whippledaddy

Sheeeeesh. Maybe I should get some and wear it under my clothes. I'm starting to feel like an empty tube of toothpaste that got squeezed in the middle!!!

Wasn't Refrigerator Perry a Fat Blocker?

I never tried them. But I had a friend who did. She was like the Energizer Bunny. She just kept going and going and going.

Productive Burp. Or Belch.

Very much like throwing up, only no bile or digestive juices. So a little more pleasant, but it's still very uncomfortable. My worst Pb came when I accidentally swallowed a watermelon seed. Ouch!!!!

Every surgeon has his or her own preferences. My surgeon had me do everything. He is really into covering his butt. He gave me every test but a pap smear. And I think the only thing that stopped him is that I'm a guy. Grin.

Okay. I'll go along with that. But there is just one thing. I'll wear the Incredible Hulk underoos, but I absolutely will not wear one of those spandex super hero costumes. Too many Northern parts have travelled South as the pounds left!!!!

I was banded on Nov. 16 of last year. Come on aboard!!!! Nov. Bandsters rock!

We got huge news today. She is scheduled for the next surgery on November 10.

If successful, this surgery could be a giant step toward giving her some quality of life.

And yesterday was Halloween. Five years ago, on Halloween, she showed the first symptoms of RSD. Sigh.

RSD cannot be cured. But it can be beaten!

I was banded in alma, Michigan, on November 16 of 2004. I weighed 366 pounds at my heaviest, when I started the pre-surgery diet required by Dr. Cudjoe.

Today, as I sit here before this bright window on the world, I weigh 266 pounds.

One hundred pounds. Exactly.

Part of me sings, part of my spirit soars on wings of joy at this loss. My step is lighter, my rest more peaceful, my diabetes is, for now anyway, in hiding. I can wear a 44 men's pant, as opposed to a tight 54 a year ago.

I can hug my wife (well, I could hug her if RSD would let me. Horrible disease.) I can buy my clothes at the normal racks. I can take advantage of sales.

Still, I was down a hundred pounds a month ago. And this summer was a blur of grey shadows for I had slipped into a deep and dangerous depression.

I thought it was my challenging life. And it is challenging. But it wasn't that. I thought it was the stress of my job. But it wasn't that either. I thought I was grieving my lost freedom as a caregiver to a chronically ill person. But, of course, it wasn't really that either.

Day slipped into day, and it all felt like night. The only thing that changed was the calendar.

There's a machine inside each of us. A robot, if you will, who is very good at pretending to be you while the real you is adrift, becalmed on a sea of despair.

I showered each morning, I drove to work. I returned. I did the laundry, kept the house, cooked the meals, and kept all my wife's doctor's appointments. Even now, as the light begins to shine once again in my little spiritual prison, I can't remember any one day. Maybe, for me, it was all one day.

And I knew something was wrong. I knew I was in trouble. And I blamed it all on my life, my wife, the weather, finances. I blamed everything but the truth.

I would endure fits of anger at myself for not being happier about what I had. A good job, a wonderful spouse, and a one hundred pound weight loss when I thought I had been fat's prisoner for life.

I really don't know what did it. I really don't know what opened my eyes. But I came to realize what was really happening.

I was grieveing a loss.

You see, I am a murderer. Just about a year ago I killed the only friend who could comfort me through times of strife. Days of sorrow. But he wasn't really a friend, for while I was being comforted I was also being murdered. Slowly, coldly. My friend was smothering me in warm cozy layers of fat.

I miss my drug. I miss eating half a pie, and washing it down with a quart of ice cream. Then repeating the procedure. I'm not just addicted to food, you see. I'm addicted to the act of eating. And, through constant toil and practice I made my stomach just like my heart. Something that could never be filled. An emptiness like the black core of interstellar space.

He cries out in me still. His ghost lingers on. I see him. I hear him. I hear that siren call "Eat....Eat.....Eat.....Eat". He sings his destructive song in my ear still. Even now he calls to me.

Thank God I know his face now. Thank God I know his name. The Enemy is no longer invisible. But he is strong. And.....I am weak. Thank God I have a band. It lends me the strength of science. When I weaken, when I succumb to the hypnotic cry of the gourmand, it lends me it's strength. It's wisdom.

