meloney

What was I thinking not taking today off work? Mondays are my busiest days, with only one prep period. And I have lunch duty this week. Not to mention that my sixth graders are being particularly chatty and unfocused today, which is really annoying in light of the other Ws to follow.
 
Why when I went back to my apartment to grab my umbrella (because it rains so often in the desert) after missing the bus to work did I also take some of my medicines out of my bag? Specifically my Children's Advil. My port site incision is HURTING. Granted, not the worst pain I've felt in my life, but it certainly doesn't make me want to be around kids today. Fortunately, my lovely friend and school nurse is going to give me some medicine next period while my students are in the library, so hopefully it will feel better soon.
 
When is nap time? I am tired. Not exhausted, but I could certainly use a nap. Tragically, I don't get a nap today. And the overhead ultraviolet lighting is only making my eyes feel heavier.
 
**********Nine Hours Later**********
 
W also apparently stands for wind, and no, I'm not talking about gas. I'm talking about my second wind, which came around 11:00 this morning. Upon reflection, I tend to tell my students I don't wake up until 10:00, so I'm only an hour off my game. Sweet!
 
And lastly, W is for weigh in. I had my first one post-op today, along with a dressing change which I was dreading. The dressing change was actually no big deal at all. Everything looks good, according to the doctor. And, drumroll please, since beginning my liquid diet eight days ago, I have lost 8.8.bs! Woohoo! This drops me from 292.6lbs to 283.8lbs. In just over a week! In the past nine years, my highest weight was 324lbs. and my lowest was 274lbs. My first goal for myself is to see a number lower than that. I am super excited!

So, in an email yesterday my bandster friend C had a mama moment and told me that the money I spent on my band would be wasted if I don't exercise. She said that I am no longer allowed to ride the elevator at work unless Tom Cruise was waiting on me. My email reply: Can it be unless Clive Owen is waiting on me?
 
I tried walking up the two flights of stairs and made it through 36 steps before my legs started burning. The last 12 of 48 were a killer. *gasp*cough*gasp*cough*cough. But I did it!
 
This morning, as is my routine upon arriving to work, I hailed the elevator and, as I stepped on, I saw a half sheet of paper taped to the wall of the elevator. There, looking out at me, was Clive Owen. The words read "You weren't really going to take the elevator were you?....... I'm watching you....... You never know where I'll be....... xoxoxo - Clive."
 
Which caused me to laugh out loud. And turn around. And walk up to the second floor to see my friend C, laughing the whole way.
 
She said she had been waiting to hear my laugh. And then she apologized for forgetting that I work on the third floor, stating that I need to start small. Silly C. And yet, I still have a smile on my face, glancing frequently at Clive Owen looking out at me from the side of my computer monitor.

So, in an email yesterday my bandster friend C had a mama moment and told me that the money I spent on my band would be wasted if I don't exercise. She said that I am no longer allowed to ride the elevator at work unless Tom Cruise was waiting on me. My email reply: Can it be unless Clive Owen is waiting on me?
 
I tried walking up the two flights of stairs and made it through 36 steps before my legs started burning. The last 12 of 48 were a killer. *gasp*cough*gasp*cough*cough. But I did it!
 
This morning, as is my routine upon arriving to work, I hailed the elevator and, as I stepped on, I saw a half sheet of paper taped to the wall of the elevator. There, looking out at me, was Clive Owen. The words read "You weren't really going to take the elevator were you?....... I'm watching you....... You never know where I'll be....... xoxoxo - Clive."
 
Which caused me to laugh out loud. And turn around. And walk up to the second floor to see my friend C, laughing the whole way.
 
She said she had been waiting to hear my laugh. And then she apologized for forgetting that I work on the third floor, stating that I need to start small. Silly C. And yet, I still have a smile on my face, glancing frequently at Clive Owen looking out at me from the side of my computer monitor.

So, in this wonderful adventure of pureed foods, I acquired some produce to make mashes: parsnips, turnips, cauliflower, red potatoes.
 
Now, in Kuwait it is very challenging to keep fresh veggies from spoiling. Unfortunately, by the time I got around to doing my mashed parsnips and mashed cauliflower, both had begun to die slow, horrible deaths. I painstakingly salvaged what I could of the veg and commenced my juggling act of pots and emulsion mixer. Sadly, I ended up with far less mash than intended. This, however, is not the worst part.
 
I finished the parsnips, put the cauliflower on to steam, and commenced to boiling the potatoes. I stepped away for a minute (not really a minute, but still) and by the time I returned to my pots both had begun to burn! I can see how I burned the steaming cauliflower - I don't have a steamer. But how did I burn a pot of boiling potatoes? Super skill.
 
Again, I salvaged what I could and ended up with a small pot of mashed potatoes and about two cups of mashed cauliflower. My lemonade out of lemons.
 
As it was time to feed myself (I'm still not hungry), I dished up a cup of mashed potatoes and added some sour cream. Now, since surgery I have been eating a cup of food every few hours to make sure that I am getting enough food into my body because my body is not sending me a signal that it needs food. This has been relatively successful. However, this time I ended up stopping after half a cup of food! I GOT FULL. On half a cup of mashed potatoes. The girl who used to have a couple of heaping serving spoonfuls of mashed potatoes (artfully sculpted into a scale model of Mt. Fuji with hidden butter magma inside which splooshed out upon squishing the volcano), was full on half a cup of unbuttered mashed potatoes! Amazing.

