with your anxiety, she told me. She helped me think of ways to stave off relapse - ounces of prevention - don't bring trigger foods home, have a plan for what to do, sort out the thoughts before acting...why didn't I do any of those things last night. I knew all day long that I was going to be home alone last night. I did choose to meet my friends for sushi for dinner, knowing that would keep me busy and satisfied for some time, but it didn't last. As soon as I got home from dinner, I made myself a second dinner. It's disgusting when I think about it that way.

Does this relapse mean I’m not ready? 

Water Ruins a Perm

I've taken up swimming. It's a great workout, burning more calories that running (I didn’t believe it at first either – check out this calorie burn counter http://www.healthstatus.com/calculate/cbc), without leaving my feet, knees, and ankles screaming for hours afterward. I love swimming…once I get into my rhythm, I’m able to push through the “I can’t stand another second of this” to get in a really decent workout. And it’s quiet in the water. Sure, there are a million people at the gym at any given time, but once I’m in the pool, all I hear is my breathing and my thoughts.


When I run or use the elliptical, I feel like I’m on display. I hate running outside because I’m being watched by so many people and it makes me really uneasy. I know I shouldn’t care, but I do; all I can think about is the jiggling and shaking and how fast I'm not going. It’s not much better inside the gym. The way my gym is set up, there are windows all around the fitness equipment room so that even people who are not at least jiggling about with you can still watch. But in the pool, it’s different. I feel like the water gives me some sort of cover. Sure, the lifeguards can see me from their vantage point, but the other swimmers can’t. And due to the location of the pool, which is somewhat segregated from the rest of the facility, there aren’t really any casual bystanders milling about. The other swimmers have their faces in the water, so there’s just this feeling of having some sort of privacy.

While I love the cover of the water, I’ve discovered a whole new group of people for me to watch (I know, I know, I like it both ways): the blue hairs. There are all sorts of old ladies who come to the pool in the middle of the day. They do water aerobics wearing floral-print swim suits and aqua socks. The best part, though, is that they all get into the pool and then try not to get wet. Seriously?? Who gets into 30,000 gallons of water and then tries not to get wet? I guess water ruins a good perm.

Who knew the best part about swimming would be the people watching?

NEWSFLASH!

Newsflash: I can be full on just a little bit of food. In my pre-surgery quest, I have decided to see what it’s like to eat like one must following weight loss surgery. Of course, I do this knowing that I have a giant stomach stretched to the max from 20 + years of overeating and that post-WLS, most people are left with a stomach pouch roughly the size of an egg, or about 3-4 ounces. I didn’t think that I’d get full on just a cup of food. But guess what? I can! I am hungry again 2-3 hours later, but then a ¼ or so of food goes back in. Because I like to think I can think my way out of (or into) things, I think that if I’m going to expect to adjust to such a major life change following surgery, I ought to test it out first. I mean, what happens if I don’t try it first and then I’ve got this crazy, altered anatomy that doesn’t do what I want it to do? I heard one person who is five years post-op say she would never recommend the surgery to anyone because most people simply do not understand how great of a life-style change it really is. So basically I need to know if I can do it before I do it (like I said, sometimes I think too much).

So anyway, here I sit, measuring, weighing, and counting like never before. I mean to be serious this time. I’ve been eating no more than one cup of food at a time. One cup isn’t all that much, especially compared to the way I’ve been eating. Of course, post-op diets should have very limited amounts of fat and refined sugar and protein comes first. And so it has been for me the past few days. Full disclosure: I’ve only been doing this for three days, but what a difference it has made. I realize that I have to be committed to this for the rest of my life. And right now I understand that my health and longevity depend on my ability to do this for the rest of my life, surgery or no surgery.

Realistically, I think most people, me included, grossly underestimate how much we consume. We really, really, really don’t realize how much we take it. My husband says he just had a couple of beers when really it was six. Sure, to him, it honestly seemed like it was just a couple. I say, “oh, I don’t really eat that much and somehow I’m still so fat.” Ha. I challenge anyone who thinks that about themselves to take a hard, honest look at the volume you consume. Before you put a single thing down your gullet, weigh and measure it. Take a good look at how much food 4 ounces really is and eat only that amount. Track it for a few weeks and then take a look back and see how much you were consuming before. I bet you’ll be surprised.

I am so on the fence about this and I don’t think you should go into it unless you’re sure. While it is not impossible, it’s very difficult to get a do-over in this scenario. So, gone for good are the days of eating until I’m stuffed just so that I won’t be hungry later. No matter what I eat now, no matter how much, at some point, I’m going to be hungry again later. There’s absolutely no reason to eat enough for two at one sitting. Eat just enough to satisfy my physical needs and stop. This is a skill we’re born with – new born babies are smarter than I – but so many of us need to relearn this lesson.