Yes, science treats my symptom. I alone must face the disease. But, a hundred pounds down, and sixty odd to go, I can fight longer. I have longer to heal. And I got that hundred pounds back from my addiction. That victory will always be mine.

If you've read this far, you have my admiration and condolences. Thank you. I wanted to share that haveing the band doesn't solve your problems, it gives you a breather to work on them yourself. It's a tool. And any tool that lies unused is worthless. Use it. Fight. I'll fight beside you. We all will fight together.

It's never to late to become what you might have been.

Ryan.

Whip puts his hands in his pockets and drags a foot through the dirt. "Aw shucks" he says. "You guys are making me blush". And, indeed, his ears are turning red.

Okay, here's a little Halloween present for you all:

It’s the end of October, and darkness hurries to evict the daylight. Yards are blanketed with leaves, hillsides blaze with color.

The wind swirls outside, windows rattle, the sky is as grey as ashes. Clouds scud Eastward seeking tomorrow’s sun.

If you dare, if you are foolish enough to go outside, the wind will tug at your hair, begging you to come play. But it sings with a voice that is more like a dirge.

The night is darker now than it was at the end of a summer day. The walk from car to house is long, and (even if you are a grown up), a little......frightening. Your steps speed up as you approach your door. You fumble for your keys, and struggle to use the lock, rendered invisible in the darkness.

It’s easy now to imagine swift footfalls coming up behind you and hot breath at the back of your neck. It’s almost second nature to wonder if you saw movement in the shadows. Even the October wind seems to whisper your name.

Finally the key finds the lock. You feel foolish as you bolt your door behind you. You are inside. Home. Safe. The October world is out there. Here your lamps cheer you, and you head to the kitchen to make a cup of tea.

But......

Wait.....

Was that a noise........Upstairs?

There is a bright side. Patty's much better than last spring, or even last January and February. The first four months of the year were touch and go. She has shown great improvement, and if this last surgery can get her implants running properly there is hope for a bright future for her.

Good to hear from you as well. I may start posting again, tho there are so many new people they may not know what to think about my strange style of writing.

Ah, well. I can only be me.

Been a hard year for Patty (and so for me as well. Better or worse, eh?) One of her cures almost killed her last spring. The trip to the ER with her on life support was a real wakeup call.

Seems she was reacting to a med.

She's had a few more surgeries. Mostly dealing with the Reflex Sympathetic Dystrophy and the bionic stuff they have put in her. Last surgery the machine they implanted came loose. Still waiting to get it fixed.

I've lost a hundred pounds even. Haven't had a free day to get in for another fill, I think I need a teeny tiny one. Too much time getting Patty well. Cleveland is still where her specialist is, and it's still three hundred miles away. I've been there twenty times this year alone.

I've lurked here and watched. Looks like all are doing well. In a way I'm still just lurking. But was nice to be recognized!! Thank you!!!

Hope all here are well, and working toward their goals and that all those goals aren't about losing.....anything. I hope all your goals are about gaining....Life!!!

Lone survivor.

All your loved ones are dead, slain by the forces of evil. But you stand strong. Good work. You got 10/10

I knew all that late night TV would pay off someday.

Gentle as a summer rain, as strong as granite. Her soul shone through as brightly as the sun. That same brightness illuminated many paths here.

Sorely missed, yet never forgotten, Blossom we hardly knew you, but what we knew we loved.

My condolences to her family, how saddened you must be to have lost such a special person. I wish I could ease your grief, but only the healing touch of time, and the depth of your love, can do that. May you find peace at last, and never lose the cherished memory of such a special soul.

How priviledged we all were, to have known her at all.

And so it goes that the year rolls round and we find ourselves standing on the cusp. One year younger a moment ago, one year older in just a moment.

And yet, it was all moments up to here. And some of them seem so close, so real, like a dream long remembered after waking. And some seem so far away, so distant, like a poem read in the night, about someone else's life.

I can feel the sun on my head as Patty and I stood on that lawn with the Water behind us, and a man with a Bible in his hand asked if we'd be faithful, in sickness and in health. That was just yesterday, twelve years ago.

