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Hi, I'm Jenn I figured I'd start a blog to document my journey - the good, the great, the not-so-great, and the downright ugly side of things without an ounce of sugar coating. Background: I'm 27, from Long Island, NY, and a Social Work graduate student going to school in the city. I'm set to graduate in May of 2013. I work primarily with clients struggling with substance abuse disorders and mental illness. This is an incredibly exciting time in my life. I've worked so hard to get to where I am, mentally, yet physically...well, I've kind of disregarded that area of my life for awhile now. I've been through some very difficult times growing up, and have put my body through some damage. After all the work I've spent on recovering mentally from all that's happened, I completely neglected to take care of myself physically. This has become a problem now, because although I'm finally happy with where my life is heading, I feel like I'm carrying a huge weight on my shoulders at all. I guess I kind of am! My BMI is 46. I struggle on a daily basis with 0 energy and horrible leg/knee pains. I have sleep apnea. I can't walk up a flight of stairs without breathing heavily. I hate being seen in public because of my weight. I'm 27, and I'm killing myself with food. I'm not going to wait around for it to destroy me. I'm ready to fight back. I am in the process of doing the (horrible) extensive pre-op testing. I am also doing 6 months of a supervised weigh-in/diet with my PCP. When completed, I will be set to have surgery in December. I am ready to feel 27. I'm ready to BE 27. And I won't take a "no" from anyone, nor will I tolerate any negative comments from people, I'm doing this for me

LOL, this was classic. I can't wait until I marry the sleeve also in a couple of months, it will be a match made in heaven and will last forever also.

What made me think that maintenance mode would automatically result in freedom from fat angst? My husband thinks I am too thin by several pounds. When I went shopping for jeans today and asked for a size twelve in Cruel Girl, the store clerk suggested I start with the nines since "you are quite slender." The scale tells me I am at goal but the mirror reflects what appear to be fat deposits clinging to my hipbones and upper thighs. I've spoken about this with the health coach my insurance provides me with and I am wearing a pair of size nine Wranglers, but... my head is still in fat mode. Is it a matter of chanting an "I'm not fat ohmmmmmmm" mantra several times a day? Perhaps I'm afraid if I start to feel thin I'll get overconfident and back the weight will come, especially since in the last two weeks I've had 1.75 cc removed from my band. My band tightened over the course of the summer, perhaps due to a series of mild stomach upsets that caused some swelling. For a month almost everything I ate and drank came back up in short order. Removing .75 cc made it possible for me to drink liquids comfortably, but I still struggled to keep solids down so opted for another unfill. What a challenge this last 1 cc unfill has turned out to be. Dr. B tells me it is easier to adjust up than down and he’s not led me wrong yet, but I have essentially no restriction on what I can eat right now. We were supposed to begin fills next week but he will be out of town, making my next fill appointment ten days away. Can you say “trepidation,” Dear Reader? Now, no doubt practicing self-control without physical restriction is good for my character, and I realize that if I gain a few pounds in the next ten days I can lose a few pounds in the ten days immediately following. I did gain a couple of pounds which I know logically was water returning to my dehydrated tissues, but- GAIN? Did I actually write GAIN? All of a sudden the ghosts of the ninety-five pounds I lost crowd around me, trying to find a place to reattach themselves to my body. Fat angst. In retrospect, I wonder how much fat angst contributed to my overnight stay on the hospital’s telemetry floor this week? Here’s the story of that: Wednesday afternoon, I sat on a hill above the creek, watching my sorrel mare graze on one of the last semi-green patches of grass in the pasture. My knees were drawn up to my chest, a position I love and had not been able to achieve during the years I hauled around almost a hundred extra pounds. I thought perhaps this position caused the dull cramp across my chest. I straightened up but instead of loosening, the cramp grew worse and wrapped itself around my back as well. More position changes and a few stretches later, the cramp tightened into a sharp band of pain that took my breath away. I eyed the distance between me and the barn, took Star’s lead rope in my hand, and started up the hill, thinking surely the walk would release the pressure on my lungs. It took me far too long to cross that expanse of pasture; I must’ve stopped a dozen times to bend down and will the knives to quit stabbing me. I thought about calling out to the two women riding in the arena, but suspected I couldn’t make a loud enough noise for them to hear. Besides, who wants to cause a scene, hmm? By the time I reached Star’s run and fumbled open the gate for her, I was ready to cause any scene necessary to get myself some help. I made it to my car, found the cell phone I almost never turn on, and lay down on the ground to call 911. The next twenty-four hours of my life were blessed by medical personnel who were kind, compassionate, and competent, from the dispatcher who stayed on the phone with me until the ambulance arrived to the CNA who walked me to the door of the hospital when I checked out the next afternoon. The ambulance driver was an acquaintance who used to keep his horse at the stable. The EMT who hooked me up to an ambulance IV and a heart machine apologized for his own wheezing as if his allergy to horses (activated by the horsiness of my clothing) was more inconvenient to me than it was to him. When an ambulance hauls a 57 year old woman with chest pains into a hospital, things happen fast. Preliminary tests determined that I was not having a heart attack, but the ER doctor told me he was concerned enough that he wanted me to stay overnight for observation and a stress test the next day. To make a long story short, subsequent tests determined that I have a fine healthy heart. The hospitalist discharged me with a caveat from my internist to make an appointment for next week to determine what had actually caused the attack. Suggestions ran the gamut from blood clot to esophageal spasm to panic attack. Panic attack? I didn’t feel panicked. There was that fat angst thing, but… surely not. How completely embarrassing would it be for fat angst to simulate a heart attack? Sitting now at home in front of my computer, I must relate something in which I take intense satisfaction: not once did any health professional lecture me on the health risks of obesity or relate my weight to the attack. To them I was simply a normal sized person who needed to spend a night on the heart floor. It’s time to make the same commitment to that normal sized person as I did to her hugely overweight sister two and a half years ago. She needs- no, I need to treat myself with patience, compassion, and firm kindness and go into this new phase of my journey with the same determination and hope with which I entered the initial phase. I am not fat, ohmmmmmmmmmm.

