wendytip

I didn't have any of the nausea or lightheadedness, but I swear I would have taken someone's arm off for bowl of oatmeal! It will pass, and I should know, since I was banded 3 days before Christmas! I knew that if I could make it through Christmas Eve and Christmas Day on clear liquids then anything else would be a breeze! Will you live to "munch another day?" ...hopefully not! But once you hit the "sweet spot" and you have to proper restriction, you won't want to munch. I know you probably don't believe me, but I swear it's true. You'll be able to eat whatever you fix for your family; although, I wouldn't eat anything fried, but you won't be able to eat much. Hang in there. It is SO worth it! Wendy

Okay, I am one of those scale-banishing-radicals! Yes, I threw away my scale because I don't need a scale to tell me what I need to know. I only weight once a month...when I go to my doctor for my fill/checkup thingy. And when, I get to the point to where they only see me once every three months, then I may not weight until then either! My radical thinking is this: I didn't have to rely on a scale to let me know when I was out of control. I knew other ways. I knew by my crazy eating and every tightening clothing, and feelings of doom. And...I don't have to rely on the scale to let me know when I'm doing what I should be doing. I can tell from my clothes that become baggier and baggier, and from my mind set, which goes from hopeless and food obsessed, and from watching my belly shrink, (I know that it's a matter of time till I can see my TOES!) I know weight fluctuates every day because I grew up in a family that "made" me weigh in on a very regular basis. (yes, we had an authentic set of medical scales, just like you find in the doctor's office) But, whatever works for you; go for it! For me, it's a vicious catch 22. If I weigh and I've gained, then I have an "Oh what the hell, I've already gained, so let's eat" attitude. If I weigh and I lose, then I have a "What the hell!? I'm doing so good, let's reward with food and eat" attitude. The 5th happiest day of my life was when I got rid of my scales. Just in case you're curious... Happy days 1 -4 are as follows: 4. Divorcing my ex husband. 3.Marrying my current husband. 2.Getting "banded." 1. The birth of my children.

Hell no, it doesn't matter that it came from Wally-World, or that it's snug! You're out of FAT GIRL CLOTHES! Celebrate! Sing, dance, tell total strangers that you wear a size 16; I would! I enjoy reading your blogs. You're very positive and I love that! I get very tired of the whining and complaining that I read so often in some blogs. If you want it, you've got to bleed for it. Wendy

Congrats and best wishes. You'll certainly get lots of info and support here! Wendy

Congrats to you and keep up the good work! You are so pretty! Celebrate every ounce! You worked hard for it! Wendy

Not only will most doctors NOT put anything in your band during surgery, you usually have to wait at least 4 weeks before they will put something in it. You need that 4 weeks to heal and usually you are on clear liquids for a week, following surgery, then a week of liquids, then a week of "mushy" food, and finally a week of "real" food. Personally, I think you need to give yourself time to get used to the lifestyle change that is lap band surgery. There is SO much change that is involved in a persons life when they get banded, and the changes that take place with how to eat are just the beginning. The "real" changes occur in your head. You have to totally retrain yourself and your way of thinking. For those of us, like me, who was a "food addict", you have to figure out how your going to live your life and deal with your problems without "using" food. It's tough, I'm not going to lie, but it is something you can do; it just depends on how badly you want it. If you really want to have the band taken out, I'm sure you can, but you certainly shouldn't have a problem getting the saline taken out. That would allow you to eat like you were in the past. Think about what you want to do, and don't act in haste. As trite as it may sound; the band is ONLY a tool. Best wishes, Wendy

I went for my second weigh in, and was hoping for at least 9 more pounds so that I would have a total weight loss of 25 pounds. I stepped on the scale, and much to my delerious delight found that I had dropped 12 pounds all total! I'm telling you, I just stared at that number; 243. I thought I was going to cry. 28 pounds in just under 8 weeks. It's been so long since I've dipped below 250, that I can't even believe it's my weight on the read out...well, except for the fact that I had to dine on broth and jello for the Christmas holidays, and I've given up sweets, and I don't drink sodas anymore, and I monitor everything that goes into my mouth, and I don't eat fried foods or almost any bread...except for those things, I can't believe it's my weight. My doctor didn't do my fill; his nurse did, and I could hardly feel a thing! So, in the future I will be making all of my appt. with her. One of the best things is that I can finally feel restriction...praise God! I've never been so happy to not be able to eat hardly any of my breakfast in my life! However, the best thing about all of this is not really the weight loss; it's the peace of mind that I have, now. I don't wake up and think about what I'm going to eat, or when I can eat again, how much I'm going to eat, when I'll lose that battle...Even though, I will never say never again about being fat (I've learned my lesson there,) I will say, "Not very damn likely!"

