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Weigh in number 2!

Okay, here we go; it's time for official weigh in number 2! I'm hoping for 9lbs. off or more and that will put me at a total of 25 lbs. in just under 2 months. This time I'm looking away...far, far away when the doctor does my fill. I don't want my joyous occassion to be ruined by me passing out and hitting the floor!
wendytip

wendytip

2
 

Help!

The other day my husband tried to kill me. To his credit, he was very clever in his attempt. He hatched his evil plan innocently enough by encouraging me to work out with him at a “spin class.” He approached me earlier in the week and asked me if I would like to go to spin class with him. I expressed my concerns. “I’m afraid I’m not in shape for this.” “What if I become so exhausted that I fall off the bike and humiliate myself?” “I don’t look good in bike shorts.” “The only biking I’ve ever done is when my car has been in the shop and it’s imperative that I get to my destination…my destination being Dairy Queen, or someplace like that.” “You know I hate sweating…in particular the dreaded thigh sweating that will inevitably occur during this class.” None of these excuses worked…and besides, my husband is super HOT, so he was able to convince me to give it a try. Oh, you should have seen him making sure that I was ready for class; getting me a towel, adjusting my bike seat, making sure that my bike’s handle bars were placed just so, checking the resistance on the bike. Little did I know that he was he was getting me ready, alright…getting me ready to DIE! The music started. The too- peppy- for- her own good- impossibly well conditioned- instructor arrived, and we got on our bikes. I was great…for about 30 seconds; then it hit me. My undoing wasn’t to be any of my aforementioned concerns, no, my undoing was going to be the tiny, yet rock hard bike seat that was cutting into my ass. I looked at my husband. He smiled at me sweetly. I chose to ignore the searing pain in my butt. Alas, the more we peddled, the happier everyone looked and the more intense the pain became. I looked around. No one else seemed to be having the same problem as myself. Looking across the room, I spied a women whose ass was almost ass big as mine. She sort of reminded me of me, but with one major exception; she was peddling happily. I wondered: was she faking it? Did she have an “I love exercise” Mission Impossible mask on? You know, the ones that look just like your actual face, but they’re really only a ruse, meant to fool people? What I really wanted to know was how all of these people could NOT be in the same pain as me. What really boggled my brain was how all of the skinny people could not be in pain. I mean, let’s face it; if you’ve got a big, well padded behind that should work to your advantage, but I was dying, and how all those riders with NO padding could take it, was beyond me. I turned to my husband and said, “I can’t take this. My ass is killing me. My husband then told me something that I can only assume was meant to relieve me. “Well, you won’t be sitting the whole time.” And friends, even though I hated life at that very moment, don’t think that I didn’t find the hysterical absurdity in his statement. I began to laugh wildly. After I finally caught my breath, I said, “You don’t really think I’m going to be able to actually stand up on this bike and peddle do you?” However, as my ass began to go numb I decided to try and stand and peddle in order to alleviate the pain. It was sort of like trying to hoist a 200 pound bag of wet sand. I sat back down and peddled some more. Surely I could make it through this. After 5 more excruciating minutes I turned back to my husband, who was now looking not as much hot as diabolical.” I can’t do this.” I said again. “Is your resistance all the way down he asked?” “It’s not my resistance,” I all but screamed, “It’s my ass! My ass is numb! Numb! Do you hear me?” He looked at me calmly, “Hang in there. You’ll get used to it.” I would’ve stopped peddling the bike right then and gotten of f, but at that point the entire lower half of my body had lost feeling. I mentally willed my legs to stop turning the peddles. As I hobbled off the bike, and staggered out of the room I turned to my killer/husband. “Oh, I’ll never get used to it…NEVER.”
wendytip

wendytip

5
 

The Trials, Tribulations and Mental Anguish of Going to the GYM!