Ten days! Aside from my abdomen feeling "tight" as my body heals and my incisions stinging and itching, it feels weird to think that today is only the tenth days since surgery. I have settled back into my regular, crazy routine and am adapting well to my new diet. I must say, though, that it's very nice to not have to drink broth anymore.
 
Theater - Rehearsals for "Arsenic and Old Lace" are in full swing and I am working on developing my character. Am I stern? Am I independent? Am I the one who forced my crazy, sociopathic nephew to move away? I think yes. But then again, I do believe it is charitable to put lonely old bachelors out of their misery by poisoning their wine...
 
Teeth - I have found it rather difficult to come by chewable vitamins in this country. Thus, I opted for a liquid multivitamin which, as it turns out, tastes awful. Today I had my second dose and I can assure you it will be my last. As I was taking the elevator downstairs during my break, I scrutinized myself in the mirror, as I am prone to do, and noticed that the edges of my incisors (front teeth) were rather dark. Having worked as a dental assistant in my first career, I instantly freaked out, fearing that this change in diet had somehow had adverse effects on my oral health! At the end of my break, having rationalized what could possibly be the cause of said darkening, I stuck out my tongue in the mirror and learned that it, too, was rather black. I immediately commenced to brushing my teeth and tongue with vigor (I hate - gag - brushing - gag - my tongue) and had some significant success. However, it would appear that I now need to make an appointment with the dentist to get my teeth pumiced sooner than my six month check up five months from now. Grrr. Next mission: dispose of liquid multivitamin (made in Ireland - perhaps an explanation for the notoriously poor appearance of the teeth of those in that area; apologies for the over generalization) and hunt again for a chewable.

Ten days! Aside from my abdomen feeling "tight" as my body heals and my incisions stinging and itching, it feels weird to think that today is only the tenth days since surgery. I have settled back into my regular, crazy routine and am adapting well to my new diet. I must say, though, that it's very nice to not have to drink broth anymore.
 
Theater - Rehearsals for "Arsenic and Old Lace" are in full swing and I am working on developing my character. Am I stern? Am I independent? Am I the one who forced my crazy, sociopathic nephew to move away? I think yes. But then again, I do believe it is charitable to put lonely old bachelors out of their misery by poisoning their wine...
 
Teeth - I have found it rather difficult to come by chewable vitamins in this country. Thus, I opted for a liquid multivitamin which, as it turns out, tastes awful. Today I had my second dose and I can assure you it will be my last. As I was taking the elevator downstairs during my break, I scrutinized myself in the mirror, as I am prone to do, and noticed that the edges of my incisors (front teeth) were rather dark. Having worked as a dental assistant in my first career, I instantly freaked out, fearing that this change in diet had somehow had adverse effects on my oral health! At the end of my break, having rationalized what could possibly be the cause of said darkening, I stuck out my tongue in the mirror and learned that it, too, was rather black. I immediately commenced to brushing my teeth and tongue with vigor (I hate - gag - brushing - gag - my tongue) and had some significant success. However, it would appear that I now need to make an appointment with the dentist to get my teeth pumiced sooner than my six month check up five months from now. Grrr. Next mission: dispose of liquid multivitamin (made in Ireland - perhaps an explanation for the notoriously poor appearance of the teeth of those in that area; apologies for the over generalization) and hunt again for a chewable.

Firstly, lapbandtalk pooped out for three days! I'm not sure what that was about, but it certainly put a kink in my plans to post on my progress daily. I thought it was just here in Kuwait, which is understandable because the government censors our internet and the internet isn't of particularly great quality to begin with, but some friends in others countries weren't able to get on either. Thus, it was not a Kuwait thing; it was a lapbandtalk thing.
 
So, to catch you up on the goings on...
 
(And in no particular order)
 
To add to the wonderful pleasures of post-op recuperation, my period decided to make an appearance. Granted, it wasn't early, it wasn't late, I just forgot it was coming. Yay!
 
I guess the most interesting thing that occurred over the past few days was the pop. Tuesday night riding home from rehearsal, my carpool chica told me I could adjust the thermostat and radio as I like. So when a horrid rappish song came on (I say rappish because it was attempting to be rap and failing miserably) I reached to turn off the radio to prevent my ears from being assailed by the (ahem) musician's attempt to modernize and secularize a classic Christmas song ("Do You Hear What I Hear") into a song about DJs. Upon reaching, I felt a pop right mid-torso followed by a spreading warmth/burning sensation. Since that evening, any time I cough, sneeze, or get up from laying down it HURTS there. I told my bandster friend C and she said it sounded like I popped one of my stitches. So I called my doctor, who wanted to know how soon I could see him. By this point I had moved beyond the worry of popped stitches and onto the worry of an incisional hernia. As it was my planning period, I rushed right across to the hospital (the convenience of working so close) and he checked me out. The good news is that nothing has popped and I have no hernia (he actually said that was highly unlikely) and apparently just angered one of my muscles and should, therefore, take it easy.
 
In the same visit, they removed my plasters (what they call bandages here). This is a celebration because I'm moving along in my healing process. But I wanted them back! The shirt I was wearing was empire waist and kept rubbing up against my incisions! It didn't hurt, but it was so annoying! When I popped into my apartment between work and grocery shopping, I practically ripped the thing from my body and swapped it out for a shirt with absolutely no waist definition whatsoever. And breathed a sigh of relief.
 