I went for my second weigh in, and was hoping for at least 9 more pounds so that I would have a total weight loss of 25 pounds. I stepped on the scale, and much to my delerious delight found that I had dropped 12 pounds all total! I'm telling you, I just stared at that number; 243. I thought I was going to cry. 28 pounds in just under 8 weeks. It's been so long since I've dipped below 250, that I can't even believe it's my weight on the read out...well, except for the fact that I had to dine on broth and jello for the Christmas holidays, and I've given up sweets, and I don't drink sodas anymore, and I monitor everything that goes into my mouth, and I don't eat fried foods or almost any bread...except for those things, I can't believe it's my weight. My doctor didn't do my fill; his nurse did, and I could hardly feel a thing! So, in the future I will be making all of my appt. with her. One of the best things is that I can finally feel restriction...praise God! I've never been so happy to not be able to eat hardly any of my breakfast in my life! However, the best thing about all of this is not really the weight loss; it's the peace of mind that I have, now. I don't wake up and think about what I'm going to eat, or when I can eat again, how much I'm going to eat, when I'll lose that battle...Even though, I will never say never again about being fat (I've learned my lesson there,) I will say, "Not very damn likely!"

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!

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!

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.”

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.”

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!

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!

Do you realize what a rapid weight loss 30 lbs. in just over 7 weeks is? I'm going for my second weigh in and fill next Tuesday, and I'm shooting for 25 lbs. all total. If I hit 30 lbs. My feet will not be touching the ground! An average of over 4 lbs. a week is plenty. You don't want the weight to come off too fast.

Okkkkkay, I really don’t think I have anything to worry about since I have over 100 lbs. to lose. I’ve got a while before I need to start wondering if I look too thin. I have heard b before that as you get older, either your butt is big, but your face is great, or you have a nice rear end and your face looks like hell. And you know what? Society and all those beauty experts can kiss my fat ass! All I’ve had shoved down my throat for years is what a non person I am because I’m fat. From shopping for clothes in the “fat girls section,” that look like damn shower curtains, or drapes, to seeing anorexic chicks with their shoulder blades poking out held up to me and every other female as the supposed standard of beauty, and now they want to hand us this garbage? It’s kind of like God has played some ridiculous joke on me anyway; I have tiny hands, narrow, little feet, a small face, and then everything else is big! It’s like the body parts got mixed up somehow. Now, I have had my husband and friends express concern over what’s going to happen to my cleavage. I have a great rack…I guess. Women always say, “I wish I had big boobs like that.” I tell them, “Well, if you can 130 pounds I bet you will…of course you’ll have to take the big, fat ass that comes with it. Personally, I can’t wait until “the girls” are gone! They’re big and in the way, and the only reason I have them is because I’m fat, so when they’re gone I’m giving them a bon voyage party! Now, because my wonderful husband is the only man EVER who has never made an issue of my weight, and who treats me like I’m the sexiest woman on the planet even at my fattest, loves them…I will most likely have him some made. But, only because he does love them so much…and at least they won’t be sagging! No way! Those girls will be pointing towards the heavens! Other than that; I’ll take my additional “years” if that’s what it comes down to. I think with plenty of water and exercise it won’t be an issue. Besides, I’ll take a few wrinkles over a “Joan Rivers” face any day.