I can understand this. A few years ago, I was in an education class at my college and we were discussing the "obesity epidemic". I felt so uncomfortable as if flashing lights were going off all around me. It's as if obesity is the acceptable public issue to attack and there are no holds barred when the discussion occurs. Yes, it is an important issue, but it's not black and white. It is more complex than people who don't have a weight problem think.

My uncle Mal died on Tueday. I was never close with him but i needed to go to his funrnal for my father. After in the Jewish religon we do something call stitting shiva pepole sit and rember the love one snd food is seved and others bring tons and tons and tons of food. This could be a bandest nightmer. the furit basket have stared to come somehow they become less fruit and more choclet and cookies all the stuff i would have gone right for. Then to make the whole thing better my faimly was there. I not great freinds whith very meny of them my 1st coisens are 15 to 20 years older then me and still look at me as the chubby kid in the family who eat becuse she sad, upset. lonely I am the only one who is bigger in the family.i looked around to see what i could eat there it was protine lots of it chicken salda and little tiny roll ups that when you un rolled with out the bred was the perfect size for me and i knew if i sat long enough i could chew it and i had tryed cold cuts at my house and had no problem. My cosin who have no idea what i did said to me why are you on a starvation deit don't you want the cookies cakes ect. I keeped a bottle of watter in my hands during all the cookies and cakes knowing i can not eat and drink at the same time. Finley my mom bulrted out Laura on a helthy kick she had Weight Loss Sugery she even truned down food from me lately. Then led to a bunch of question how long do i plan to do this ect ect. After my fear that i might lose my band on monday night i was not messing it up I need the band I also need those size 16 paints i have now and all those cookies and cakes will only lead to me being bigger and i don't want that. One family member was so taken with me she said she wanted it but did not want to give up things. I told her if your not willing to change your life and your relationship with food and work on this evey day then this would not be the right choice for you. This is only a tool and it will only work if you work the program right not if your going to screw with it

I have always wished that I was a cute crier too!! Like Demi Moore in Ghost! But, no, I am an ugly, awful, red eyes, red nose, red cheeks, snot, and hyperventilating type of crier..... some girls got all the luck!