After the removal of the bandages, I was contemplating not going grocery shopping because of said material annoyance, but the changing of the shirt and the pondering of what soups might be available at the distant Lulu Hypermarket motivated me to go nonetheless. Thus, I went, without my recyclable grocery bags as I was only going for soup. Well, they had Greek yogurt. As stated in an earlier post, I'm not a huge fan of yogurt. However, I like Greek yogurt. Thus, I stocked up. Then I moved on to the produce section. I spent, no exaggeration, a half hour in the produce section. One thing Lulu's is known for is it's produce section. I had no idea. I got ingredients to make mashed parsnips, mashed turnips, creamed cauliflower, more stock, and two kinds of soup! And left Lulu's with what for me is a full cart of groceries.
 
Which brings me to my next P: pureed foods. Yes, reader, I have moved on to pureed foods. And for those of you who have been there, you know what a glorious day it is when you get to stick that emulsion mixer into a container of food and whip the crap out of it to make your own baby food. Not because pureed food has such an interesting texture (because it doesn't) but because it offers so many more flavor options than broth-jello-juice days. By the time I was halfway through my second week of clears, and though I wasn't hungry, I was craving new flavors. Like cheese. And tomato. I got home from the grocery store and immediately chopped up vegetables and picked one of my newly acquired chickens to make the stock. Then I chopped up a butternut squash and used said stock to make butternut squash soup (which is amazingly delicious) and while that was simmering I roasted a crapload of tomatoes to make creamy tomato basil soup (which is heavenly). So, while I am still not hungry and must therefore remind myself to eat, I am eating good food.
 
My final P for this post is pounds. I am apparently losing just over a pound a day. As of today's jump on the Wii Fit board I am down 15 pounds in fourteen days. If I continue at this rate, I should reach my first weight loss goal (to see a number lower that 274 - my lowest weight in nine years) some time this week. This is amazing. I told my husband (he's not really my husband; we call each other husband and wife because he played Thenardier opposite my Mme. Thenardier for "Master of the House" in the theater's sixth production of Mad Musicals) and now he wants to go on a clear liquid diet. The man is thin, but whatever floats his boat. I would post a picture, but LBT says I'm not permitted to here, so I will change my profile pic so you can see what I mean.
 
And while I'm on the topic of the theater, my wonderful friend T said to me prior to the surgery that this weight loss is going to open up so many roles for me at the theater. He knows and acknowledges my acting and singing ability and loves me dearly. However, there aren't that many roles out there for someone my size (fat). Thus, by next year's casting calls I should be equipped to beat out less talented thinner people! Coming from a director, this is awesome news. I love my band.

I contemplated writing an entry for the day of surgery. I even started one, but as I read it back to myself I fell asleep. This may have been because I still had general anesthesia in my system (I did) or because it was really boring (it was). So, suffice it to say that surgery day went well. The only hitch in the system was that the nurses attacked my fingernails and toenails to remove my brand new manipedi. The anesthesiologist said clear polish was fine! C'est la vie.
 
I went in at 8:30, came out at 10:45ish, and was discharged just after 10 that night. And glad to be going home. With an absolutely giant bouquet of flowers that my lovely friend C - a bandster - got for me. It's a beautiful bouquet with lilies and roses and orchids and tulips. But it is ridiculously big. Like altar piece big. I swear, the florists in this country are all designing bouquets for weddings and funerals. I've never seen such large bouquets of flowers. My poor friend P looked so funny carrying it into my flat; it's bigger than he is! But C was so wonderful to think of me so I don't want to sound unappreciative.
 
As I'm sure you have surmised, the cold wasn't a cold - and a good thing, too! I can't imagine what I'd be coughing up in addition to the I've had a tube down my throat ublech. My new best friend and I are getting along nicely. All day yesterday I felt like I had been sucker punched in my gut, but today I am good. I only have incision site pain when I try to get up from whatever position I was in, so I wrap my arms around myself and that helps. I have a gap-toothed smiling cyclops of bandages on my torso and, as predicted, the one for the port is the most noticeable with regard to pain.
 
And I'm not hungry. I wasn't hungry yesterday after the surgery and I'm not hungry today. I'm still eating a bit of broth here and there and pushing water to try to get my minimum 2 liters in. But I'm not hungry. And this I find amazing. We're talking about the girl who has been ravenous her whole life. Who would turn into an absolute B because of hypoglycemia. Who would have double and triple helpings to be sated. And I'm not hungry. Astounding.

So, today I am feeling a bit weird. Weak. Stoned (as one of my bandster friends said). Or like I just took some antihistamines. I think this is because I did not eat nearly enough yesterday. Not just protein, but anything. I wasn't hungry. I'm not hungry today, but I'm making myself eat. Frozen fruit pop, stock with protein added, jello. The doctor even said I can do yogurt at this point but, as I'm not a huge fan I would prefer not. I also did not get enough water in yesterday, so I'm having to remind myself to drink, drink, drink. Which leads me to the letter G.
 
G stands for Gas. Yes, gas. I have gas. On surgery day, the gas was really noticeable. It made me feel like someone punched me in my gut (another G). As the days progress, the gas gets less, but it is still there nonetheless. Thus, I make a point of getting up and moving frequently. This results in some rather significant belches, followed by my utterance of another G: "That was glorious." I'm not saying this to anyone in particular, as I live alone. I'm not even saying it to my cat, who is very sad that she cannot climb up on my belly for cuddles. I simply say it because each large belch really is glorious.
 