I hate working out. I do. I am not one of those, “endorphin rush water bottle carrying gym bag toting heart monitoring yeah, I feel so great after a few hours of sweating” people. Truth be told; if I didn’t have to work out- I wouldn’t, and I wouldn’t miss it one damn bit. But, I do have to work out. I’m making it part of my lifestyle, now. I hate it, but I don’t have a choice, so I do it. So, I go to the gym the other day for a step class. I know that I may not be able to get through it, but hey, I gotta start somewhere. I’m waiting outside the step class and I’m surrounded by all these flippy- tailed little college girls. God, I hate them! I’m just being honest. No, I don’t know them, and yes, I know I’m being irrational. I’m sure they’re very nice girls, but that doesn’t matter; I hate them anyway. They get on my nerves. And they get on my nerves because they have flat non existent stomachs. They have little bitty behinds…my behind has never been that small…not even when I was a baby! Worst of all, they are so joyously happy about getting to that step class! I wish I could beat the hell out of them with their monogrammed gym bags. I go into the class and get my step…none of those little platform, riser thingys that elevate the step. I’m sure the step alone, with its three inches in height will be more than enough for me. I move to the back row; where all fat people work out. I think that if I position myself just right behind a few of those skinny girls that I may not be able to see myself in the mirror. I HATE those mirrors. A friend of mine told me once that the mirrors are there so that I can check my “form.” Hell, I don’t need to check my form. I just need to remain upright. I you hear my fat ass hit the floor then you’ll know that my “form” is in trouble. I do find, however, that if I stand right where the mirrors come together that I look half my size…maybe these mirrors aren’t so bad after all. We begin to work out, and I’m good…for a few minutes. I find that if I do most of the step routines without the step itself, then I can keep myself from passing out…which doesn’t really make it a “step” class does it? It sort of just makes it an…aerobic…floor exercises class. Just when I’m feeling okay, I look over and there is someone with 3 of those little platform things under their step; 3! That step was up to her knees! About that time, the instructor says, “For those of you who want to take it up a notch, you can give a little jump on your step.” Then that masochistic woman with the 3 platform thingys does just that; she “jumps” up on her step! I decided to finish out the step class with my eyes closed. It was awkward, and I had a hard time keeping my balance, but it was worth it!
wendytip

wendytip

3
 

I wear a size 18!

I wear a size 18! At last! Finally! I can fit into, without laying down on the bed to get the zipper up, or having to suck in to an unnatural degree... A SIZE 18! Happy days are here right damn now because I no longer wear anthing in the 20's. Oh yes, I may still shop in the fat girl section, but not for very much longer, because I wear a size 18! I think I will go and tell a total stranger on the street tomorrow that I wear a size 18. I don't even care if they look at me like I've lost my mind...I'm sort of used to that anyway. I don't care if they look at me like, "A size 18? Why, that's a fat size." I don't care because it's not a fat size to me. To me, it's a wonderful, beautiful, delightfully slenderishly, too hot to be believed size. All hail the size 18 GODDESS THAT I AM!
wendytip

wendytip

6
 

WOOOOOO-HOOOOOO! My first fill and 16 pounds gone!

I went for my first fill today, and bounded onto the scales. I was ready! I took my shoes off and Tiffany (my favorite nurse, EVER,) said, "Socks too." I was like, "Honey, if I could get by with it, I'd be on the scales, BUCK NAKED! So, I was hoping for a 15 pound loss, but got 16! Elation! Bliss! Joy!   I go in for my first fill and made the grave mistake of looking where my Dr. stuck the needle in. It didn't hurt, but I have a serious aversion to "looking" at needles or blood. So, I look away; quickly, and just when I think I won't puke and/or pass out, my Dr. says, "I need you to sit up and come over here to the x-ray machine. OMG, I can kind of see the needle poking out of my port. I look away; quickly...but not quickly enough. I'm standing there drinking that stuff, and just when I'm hoping that I won't puke and/or pass out, there's the needle, on the x-ray screen! I'm hanging in there, and looking at the ceiling, and finally I say, "Is it okay if I sit down?" My Doctor tells me that I can sit because we're through, and just when I think that maybe I won't puke and/or pass out, he comes over and just pops that needle out! Jeez! But, after some apple juice I was good to go. Nothing could get me down after that; not even learning that I have to be on liquids until tomorrow and I don't get to have any spaghetti tonight. Oh well, no worries. I'm just glad to be on this journey!
wendytip

wendytip

7
 

I may be fat, but I'm not stupid...well, not THAT stupid.