Or,you could tell them that you have a tapeworm. You look furitivley over both of your shoulders, lean in close and mysteriosly, and say, "I'm not eating this food...not after what happened to the others." You could say that you're fasting for "Rhamadan." Or you could make your food make little screaming noises everytime you go to take a bite, and I bet they wouldn't even remember what you had for lunch, much less, how much you did or didn't eat. You could make ecstatic, moaning noises of intense satisfaction every time you chewed, thereby embarassing them so badly that they'd be grateful you weren't eating very much. You could say, "Well SOME of us don't make as much as YOU obiviously do, so SOME of us have to ask eht waiter for a "to go" container, so that we can take our food home, ration it out, and pray to GOD that it lasts until the next paycheck." Or, you could tell them that you're in training to be a Navy Seal, and you have to watch what you eat. You could slam your silverware and napkin down on the table, push your chair out from the table forcefully, and as you run away to the restroom, shout back over your shoulder, "GOD! Why do you always have to ruin things for me?" You could say, "Oh, I'm not eating becuase I had lap band surgery, and I've lost a lot of weight. perhaps if you weren't so self absorbed you would have noticed by now. Yep, I can't wait to loose the rest of my weight, so that I can start dressing like a tramp!" Oh, and that reminds me; can I borrow some of your clothes once I get skinny?" Or you could use my personal favorite, "Why don't you mind your own damn business!"

Or, tell them that you have a tapeworm...or you could glance in paranoia over your shoulder, then look under the table, and mysteriously say, "I'm not eating this food...I don't want to end up like all the others." You could make loud, succulant, moaning noises,every time you chewed, thereby, drawing embarrassing attention to your table;that way, they'd be grateful. that you didn't eat very much. You could say snidley, "Well, not all of us make as much money as YOU obiviously do, so SOME of us have toask the waiter for a "to go" container, so that we can ration our food out, hoping and praying that it will last until the next payday. You could make you food make little screaming noises as you ate it, and they'd be so put off by your crazy behavior that they probably wouldn't even remember what you had to eat, much less how much you ate.You could tell them that you're fasting for Rhamadan. You say what I say, which is, "Oh, I guess I didn't tell you that I had lap band surgery. Maybe if you weren't so self absorbed you would have noticed that I've lost a lot of weght, and I can't wait until I'm thin, so that I can start dressing like a tramp!...which reminds me, may I borrow some of your stuff when I get skinny?" You could slam your napkin down on the table loudly, shove your chair out from the table, and as you make you way to the restroom in mock tears, scream, "God! Why do you always have to ruin things for me?" And of course, there's always the old standby; Why don't you mind your own damn business?"

Insurance requirements are INSANE! You should put weights in your pockets. I swear, that's what I'd do. I take those little hand weights apart and sew that shit into my clothes if I had to! Of course, I'm just crazy that way!

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!

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!

Food Porn! Hah! I LOVE it! I'm a Southern girl and honey, we deep fry everything. We'd fry lard if we could just find a way! I don't discrminate though, I love all kinds of food! None of your food porn gives me any real pause except for that hot dog thingy with the sausage. OMG, I'd kill somebody for a loaded up chili dog. It's my FAV! I can only imagine what that sausage thingy must be like! Heaven, I'm sure. I'll tell you what looks good, though...that big, dark, tree trunk thighed,long haired, curly locks guy that plays for the Steelers! He does play for the Steelers, doesn't he? I don't do the sports thing...except for boxing! Stay strong, girl!

Congrats to you! Take some Gas X strips and walk, walk, walk, and then walk some more. I felt the same way. The incisions were no big deal, but the gas pain was horrible! Oh, and you may want to try a heating pad on your shoulder too. I've heard that helps.

Oh, you're so much nicer than I am. Once upon a time when I'd lost a bunch of weight and then put it all back on, a co-worker said, "What in the world made you gain all that weight back?" I replied, "Oh, I don't know. I guess I got tired of being drop dead gorgous." I really do belive that most of the time people don't mean anything by what they say, but sometimes...sometimes, you can't convince me that they don't know exactly what they're saying, and I'd tell anyone who saying, "Your going to gain that weight back," to mind their own damn business. Sometimes it feels, oh so good, to let 'em have it!

Get him to use some Lidocaine first to numb you, but it's not painful hardly at all. I just can't look. You'll be fine. You're strong. You didn't come this far to back down now, remember that!