The not so glorious end of the gas is the farting. When I feel a fart come along, I must extricate myself from my bed and go to the bathroom because, more often than not and my apologies for the TMI, the fart is accompanied by diarrhea. Granted, this could be worse. My bathroom is only a few steps from my bed and the diarrhea is not of the sort that results in an RBA (raw, burning a**hole). So, as it is right now, I am accepting of the farting.
 
Yet another end of the gas is the third G for today's installment: Gurgling. When I walk, I gurgle. When I lay, I gurgle. And when I drink, I gurgle even more. I have a veritable symphony of gurgling going on in my gullet. I should start laying some notes down on staff, that's how musical my insides have become. I am like Pooh Bear. There is a rumbly in my tumbly.
 
Tomorrow, I am hoping for less gas and more feeling like myself. But for today, I will continue my Will & Grace marathon and enjoy the cacophony of sounds emanating from my abdomen.

So, today I am feeling a bit weird. Weak. Stoned (as one of my bandster friends said). Or like I just took some antihistamines. I think this is because I did not eat nearly enough yesterday. Not just protein, but anything. I wasn't hungry. I'm not hungry today, but I'm making myself eat. Frozen fruit pop, stock with protein added, jello. The doctor even said I can do yogurt at this point but, as I'm not a huge fan I would prefer not. I also did not get enough water in yesterday, so I'm having to remind myself to drink, drink, drink. Which leads me to the letter G.
 
G stands for Gas. Yes, gas. I have gas. On surgery day, the gas was really noticeable. It made me feel like someone punched me in my gut (another G). As the days progress, the gas gets less, but it is still there nonetheless. Thus, I make a point of getting up and moving frequently. This results in some rather significant belches, followed by my utterance of another G: "That was glorious." I'm not saying this to anyone in particular, as I live alone. I'm not even saying it to my cat, who is very sad that she cannot climb up on my belly for cuddles. I simply say it because each large belch really is glorious.
 
The not so glorious end of the gas is the farting. When I feel a fart come along, I must extricate myself from my bed and go to the bathroom because, more often than not and my apologies for the TMI, the fart is accompanied by diarrhea. Granted, this could be worse. My bathroom is only a few steps from my bed and the diarrhea is not of the sort that results in an RBA (raw, burning a**hole). So, as it is right now, I am accepting of the farting.
 
Yet another end of the gas is the third G for today's installment: Gurgling. When I walk, I gurgle. When I lay, I gurgle. And when I drink, I gurgle even more. I have a veritable symphony of gurgling going on in my gullet. I should start laying some notes down on staff, that's how musical my insides have become. I am like Pooh Bear. There is a rumbly in my tumbly.
 
Tomorrow, I am hoping for less gas and more feeling like myself. But for today, I will continue my Will & Grace marathon and enjoy the cacophony of sounds emanating from my abdomen.

So, today I am feeling a bit weird. Weak. Stoned (as one of my bandster friends said). Or like I just took some antihistamines. I think this is because I did not eat nearly enough yesterday. Not just protein, but anything. I wasn't hungry. I'm not hungry today, but I'm making myself eat. Frozen fruit pop, stock with protein added, jello. The doctor even said I can do yogurt at this point but, as I'm not a huge fan I would prefer not. I also did not get enough water in yesterday, so I'm having to remind myself to drink, drink, drink. Which leads me to the letter G.
 
G stands for Gas. Yes, gas. I have gas. On surgery day, the gas was really noticeable. It made me feel like someone punched me in my gut (another G). As the days progress, the gas gets less, but it is still there nonetheless. Thus, I make a point of getting up and moving frequently. This results in some rather significant belches, followed by my utterance of another G: "That was glorious." I'm not saying this to anyone in particular, as I live alone. I'm not even saying it to my cat, who is very sad that she cannot climb up on my belly for cuddles. I simply say it because each large belch really is glorious.
 
The not so glorious end of the gas is the farting. When I feel a fart come along, I must extricate myself from my bed and go to the bathroom because, more often than not and my apologies for the TMI, the fart is accompanied by diarrhea. Granted, this could be worse. My bathroom is only a few steps from my bed and the diarrhea is not of the sort that results in an RBA (raw, burning a**hole). So, as it is right now, I am accepting of the farting.
 
Yet another end of the gas is the third G for today's installment: Gurgling. When I walk, I gurgle. When I lay, I gurgle. And when I drink, I gurgle even more. I have a veritable symphony of gurgling going on in my gullet. I should start laying some notes down on staff, that's how musical my insides have become. I am like Pooh Bear. There is a rumbly in my tumbly.
 
Tomorrow, I am hoping for less gas and more feeling like myself. But for today, I will continue my Will & Grace marathon and enjoy the cacophony of sounds emanating from my abdomen.

So, today I am feeling a bit weird. Weak. Stoned (as one of my bandster friends said). Or like I just took some antihistamines. I think this is because I did not eat nearly enough yesterday. Not just protein, but anything. I wasn't hungry. I'm not hungry today, but I'm making myself eat. Frozen fruit pop, stock with protein added, jello. The doctor even said I can do yogurt at this point but, as I'm not a huge fan I would prefer not. I also did not get enough water in yesterday, so I'm having to remind myself to drink, drink, drink. Which leads me to the letter G.
 
