ALuv82

Hey! You're getting banded the same days as me. I also have a pre-op diet but it's only for 1 week, not two. I definitely get what you mean by emotions being all over the place. It's very exciting but defniitely nerve-wracking too. :thumbup:

Technically speaking predinisone does not make you gain weight. It is a stress hormone that actually causes your body to redistribute fat from your limbs to your belly area. This happens because it's preparing your body long term for fight or flight--skinnier limbs makes it easier to run. Steroids such as prednisone will actually have a net fat burning effect. HOWEVER, as stated above, it significantly increases your hunger and your thirst. It's medicinally induced stress eating to the max. You will probably be drinking a ton and peeing a ton. You may retain a bit of water. A lot of it depends on your does. I wouldn't worry too much about it. In the long term 10 days of steroids isn't going to have a big impact.

Hey everyone. I'm having my surgery April 27th. I see a lot of people have to do their pre-op diets for 2 weeks but mine is only for 1 week. That means I have 2 more weeks of "pre" pre-op dieting to go. I haven't really made any changes yet but I do want to start pre-paring myself for some of the behavioral changes I'm going to have to make. For those of you who have been banded already, what did ou do prior to surgery to prepare yourself for the changes to come? What do you wish you'd better prepared yourself for? I know one major thing I'm going to have to work on in the next couple of weeks is weaning myself off diet soda. Any other advice?

So I know I kind of disappeared off the face of the blog-o-sphere, and so shortly after I appeared, but fear not, I have returned. (Was that a run on sentence? I think it was but I have always sucked at grammar. Please forgive me my faults. :wub:) Anyhoo, I apologize for my prolonged absence. I tried to sit down and write a couple of times, but I was sick, first with the cold from hell and then with a stomach flu and I was busy with all my pre-surgical testing during all of it. By the time things settled down this blog had kind of fallen by the wayside. But now I’ve finished all of my pre-op requirements, been approved by my insurance company and set a date for surgery and my excitement towards telling my story has been renewed, so here I am. In three weeks, on April 27th, 2009, I will enter bandland. I can’t even begin to imagine the ways my life will change during the course of this journey—oh who the hell am I kidding? Of course I can imagine it. I’ve been imagining it for months. I’m sure the truth will be nothing like the fantasies—good and bad ones alike—but yet I continue to imagine. Will I reach my goals? Will I surpass them? Will I fall short? Will I lose a ton of weight only to gain it all back like every other time I’ve tried to lose weight? Will I need more surgery after I’ve lost the weight to remove excess skin? How will I look when I weight 200lbs? 175? 150? How will I feel? Damn, there are so many questions. I guess I’ll get the answers eventually. The next three weeks will be spent preparing physically and mentally for the major step I’m about to take. I think the first two weeks will be mostly mental. I haven’t really made any changes to my eating habits yet. I want to start developing some habits—eating slow, chewing thoroughly, figuring out what “comfortably full” feels like, and what might very well be the hardest change of all—weaning myself off of diet coke. There are no dietary rules yet but I certainly hope to be able to make changes even in the absence of rules. This is my life and my body and I need to start taking charge. I also need to start using a CPAP machine. CPAP stands for continuous positive airway pressure. I had to undergo a sleep study for pulmonary clearance and I was diagnosed with obstructive sleep apnea; a condition where I stop breathing in my sleep. This causes me to wake up—although I don’t realize it—and prevents me from getting a good nights sleep. The CPAP machine is worn when I sleep to keep me breathing. I was told that I was required to have the machine and bring it with me to the hospital on the day of my operation. At first I had no intention of wearing it; it’s uncomfortable, and claustrophobic, and well, honestly, pretty embarrassing even though I have no one to see me in it. But, after reading some stories of others lap-banders with sleep apnea, I decided to give it a try. We’ll see how well that goes. Then, the week immediately prior to surgery I have a special diet to follow. It’s a modified liquid diet to prepare my body for surgery. One of the main purposes of this diet it to shrink my liver so that Dr. G. will be better able to visualize my stomach laproscopically during the procedure. The week before surgery I will also need to head to the hospital to undergo some pre-op tests and meet with the nurse. Then I will have to go to my PCP for a physical and final medical clearance for surgery. Three weeks seems so far away and yet so frighteningly close. This is going to change my whole life. I know I’m ready for the change, but it doesn’t make it any less scary. Still, I’m not second guessing myself. It took me a long time to make the decision to do this and I’m positive I’ve made the right one. Twenty-one days and counting down.