So…today…I can hardly wait to get to my doctor’s office. I want to see how much I’ve lost almost as much almost as much as I want that first fill. But, alas, I have the WRONG DAY. AGGGGGH! I can’t believe it! Lack of food is affecting my brain; either that or I’m just not that smart. And, they wouldn’t even let me WEIGH. I though I was gonna’ rush those scales. I’m still a big girl; what could they have done? Then…I go to the “Y” to work out, and I’m busting out 2.2 miles on the treadmill. I hot and sweaty and athletic and stinky and feeling great. I go to the shower and clean up. I reach for my clothes, but alas, I forgot my JEANS! AGGGGGHHHH! Now, I KNOW I cannot be that stupid, but I guess I am. So…I re-put on my gross, disgusting sweat pants and go right next door to buy a pair of jeans. I head straight to the “Fat Girl” section. I flip through the jeans. I look for my size, and guess what? You will not believe this; there on the little tag which should read 18, 20, 22, 24 is a “2”. What the HELL? I pick up the jeans. Clearly, they are “Fat Girl” jeans. I put them back and pick up another pair, just as large…maybe larger. The tag reads a “2!” Another pair of jeans and the tag reads a “4”. This is CRAZY. I rummaging through the jeans like a mad woman. Hangers are flying, but it’s all the same. Fat Girl jeans and none of the tags read higher than a 6! Well I may be fat, but I’m not stupid…at least not that stupid. I see what we’re doing, and it is so unbelievably ridiculous. I mean, really? REALLY? If a big pair of jeans has a size 2 tag, are we really supposed to believe as we stare at the backside of these trousers, which are by the way, at least 3 feet wide, that they are a SIZE 2? Are we supposed to feel better? If that’s the case then why bother to diet and exercise or have the lap band at all? Why not just change the tags out in the back of our clothes? It reminds me of going into a Lane Bryant store…which I don’t do anymore, for this very reason. All of the mannequins that are dressed in the Fat Girl clothes have the clothes pinned up in the back. It’s like they’re saying, “Look, loooooook…buy these size 20’s and this is what you’ll look like in them.” Yeah…right? So, let me get this straight, Lane Bryant; I’m good enough that you’ll take my money, but you don’t want my “true” body type portrayed. Anyway; I feel much better now. Nothing like a good “rant” to cleanse the soul.
wendytip

wendytip

7
 

Tomorrow!

I get my first fill tomorrow, and I'm so excited! I can't wait to get on those scales! I'm hoping to be 15 pounds down, but that may be a bit too ambitious since I'm not quite a month out. Whatever, though. I don't care. I've been very diligent, so I know I'll have a great loss. The weight will come off as it's supposed to come off; no biggie. I'm just sooooo enjoying this! I love seeing how much looser my clothes are every week, but more than anything I LOVE the fact that I'm not thinking about what to eat every single moment of every day!
wendytip

wendytip

3
 

And I am telling you...I'm not as fat!

This is to sang to the tune of "And I am telling you." Now, make sure you sing it with all the rightous indignation and happiness that you can muster! And I am telling you, I’m not as fat. Not as big as I was before, Not gonna’ be that way anymore. No, no, no way! No, no, no, no way! Not the big girl that I once was. Not as big as I once was. Oh yes, I’m gonna’ be free. I’m losing. I’m losing. And you, and you, and you might not recognize me. And I am telling you, I’m not as chubby. Even though my big butt was bubbly. There’s just no way, no way. Got tired of being so large. But now, I have taken charge. Yes, I got banded no doubt. Don’t you say it’s the easy way out? ‘Cause, I can’t have carbonated drinks ever, ever again! No, no, no, no, no, no. My ass will no longer be, the size of a gigantic R.V! And I mean there’s no way. No, no, no, no way I’m buying that plus size. Not buying size 22. You see there’s no way. There’s no way. Burn those fat clothes. Yell, scream and shout, Hey look at me! I’m a skinny girl now! Put on my running shoes, break out the treadmill I’m not going to quit. No, there’s no way I will. And I am telling you. I’m wearing a thong. I’m gonna by a bikini too! Who knows I might even buy two! No, no, no, no way. No, no, no, no way I’m living this fat life. I’m not shopping at Lane Bryant. Yes, I’m gonna be free. And you, and you, and you, you won’t recognize me.
wendytip

wendytip

2
 

And all of a sudden EVERYONE is a freakin? expert on how to loose weight.