G stands for Gas. Yes, gas. I have gas. On surgery day, the gas was really noticeable. It made me feel like someone punched me in my gut (another G). As the days progress, the gas gets less, but it is still there nonetheless. Thus, I make a point of getting up and moving frequently. This results in some rather significant belches, followed by my utterance of another G: "That was glorious." I'm not saying this to anyone in particular, as I live alone. I'm not even saying it to my cat, who is very sad that she cannot climb up on my belly for cuddles. I simply say it because each large belch really is glorious.
 
The not so glorious end of the gas is the farting. When I feel a fart come along, I must extricate myself from my bed and go to the bathroom because, more often than not and my apologies for the TMI, the fart is accompanied by diarrhea. Granted, this could be worse. My bathroom is only a few steps from my bed and the diarrhea is not of the sort that results in an RBA (raw, burning a**hole). So, as it is right now, I am accepting of the farting.
 
Yet another end of the gas is the third G for today's installment: Gurgling. When I walk, I gurgle. When I lay, I gurgle. And when I drink, I gurgle even more. I have a veritable symphony of gurgling going on in my gullet. I should start laying some notes down on staff, that's how musical my insides have become. I am like Pooh Bear. There is a rumbly in my tumbly.
 
Tomorrow, I am hoping for less gas and more feeling like myself. But for today, I will continue my Will & Grace marathon and enjoy the cacophony of sounds emanating from my abdomen.

I made an absolutely lovely, all natural, low sodium chicken stock the other day. I wish I had made more. I finished the last two helpings at work today. Consequently, I planned to pick up another rotisserie chicken on the way home from tutoring. They are available from tiny shops and street vendors practically everywhere here, including the tiny restaurant across from my flat. Unfortunately, said tiny restaurant has not had any chickens for the past week and the closest place is about a half mile away. When you are tired (and lazy) from your first day back to work after winter break (and lazy) and have spent three hours after work tutoring (and lazy), the last thing you want to do is walk a half mile to the little shop that sells rotisserie chickens, just to have to walk that half mile back home and stand in your kitchen picking piping hot chicken that you cannot eat off of a carcass to use said carcass to make more homemade chicken stock! And I'm lazy. Did I mention that?
 
Fortunately for me, I have cartons of all natural, low sodium vegetable stock that I was able to procure from the one grocery store in this country that deigns to carry such a creature, and it actually tastes pretty darn good. Of course, I think anything three days into a clear liquid diet would taste pretty darn good. Although not as good as actually getting to eat chicken would taste...
 
But I digress. I wanted to add some protein to my vegetable stock so I could be certain to get enough in for the day, so I poured a scoop of Isopure into a couple cups of stock, stirred, and set the microwave to heat the stock. THIS is what NOT to do with Isopure. Apparently, when you microwave whey protein you turn it into CHEESE. Thick, rubbery, smelly CHEESE. I tried stirring it. I contemplated whipping out the emulsion mixer for it. I hate wasting food (this is part of my problem), but finally had to make the decision to pour the curdled conglomeration down the drain.
 
At this point very hesitant to try anything further with the Isopure (did I mention this was my first Isopure adventure?), I mustered up the courage to try again from scratch. This time, I found that heating the stock FIRST was much more successful and resulted in a lovely glass of what appeared to be a heady beer. Wishful thinking in this country for one, on a pre-op diet for two, and in the life of a bandster for three. Ah, well.
 
One more day before surgery. I am so excited (and I just can't hide it - too corny?) about how things are unfolding. I only have a million things to do before Thursday, including writing lesson plans for Sunday because I will be taking off for recovery. At least Thursday's plans are ready, but I've still got photocopying to do. And this weekend holds yet another audition to cast Arsenic and Old Lace at Kuwait Little Theater and our first rehearsal Sunday night, and then I start right back in with work and tutoring and rehearsals. I'm amazed I ever found time to eat. That's not true. I always made time to eat, but ate the wrong things (everywhere delivers to your door in this country, even Hardees and KFC) and too much of them. But that is all in the past. I am committed. This is my year!

Happy New Year to the new me.
 
My surgery is scheduled for Thursday morning and I am excited yet petrified. I begin my pre-op liquid diet tomorrow, so my eating in 2012 will never again be what it has been.
 
What it has been, if I take a realistic and reflective view of things, is awful. I have been big my whole life and the teasing began on the first day of kindergarten. How is it that kids can be so cruel? By the time I hit age 8, I was depressed and compulsively overate to deal with my poor self-esteem. My family shopped at the military commissary, so we always had a value-sized 10 gallon tub of cream ice (not to be confused with ice cream - that love affair came later) and I would routinely sneak scoops of it. Eating in secret became a specialty. My brother and sister would sell Krispy Kreme doughnuts as fundraisers for their extracurriculars, and of course my family had to have a dozen. Somehow the doughnuts would magically disappear - at my hands, sneak eating behind the pantry door. I distinctly remember even using my fingernail to scrape off and eat the extra glazed topping that had stuck to the container. And whatever happened to that whole loaf of bread? By the time I became a latch-key kid in seventh grade, I had perfected the art of NEVER eating in front of people. I was also twelve years old and spending miserable days shopping in the women's department for frumpy sacks to cover my form. In eighth grade, I was wearing my mother's shirts until grunge hit the scene and I learned I could easily hide behind stringy, greasy hair, flannel shirts, and my dad's combat boots. I even sought validation from an abusive boyfriend, which only led to more out of control binge eating and the beginnings of my venture into self-mutilation. I was hurting and didn't know how to express it. I would eat to the point of nausea and beg God for the will to vomit. He never answered that prayer, thankfully, as I have an extreme fear of vomiting stemming from a bout of stomach flu when I was about six years old.
 