Thank you for your well wishes. They are the brightest spot in my day today, rest assured that is true. For my truest love lies in hospital, fighting for her life. And they don't know why. My deepest fear is that she will be one of the extinguished candles, and I can't smile when I think of that.

Yet there IS a ray of hope. The neurologist has given us just the tiniest thread to cling to, and it is like the sun breaking through the clouds. So for this I will be thankful, as I know I must be thankful for all things in life. Even birthdays which march by unrelenting until memory fades, and eyes dim, and birthdays lose their luster forevermore.

Also my best friend, Scott, has moved back into the area. Chefs tend to move around a lot, and most of my friends are working in exotic places where it doesn't snow all the time. This too is a happy present for my birthday.

And then there is LBT. Which just may become the Phoenix and rise from it's own ashes. Still I don't feel safe, not entirely safe.

But how could I think of my own safety in the light of such wonderful and caring people? Thank you all, your heartfelt wishes mean the world to me, and may I say in return:

LBT people are one of the blessings I am thankful for each and every day. I bless the mouse click that brought me here that first time. You're all top shelf, and I'm proud to call you folks "friend".

Love and Respect,

Ryan.

I was fat. I was miserable. I was dying. Then I typed Laparoscopic Band into my browser. I clicked on this forum. I had found others, but when I started reading here, I didn't want to stop.

Hours later, cheeks rough and reddened from dried tears. I shut off the screen and went to bed. That night I was visited by visions of hope. Dreams of a life less humilitating. A life lived to the fullest. A life without one second in it devoted to wheezing 'cause I'd just tied my shoe.

Here I met people. People like me. Some had a band. Some didn't, they were trying to have one, or were afraid, and needed comfort.

Here were people telling me that I could do it. That all would be well. I was told that the waiting would one day end, and I'd be allowed to take the first step of a journey to a better, and happier, me.

Here were people as tender as the buds of April, and as rowdy as the winds of March. Here were people who were sage and wise. Here were those who made me laugh, made me cry, made me think.

It was an Eden of sorts. And all these people and myself were like innocents, children playing on a summer's day. Laughter like chimes of crystal, eyes shining like the stars, exhuberance, and joy, and gleeful gasps of sweet baby's breath, filled the shimmering air.

One day a child slipped. A wrong step on a wet patch of grass, perhaps, and that slide knocked down another. Knees were scraped, elbows skinned. Someone called someone a "Poopiehead" and was responded to in kind.

The happy players became an angry mob. The sun was darkened by a cloud, and it didn't stop raining. Some of us became so sad, so tired of the dreary gray sky, and the hopelessness of a rainy day, that we left the playground.

And yet, I look out the window, at the magic place I had lost, and I see that the sun's not peeked out. And, while it's not raining any more, still the puddles haven't dried up, not even a little bit.

Then, even in my simple child's heart I realize: Someone's got to run the playground. There must be a Moderator. But there are so many players, and more coming each and every day (it's a really good playground, so very successful). There's just too much for the Moderator to do. The Moderator needs assistants. But one has to be the Moderator, with veto powers, the rest are assistants. Why? Because you can't run a country, a business, or a playground by committee. We've all seen it happen. Or, actually, not happen, if you get my drift.

And, if we rely in the Children to govern themselves, well, it will kill the magic. The magic that was here. That magic that made all these people come and the magic that made me stay that very first day. Because you can't play your best if all you can do is worry about who you're offending. But, if you can follow the list of rules back by the gate, you can play to your hearts content.

I don't know if that certain magic is gone, or just hiding. Was it killed outright or is it hiding, like a frightened kitten, waiting to come forth once again and delight all who gaze it's way? I don't know.

I don't even know if we can get it back. But, oh, how I wish it could be so. But, then again, maybe I don't. Maybe pure innocence isn't all good. Maybe we need a dose of reality now and again.

In any case, I, for one, am saddened at what I and so many have lost. I really do feel like my best friend has died. Also I am fearful of the dark and dangerous look of the thing that took it's place. I can see the playground now. And these children aren't playing, no. They are walking about carefully, heads down, careful not to look anyone in the eye.