I never knew how many people are experts on how to loose weight and keep it off until I got banded. Now, they are coming out of the woodwork. I’m quiet. I’m calm. I don’t say anything, as they go on and on and ON! I decided early on to be open about being “banded.” Hell, I don’t care what people say or think, and if I can motivate just one person to do whatever works for them to lose the weight, then it’s worth it to me. However, when people find out that I’m banded; that’s when it alllll starts. “The best way to loose weight and keep it off is by eating 6 small meals a day.” “I just cut out all the sodas and that’s how I lost 30lbs.” “Yes, but if you don’t work out 5 times a week for at least 45 minutes, at your target heart range, you won’t keep the weight off.” “I don’t eat anything past 7:00 in the evening.” “I drink only the strained juice from boiled cabbage, and eat only egg white omelets.” “The best way to loose weight and keep it off is by eating 6 small meals a day.” “I do the Atkins diet. I know it’s not healthy, but that’s the best way to loose weight.” “You better be working out at least 3 days a week for 2 hours in the pool, with weights attached to your arms, legs and neck, or you won’t keep the weight off.” “The best way to loose weight is by “praying” it off, and if you pray the weight off you don’t have to exercise because God doesn’t like it when we sweat” “You have to work out EVERY SINGLE day, except Sunday, if you want to keep the weight off…and I think that’s in the Bible somewhere.” “I do the all carb diet.” “I lost 50lbs through hypnosis.” “If you don’t eat breakfast your metabolism stagnates and you’ll actually GAIN weight.” “You better be working out.” “The band causes your body to go into starvation mode and you actually GAIN weight…you need to have that taken out.” “If you don’t exercise, then your body starts burning muscle and you might loose weight, but you won’t keep it off…plus your body will look all gross.” But I don’t say anything. I just smile and think “idiots.” But, what I “want” to say…what I want to say is, “Well, I tell you what; none of this is your business. You obviously don’t have a clue as to what you’re talking about, so you can take your choice: you can either kiss my fat a** now, or you can wait, and kiss my skinny a** in a few months!
wendytip

wendytip

11
 

My Party

Someday...soon, when I don't have to shop in the "fat girls" section, I will throw a big party. The invites will read, "Your invited to my I don't have to shop in the fat girls' section anymore." Guests don't have to bring a gift, but they do have to "gush" about how much weight I've lost, before I'll let them in. At the party I will wear my clothing inside out and backwards, so that everyone can easily see that I'm not a 1,2 or 3x anymore. Then we will all gather round' and my guests will sing,   "For she's not shopping in the fat girls' section. For she's not shopping in the fat girls' section. For she's not shopping in the fat girls' section; this nobody can deny."   Hell, I may even make them sing that a few times; who knows?
wendytip

wendytip

4
 

The Holiday Season and...broth

I have forgotten what it feels like to be this happy. I love the holiday season, but it's always made me so sad/angry in the past. It always started when someone would ask what I wanted for Christmas, making me want to scream, "Nothing! You can't give me what I want!" And then, the New Year; New Year’s resolutions, and whenever someone would say, “What are your New Year’s resolutions?” I wanted to scream, “My resolution, and there’s only one, is the same as my resolution last year; to NOT BE FAT! But what difference does it make? I never stick to resolutions, just like I never stick to anything, so leave me alone!” But now; now I can breathe. When I was asked what I wanted for Christmas this year, I got to reply, “Oh, I don’t know. I think I have everything I want.” And my N.Year’s resolutions; I’m not making any. I’d already resolved, decided that my life was going to change long before New Years. So, now I sit here, knowing that my Christmas Eve dinner was…broth. While my family ate Dove chocolate that I put in their stockings, I had…broth. My brother’s wife is a gourmet, and while everyone at my mom’s ate the yummiest food you can imagine, I had… broth. I GLADLY had broth. I HAPPILY sipped that broth. And when concerned family would ask, “Are you okay?” I’d answer, “Better than you could possibly imagine.
wendytip

wendytip

2
 

WOOOO-HOOOOO, aka; the story of the gray jeans.