Life continued and so did the compulsive overeating and self-mutilating. When I finally realized the stem of my behaviors in my senior year of high school, I sat down with a pack of Chips Ahoy and ate the entire thing in one sitting. That was the last time I binge ate. The following Autumn I was finally diagnosed with moderate depression, medicated, and began the long uphill battle toward fixing my mental state. Three years of therapy and medication and several failed attempts at surviving in the work force later, I became a dental assistant for the husband of my father's boss. I loved what I was doing and felt I did it well, so I went to school to become certified and registered. My boss even offered to pay for my schooling, but it was important to me to do it on my own so I struck a deal that he could reimburse me if I made straight As. I did, and he was good to his word.
 
Now, it may seem like things were all better by then, but they weren't. I was still making unwise choices, both with food and in life. I did what is called "self-sabotage," which means that when I would see myself being successful, I would intentionally do something to muck it up. Consequently, I lost three separate assisting jobs because of my own personal issues. I got a new job at a pediatric office and vowed to myself I would work harder, but in the grand scheme of things I wasn't satisfied with where I was in life. I felt like I had wasted time - nearly six years - trying to make myself better. I knew I wanted more. So I decided to go back to school. I picked a very small Bible college where two friends who also had depression and food issues were attending successfully. This proved to be a great decision for me, because every day I had people praying for me. I even had a professor who advocated for me when my medication (I put myself back on anti-depressants as a precaution) had the opposite of its intended effects. Through making new friends who accepted me for who I was and working hard, I got to a point where I was feeling pretty good about me. The very last time I self-mutilated was Christmas Eve 2004, but I still wasn't at the right place mentally.
 
My epiphany came the following summer. I realized while working on a research paper for my Humanity, Sin, and Salvation class that depression had been a part of me for most of my life. Rather than continuing to fight against it, I needed to learn to work with it. That summer, that class, that paper changed my life. I can now say, on the eve of 2012, that I live a satisfied life without medication, mutilation, or binging and am about to embark on a journey to repair the physical effects of years of depression (combined with genetics and a love affair with two men named Ben and Jerry). I worked really hard to get my mental self healthy and happy. It took years, but has been well worth it. I now have not just my BS, but also an MAEd and teach at a great special needs school in Kuwait. My life has taken me on a journey halfway around the world and it is amazing. I look back and know that everything has brought me to where I am now, here listening to the call to prayer on the last night of 2011 thinking about my future and how much brighter it is going to be because of everything I have experienced and will experience. I know that my LapBand will be a journey and will take time, too, but I am glad that I am mentally ready for the struggles that are to come. I have an awesome support team in place - most specifically my parents and several friends, including a bander - who are cheering me on for every step of the way.
 
Tonight I am treating myself to steak l'entrecote and tomorrow I begin my first of four pre-op liquid diet days. Never again will my life be the same. I can't wait to see what possibilities are in store for me.

Happy New Year to the new me.
 
My surgery is scheduled for Thursday morning and I am excited yet petrified. I begin my pre-op liquid diet tomorrow, so my eating in 2012 will never again be what it has been.
 
What it has been, if I take a realistic and reflective view of things, is awful. I have been big my whole life and the teasing began on the first day of kindergarten. How is it that kids can be so cruel? By the time I hit age 8, I was depressed and compulsively overate to deal with my poor self-esteem. My family shopped at the military commissary, so we always had a value-sized 10 gallon tub of cream ice (not to be confused with ice cream - that love affair came later) and I would routinely sneak scoops of it. Eating in secret became a specialty. My brother and sister would sell Krispy Kreme doughnuts as fundraisers for their extracurriculars, and of course my family had to have a dozen. Somehow the doughnuts would magically disappear - at my hands, sneak eating behind the pantry door. I distinctly remember even using my fingernail to scrape off and eat the extra glazed topping that had stuck to the container. And whatever happened to that whole loaf of bread? By the time I became a latch-key kid in seventh grade, I had perfected the art of NEVER eating in front of people. I was also twelve years old and spending miserable days shopping in the women's department for frumpy sacks to cover my form. In eighth grade, I was wearing my mother's shirts until grunge hit the scene and I learned I could easily hide behind stringy, greasy hair, flannel shirts, and my dad's combat boots. I even sought validation from an abusive boyfriend, which only led to more out of control binge eating and the beginnings of my venture into self-mutilation. I was hurting and didn't know how to express it. I would eat to the point of nausea and beg God for the will to vomit. He never answered that prayer, thankfully, as I have an extreme fear of vomiting stemming from a bout of stomach flu when I was about six years old.
 