But, that said, I am hopeful. Hopeful that from this can come something better, more useful, and maybe less flamboyant, but with a quiet, serviceable magic all its own.

with respect and love,

Ryan.

It hurts too much to see this going on. I come here for support, not for invective. I come here to help me through the dark watches of the night, when I want to eat, and cry.

I certainly don't come here to listen to good people, good friends, call each other names.

And I don't come here to watch as doctors are glorified as Gods, or villified as Devils. They're just people, as subject to fallibility as the rest of us, and, at the end of their day they trudge through their front door and their feet hurt, and smell, just like any mortal's.

I don't come here to add to the unhappiness of my life. And "If I don't like it, I can go to another thread". Well, take a look around. All the threads are being systematically corrupted.

We've all got a hard road ahead. We've each got to follow his or her own doctor's directions, and we've each got to listen to our hearts.

Mine says goodbye. If any one should care to contact me, with real LapBand issues, or to recieve or give support, meet me here:

http://forums.delphiforums.com/thoughtfuless/start

All of my Grandparents had passed on by the time I was born. All save one. My Grandmother lived with us until I was two. Then she was locked away for trying to slit my throat. Sorry Delarla, I said in another thread there wasn't any family mental illness, but I was thinking about my Parents.

But both my Grandfathers gave me wonderful things, and they never knew me. They stepped off this Earth years before I came along, yet there was something left for me. And my life has been the richer for their gifts.

Grampa Bill was my Mother's Father. He was a Blackfoot Indian. He left us many things, mostly stories and lore passed down by Mom. Things that were sworn to be true, even though it stretches sanity to believe them. To this day I thank him for half my heritage. Through his passed down wisdom I learned that all is one, and that God (Gitchee Manitou) is part of all things, as we are part of Him.

I learned to hunt, and to fish. I learned what things to eat in the forest and what thing to avoid. I learned to be self reliant.

But Grampa John Webster. He topped everything. For when I was forty one years old, and my own Dad had been two years in the grave............My Paternal Grandfather (who himself had died when my own Dad was two) gave me the biggest surprise I have ever gotten. He gave me a whole family I didn't know I had.

When my Dad died I was the last of our particular line to carry the Webster name. I had half brothers, and a half sister, but no one to share it all. Then one day there was a knock on the door. And when I answered it I thought my Dad was standing there. Seems Grampa John had two families back in the old days. Each a secret from the other. I have cousins on this earth I never knew about before. This John Webster handed me a thick sheaf of papers. My family tree carefully researched back to 1322 AD. Wow! Now eleven years later I still feel surprised.

Megwitch.

Dolphin Lover: Aquamarine Starlight

Tree hugger: Cyan Brodderick.

Cyan?

Lisa, how great to start this thread. You are always thinking! Except for the family mental illness part our stories are quite similar. But then, mental illness didn't get diagnosed as much when I was a kid, so maybe............

I, too, don't care much about food until the night time. This is a habit that started when I was a child. I loved to have a little picnic all by myself, in the night. Maybe it's because I have always been a loner, maybe it's because I felt ashamed of my food thing and wanted to do it under the cover of darkness. Somehow I think it's a combination of things, the two I mentioned, plus physical tiredness, hunger from not eating all day, and I tend to replay all the events of the day in my head. I replay my stress tapes in my head and then I eat.

While I'm eating I feel nothing. Sometimes, feeling nothing can be bliss. I, too, think in large terms for food. Before banding I could eat a large pizza. Sure I'd feel full, but after a quart of ice cream it'd go away.

My real issue is Twofold: 1. I find it almost impossible to eat slowly. It takes an enormous effort of will and concentration to eat slowly. You'd think it'd be the other way around, but if I don't concentrate on my eating the food is gone in milliseconds.

2. I am compelled (liiterally compelled) to do everything in my power to finish it all. It doesn't matter how much there is, I can't even entertain the notion of putting away leftovers. I've saved a fortune in Saran Wrap over the years.