O.K, so I'm one week out and I have to go for my one week check up thingy. So, I get up this morning and I think, "Hey, why don't I try on "those" jeans. But first, the back story on "those jeans." I went to spend a few days w/my mom in Atlanta, just before Christmas. This was a few days before my banding, and I wanted to get some last minute Christmas shopping done. Well, we get to the Mall of Georgia and the jeans I have one have a little worn place on my inner thigh, and my fat is smushing through the hole and rubbing a raw place on me. I figure my best course of action is to buy a clearance pair of jeans and change. I look around and finally find a pair of grey Liz Claiborne jeans for ten bucks. They're a size 22 which I figure may be a bit big, but I don't care; I can beat that price. So, I buy them and go to the dressing room to change, and guess what? That's right...they're too small! God, I couldn't believe it! I was determined to get them on. I pushed fat in. I sucked in. I pulled them up high on my hips and leaned forward. I kind of squatted down a few times hoping to loosen them up. I checked the tag to make sure I hadn't picked up an 18 by mistake. I hadn't. I tried some more. I would have lain down in the dressing room floor, but there wasn't enough room...plus I was afraid if I did get them zipped that I wouldn't be able to get back up. FINALLY…probably because I was sweating at this point, and maybe had burned just enough calories to get that zipper closed…I got them zipped. Yeah, I got them zipped and then I did this weird, stiff legged, John Wayne, walk out of the dressing room to get that shopping done. Well, as it turned out, the jeans were so tight (I not kidding, here,) that I though I was going to be sick, so I had to go and buy another pair of jeans. Okay…so this morning, I think I’ll try those jeans. I KNOW they won’t zip, but I’m sure they’ll be looser. Sooooooo, I put them on…and they ZIPPED! THEY ZIPPED! THEY ZIPPED, THEY ZIIIIPPPPPED! It wasn’t even like it was “iffy.” They just zipped right up! When I get to the Doctor’s office and weigh in, I find that I’ve lost 8 lbs! I gave a big WOOOOO-HOOOOO right there on the scales. 8lbs in one week…not too shabby.
wendytip

wendytip

3
 

Sing this loud and proud. I hope it makes you smile.

Lap Band Survival (Sung to the tune of "I Will Survive") At first I was afraid. I was petrified. But then I got so sick and tired of my fat butt and thighs. And I spent oh so many nights with dreams of skinny size 9 jeans, and I decided to do something really special just for me. And so I’m banded. I’m on week one. I live on chicken broth and jello, but I know this can be done. I’m gonna tuck in all my shirts. I’m gonna buy myself a thong. thought my bikini days were over, but I’m thinking I was wrong! And now I’ll go, to walk a mile or two. I might even break into a run, ‘cause there’s nothing I can’t do. I’ll have no more bread or pop, but I’ll have all those sales to shop, and I’ll survive. I will survive. Hey. Hey
wendytip

wendytip

8
 

Merry Christmas!

Here I am! 4 days post op and drinking that soup! And, let me just say that in NO WAY am I going to complain about anything...but...DAMN, I love chocolate! I'm not eating it...and I'm not drinking it...although I have given the latter some serious though. I did smell some of it though. I don't know if you can normally smell it through the wrapper or if I just have super sensitive olfactory senses. But I did...I gave it a good whiff...and then I back slowly away. And would I do all this again, and at this time of the year? Oh yeah! Without a doubt!
wendytip

wendytip

1
 

Just happy to be here!

YESSSSS! In about 3 hours, I officially be "post op!" I don't know if it's my fab doctor, my attitude, or both, but I feel AMAZING! Yes, yes, through gas pains and all, I am...ecstatic! My doctor didn't put me on any kind of pre op diet, but he did require that I have only liquids for 2 weeks, and do I CARE? No, I don't. I'll happily chug that chicken broth with a smile on my face! I've waited a long time for this chance, so I'm just happy to be here!
wendytip

wendytip

1
 

Hello Everyone!

I’m ready! God, I have been waiting for this day for so long. I’ve struggled and struggled and struggled with my weight since I was 10 years old! I can remember reaching my goal weight of 77 lbs. on Weight Watchers, and thinking that once I reached that goal I would be “normal.” And, I don’t think this is a “magic bullet”, and that the moment I have my procedure that all of my “issues” will miraculously disappear, but I do think that my banding will take what seems like a monumentally impossible struggle and make it “do-able”…and that’s all I want, and all I really need…just a little help. But, on a more excited note: I CAN’T WAIT! I am sooooo ready. So, onto the questions: Was your banding what you expected? Better? Worse? Did it make it substantially easier to lose the weight? How difficult was it for you to do without water with your meals? What is your average weight loss per week? How much do you have to “chew” your food? Can you tell immediately if you haven’t chewed it enough? When did you go for your first fill? Does your incision/port hurt? Is it gross in anyway? Does it affect working out? What was your “real” recovery time? How soon were you back at work? Did anyone have to stay overnight in the hospital? And if so, why? Thanks a bunch! Wendy :thumbup:
wendytip

wendytip

1
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