Life continued and so did the compulsive overeating and self-mutilating. When I finally realized the stem of my behaviors in my senior year of high school, I sat down with a pack of Chips Ahoy and ate the entire thing in one sitting. That was the last time I binge ate. The following Autumn I was finally diagnosed with moderate depression, medicated, and began the long uphill battle toward fixing my mental state. Three years of therapy and medication and several failed attempts at surviving in the work force later, I became a dental assistant for the husband of my father's boss. I loved what I was doing and felt I did it well, so I went to school to become certified and registered. My boss even offered to pay for my schooling, but it was important to me to do it on my own so I struck a deal that he could reimburse me if I made straight As. I did, and he was good to his word.
 
Now, it may seem like things were all better by then, but they weren't. I was still making unwise choices, both with food and in life. I did what is called "self-sabotage," which means that when I would see myself being successful, I would intentionally do something to muck it up. Consequently, I lost three separate assisting jobs because of my own personal issues. I got a new job at a pediatric office and vowed to myself I would work harder, but in the grand scheme of things I wasn't satisfied with where I was in life. I felt like I had wasted time - nearly six years - trying to make myself better. I knew I wanted more. So I decided to go back to school. I picked a very small Bible college where two friends who also had depression and food issues were attending successfully. This proved to be a great decision for me, because every day I had people praying for me. I even had a professor who advocated for me when my medication (I put myself back on anti-depressants as a precaution) had the opposite of its intended effects. Through making new friends who accepted me for who I was and working hard, I got to a point where I was feeling pretty good about me. The very last time I self-mutilated was Christmas Eve 2004, but I still wasn't at the right place mentally.
 
My epiphany came the following summer. I realized while working on a research paper for my Humanity, Sin, and Salvation class that depression had been a part of me for most of my life. Rather than continuing to fight against it, I needed to learn to work with it. That summer, that class, that paper changed my life. I can now say, on the eve of 2012, that I live a satisfied life without medication, mutilation, or binging and am about to embark on a journey to repair the physical effects of years of depression (combined with genetics and a love affair with two men named Ben and Jerry). I worked really hard to get my mental self healthy and happy. It took years, but has been well worth it. I now have not just my BS, but also an MAEd and teach at a great special needs school in Kuwait. My life has taken me on a journey halfway around the world and it is amazing. I look back and know that everything has brought me to where I am now, here listening to the call to prayer on the last night of 2011 thinking about my future and how much brighter it is going to be because of everything I have experienced and will experience. I know that my LapBand will be a journey and will take time, too, but I am glad that I am mentally ready for the struggles that are to come. I have an awesome support team in place - most specifically my parents and several friends, including a bander - who are cheering me on for every step of the way.
 
Tonight I am treating myself to steak l'entrecote and tomorrow I begin my first of four pre-op liquid diet days. Never again will my life be the same. I can't wait to see what possibilities are in store for me.

I made an absolutely lovely, all natural, low sodium chicken stock the other day. I wish I had made more. I finished the last two helpings at work today. Consequently, I planned to pick up another rotisserie chicken on the way home from tutoring. They are available from tiny shops and street vendors practically everywhere here, including the tiny restaurant across from my flat. Unfortunately, said tiny restaurant has not had any chickens for the past week and the closest place is about a half mile away. When you are tired (and lazy) from your first day back to work after winter break (and lazy) and have spent three hours after work tutoring (and lazy), the last thing you want to do is walk a half mile to the little shop that sells rotisserie chickens, just to have to walk that half mile back home and stand in your kitchen picking piping hot chicken that you cannot eat off of a carcass to use said carcass to make more homemade chicken stock! And I'm lazy. Did I mention that?
 
Fortunately for me, I have cartons of all natural, low sodium vegetable stock that I was able to procure from the one grocery store in this country that deigns to carry such a creature, and it actually tastes pretty darn good. Of course, I think anything three days into a clear liquid diet would taste pretty darn good. Although not as good as actually getting to eat chicken would taste...
 
But I digress. I wanted to add some protein to my vegetable stock so I could be certain to get enough in for the day, so I poured a scoop of Isopure into a couple cups of stock, stirred, and set the microwave to heat the stock. THIS is what NOT to do with Isopure. Apparently, when you microwave whey protein you turn it into CHEESE. Thick, rubbery, smelly CHEESE. I tried stirring it. I contemplated whipping out the emulsion mixer for it. I hate wasting food (this is part of my problem), but finally had to make the decision to pour the curdled conglomeration down the drain.
 
At this point very hesitant to try anything further with the Isopure (did I mention this was my first Isopure adventure?), I mustered up the courage to try again from scratch. This time, I found that heating the stock FIRST was much more successful and resulted in a lovely glass of what appeared to be a heady beer. Wishful thinking in this country for one, on a pre-op diet for two, and in the life of a bandster for three. Ah, well.
 
One more day before surgery. I am so excited (and I just can't hide it - too corny?) about how things are unfolding. I only have a million things to do before Thursday, including writing lesson plans for Sunday because I will be taking off for recovery. At least Thursday's plans are ready, but I've still got photocopying to do. And this weekend holds yet another audition to cast Arsenic and Old Lace at Kuwait Little Theater and our first rehearsal Sunday night, and then I start right back in with work and tutoring and rehearsals. I'm amazed I ever found time to eat. That's not true. I always made time to eat, but ate the wrong things (everywhere delivers to your door in this country, even Hardees and KFC) and too much of them. But that is all in the past. I am committed. This is my year!