Now I think these two bugaboos stem from childhood physical, mental, and sexual abuse that involved food, and these two practices. I could explain in more detail, and if someone really wants to know I'll PM the whole story to them, but it wold be fairly offensive to post it here. TMI for some folks, I imagine. It certainly is that for me.

Is that why I'm fat? No. I'm fat because I chose this particular addiction (for whatever reason, it's my addiction, my problem) to deal with my issues. There. Now I'm doing my best to own my problem. I am why I'm fat. My choices, colored by compulsions.

"Hi, I'm Food, and what's eating me is Ryan."

Mr. Whipple is my seventeen year old mixed breed dog's name. I'm his daddy. Whippledaddy.

My first pet was Smokey Joe. Mom's maiden name was Sheppard. Smokey Joe Sheppard.

Hmmmm.

Would AA have been the success it is if it had been started by a couple of tea totalers?

What would an alchoholic give for a device that made it impossible for them to get more than three drinks into themselves in a day?

A lot of thin people give me a lot of advice. Some of them have lots and lots of capital letters after their names. Those letters and titles prove they can study for tests. They can never prove that they care, or have an inkling of what we MO's are all about.

No man knows what it's like to be a woman. No woman knows what it's like to be a man. If you've never had cancer, you can't begin to understand what it is really like. No thin person will ever understand what it's like to be fat. Thank God.

I'm not an alchoholic, and yet I never give a thought about how to not be one. Do thin people give a thought as to how not to be fat? Nope. The only people wondering how not to be fat are fat people. The skinny folks with titles after their names make a living off the fat of the land. But it's only book learning, folks.

No person who has not walked a mile in my shoes can tell me what my problem is. I know. I'm not fat because it's winter. I'm fat because of how I deal with winter, and every other setback in life, large or small. You can say that I didn't eat that piece of pie because I was bored, or stressed. You can say it. But you'll be as wrong as wrong can be. I'm not fat because I was stressed. I'm fat because I chose to use food as a coping mechanism. I'm not fat because it's winter. I'm fat because I choose to use food as a comfort, instead of body fuel. But to tell me that I didn't eat that pie in a moment of weakness sparked by some stress inducing event.................Wrong.

I have a disease. Before I had a band my days were a string of little losses, and failures. My disease was winning. It was killing me. With the band, I can have less days of failure.

I have a disease. And no matter what anyone says, it's not in my power to beat this disease with will power alone. I've proven that a thousand times. Beating my disease isn't about losing pounds. Pounds are just a symptom. Beating the disease will ease the symptoms. Beating my disease is about making choices that don't feed the disease. It's about living my life without making each day a practice session in how not to be fat. Thin people don't think about being thin. Fat people do little else.

Today, just today, I'm going to deal with all my problems instead of burying them under food. I'm going to go through this day and never once think about how not to be fat.

If you think that's easy to do, then go stand in a corner and don't think of a white bear.

Thanks for all your caring and kindness. My wife is going downhill, and we don't know why. She requires full time care, and since we can't pay much out of pocket that means I must shoulder the load. Also I must pick up as much overtime as our strained state budget will allow.

So...........little time to post. I do try to look in daily to see how everyone is doing. I have put my needs on temporary hold. I've lost more and am near the three hundred mark, but not sure where. I have stopped the doctor's appointments. They are just not as important as my two greatest time priorities right now. sleep, and Patty.

So, I'll not be posting much for a bit, and they certainly won't be eloquent, as I have little time, and a foggy head.

I am praying that the warm breath of spring will draw in new hope. And will wish you well untill then.

Blessed are they who have found a friend to cherish evermore,

And it matters not if they walk about on two legs, or run about on four.

They all give love and loyalty, and courage for their part.

And passing leave behind them a trail of broken hearts.

But when your courage fails you, and you feel you're about to fall,

Remember how lucky you were, to know this furry friend at all.

Today our beloved dog "Abby" underwent surgery for a very bad case of uterine infection. The vet said it's not uncommon for dogs of her age to die of this. Believe me when I say, I can empathize with you. She's at the vet's tonight, and doing well so far. I stretch out a hand of comfort to you, and let you know there are other hearts that share this pain, but we also know only you can feel the void.

Rolling On The Floor Laughing My A$$ Off.