It is now 2012 in Kuwait and I have made a list of resolutions, er, goals (in no particular order):

I will fly without a seat belt extender
I will attend T & A's wedding in the UK in a fabulous, smaller dress size
I will learn to manage what I put in my body
I will sit in a chair at the KLT without it digging into my hips
I will tie my shoes without propping my legs on the bed

I think five is enough for now. I'm sure I'll think of others as the year progresses, and I know A has many for me as well, most of which include fabulous makeovers. He is so looking forward to shopping with me every time I need new clothes! He also wants to do a whole Moulin Rouge makeover and photo shoot with me. He should get on that, since I go in for surgery on Thursday. He can do my before and after. Oh, my!
 
Cheers to all. Happy New Year, and blessings upon you and yours. I know the whole Mayan calendar is wrong, otherwise I wouldn't be bothering with the LapBand now!

Happy New Year to the new me.
 
My surgery is scheduled for Thursday morning and I am excited yet petrified. I begin my pre-op liquid diet tomorrow, so my eating in 2012 will never again be what it has been.
 
What it has been, if I take a realistic and reflective view of things, is awful. I have been big my whole life and the teasing began on the first day of kindergarten. How is it that kids can be so cruel? By the time I hit age 8, I was depressed and compulsively overate to deal with my poor self-esteem. My family shopped at the military commissary, so we always had a value-sized 10 gallon tub of cream ice (not to be confused with ice cream - that love affair came later) and I would routinely sneak scoops of it. Eating in secret became a specialty. My brother and sister would sell Krispy Kreme doughnuts as fundraisers for their extracurriculars, and of course my family had to have a dozen. Somehow the doughnuts would magically disappear - at my hands, sneak eating behind the pantry door. I distinctly remember even using my fingernail to scrape off and eat the extra glazed topping that had stuck to the container. And whatever happened to that whole loaf of bread? By the time I became a latch-key kid in seventh grade, I had perfected the art of NEVER eating in front of people. I was also twelve years old and spending miserable days shopping in the women's department for frumpy sacks to cover my form. In eighth grade, I was wearing my mother's shirts until grunge hit the scene and I learned I could easily hide behind stringy, greasy hair, flannel shirts, and my dad's combat boots. I even sought validation from an abusive boyfriend, which only led to more out of control binge eating and the beginnings of my venture into self-mutilation. I was hurting and didn't know how to express it. I would eat to the point of nausea and beg God for the will to vomit. He never answered that prayer, thankfully, as I have an extreme fear of vomiting stemming from a bout of stomach flu when I was about six years old.
 
Life continued and so did the compulsive overeating and self-mutilating. When I finally realized the stem of my behaviors in my senior year of high school, I sat down with a pack of Chips Ahoy and ate the entire thing in one sitting. That was the last time I binge ate. The following Autumn I was finally diagnosed with moderate depression, medicated, and began the long uphill battle toward fixing my mental state. Three years of therapy and medication and several failed attempts at surviving in the work force later, I became a dental assistant for the husband of my father's boss. I loved what I was doing and felt I did it well, so I went to school to become certified and registered. My boss even offered to pay for my schooling, but it was important to me to do it on my own so I struck a deal that he could reimburse me if I made straight As. I did, and he was good to his word.
 
Now, it may seem like things were all better by then, but they weren't. I was still making unwise choices, both with food and in life. I did what is called "self-sabotage," which means that when I would see myself being successful, I would intentionally do something to muck it up. Consequently, I lost three separate assisting jobs because of my own personal issues. I got a new job at a pediatric office and vowed to myself I would work harder, but in the grand scheme of things I wasn't satisfied with where I was in life. I felt like I had wasted time - nearly six years - trying to make myself better. I knew I wanted more. So I decided to go back to school. I picked a very small Bible college where two friends who also had depression and food issues were attending successfully. This proved to be a great decision for me, because every day I had people praying for me. I even had a professor who advocated for me when my medication (I put myself back on anti-depressants as a precaution) had the opposite of its intended effects. Through making new friends who accepted me for who I was and working hard, I got to a point where I was feeling pretty good about me. The very last time I self-mutilated was Christmas Eve 2004, but I still wasn't at the right place mentally.
 
My epiphany came the following summer. I realized while working on a research paper for my Humanity, Sin, and Salvation class that depression had been a part of me for most of my life. Rather than continuing to fight against it, I needed to learn to work with it. That summer, that class, that paper changed my life. I can now say, on the eve of 2012, that I live a satisfied life without medication, mutilation, or binging and am about to embark on a journey to repair the physical effects of years of depression (combined with genetics and a love affair with two men named Ben and Jerry). I worked really hard to get my mental self healthy and happy. It took years, but has been well worth it. I now have not just my BS, but also an MAEd and teach at a great special needs school in Kuwait. My life has taken me on a journey halfway around the world and it is amazing. I look back and know that everything has brought me to where I am now, here listening to the call to prayer on the last night of 2011 thinking about my future and how much brighter it is going to be because of everything I have experienced and will experience. I know that my LapBand will be a journey and will take time, too, but I am glad that I am mentally ready for the struggles that are to come. I have an awesome support team in place - most specifically my parents and several friends, including a bander - who are cheering me on for every step of the way.
 
Tonight I am treating myself to steak l'entrecote and tomorrow I begin my first of four pre-op liquid diet days. Never again will my life be the same. I can't wait to see what possibilities are in store for me.