So I know I kind of disappeared off the face of the blog-o-sphere, and so shortly after I appeared, but fear not, I have returned. (Was that a run on sentence? I think it was but I have always sucked at grammar. Please forgive me my faults. :thumbdown:) Anyhoo, I apologize for my prolonged absence. I tried to sit down and write a couple of times, but I was sick, first with the cold from hell and then with a stomach flu and I was busy with all my pre-surgical testing during all of it. By the time things settled down this blog had kind of fallen by the wayside. But now I’ve finished all of my pre-op requirements, been approved by my insurance company and set a date for surgery and my excitement towards telling my story has been renewed, so here I am. In three weeks, on April 27th, 2009, I will enter bandland. I can’t even begin to imagine the ways my life will change during the course of this journey—oh who the hell am I kidding? Of course I can imagine it. I’ve been imagining it for months. I’m sure the truth will be nothing like the fantasies—good and bad ones alike—but yet I continue to imagine. Will I reach my goals? Will I surpass them? Will I fall short? Will I lose a ton of weight only to gain it all back like every other time I’ve tried to lose weight? Will I need more surgery after I’ve lost the weight to remove excess skin? How will I look when I weight 200lbs? 175? 150? How will I feel? Damn, there are so many questions. I guess I’ll get the answers eventually. The next three weeks will be spent preparing physically and mentally for the major step I’m about to take. I think the first two weeks will be mostly mental. I haven’t really made any changes to my eating habits yet. I want to start developing some habits—eating slow, chewing thoroughly, figuring out what “comfortably full” feels like, and what might very well be the hardest change of all—weaning myself off of diet coke. There are no dietary rules yet but I certainly hope to be able to make changes even in the absence of rules. This is my life and my body and I need to start taking charge. I also need to start using a CPAP machine. CPAP stands for continuous positive airway pressure. I had to undergo a sleep study for pulmonary clearance and I was diagnosed with obstructive sleep apnea; a condition where I stop breathing in my sleep. This causes me to wake up—although I don’t realize it—and prevents me from getting a good nights sleep. The CPAP machine is worn when I sleep to keep me breathing. I was told that I was required to have the machine and bring it with me to the hospital on the day of my operation. At first I had no intention of wearing it; it’s uncomfortable, and claustrophobic, and well, honestly, pretty embarrassing even though I have no one to see me in it. But, after reading some stories of others lap-banders with sleep apnea, I decided to give it a try. We’ll see how well that goes. Then, the week immediately prior to surgery I have a special diet to follow. It’s a modified liquid diet to prepare my body for surgery. One of the main purposes of this diet it to shrink my liver so that Dr. G. will be better able to visualize my stomach laproscopically during the procedure. The week before surgery I will also need to head to the hospital to undergo some pre-op tests and meet with the nurse. Then I will have to go to my PCP for a physical and final medical clearance for surgery. Three weeks seems so far away and yet so frighteningly close. This is going to change my whole life. I know I’m ready for the change, but it doesn’t make it any less scary. Still, I’m not second guessing myself. It took me a long time to make the decision to do this and I’m positive I’ve made the right one. Twenty-one days and counting down.

Hey everyone. I'm getting banded by Dr. G April 27th--3 weeks from tomorrow. I'm super excited. I'm also really nervous because I've never had anesthesia before. Anyhow, just wanted to introduce myself. I'm sure I'll be seeing some of you in the monthly support meetings.

Hey. I've had my surgery date for a couple weeks now but I've been waiting on official approval from the insurance company and now I have it. April 27th is my big day. I'm really excited but really nervous too. I've never been on the recieving end of anesthesia before. Still, I can't wait to get started on the path to a new me.

Hey guys. I'm on my way to getting banded. I don't have a date yet, still have to finish all my Dr.'s appts/consults, but hopefully I'll be able to set the date soon. I've got a question for all of you who have been banded already. Where did your surgeon put your port? Can you tell it's there when you feel the area over it? Can anybody actually see theirs? My Dr.'s PA was telling me that in some people they can actually see it a little after they've lost a lot of weight. I know that's better than lots of fat, but it still kind of weirds me out. Also, I know it's not the same, but my mother has a pace maker and she said sometimes it bothers her when she lies on it or moves a certain way. Has anyone had anything like that with their port?

I have always been overweight. In elementary school there used to be a day every year where they weighed you in gym; I think it was at the same time that they did the scoliosis test. I don’t ever remember a year where I wasn’t afraid and embarrassed to step on that scale. My parents tried to get me involved in sports to help control my weight and I played little league soft-ball and soccer, but it didn’t keep the pounds off. By the time I was 12 and heading off to junior high, my parents were even more concerned about my weight and the implications it would have on my social life. That summer they shipped me off to fat-camp. I lost about 25lbs that summer and gained about 50 the following year. During junior high I joined the cross country and track teams and ran for miles--albeit very slowly--but no matter how many pounds I ran off, I ate more on. I tried plenty of diets: Weight Watchers, Atkins, I met with nutritionists, I even gave bulimia a stab. I went to a psychiatrist to help me deal with my issues with food and managed to get my binging and purging habits under control, but the obsessive over-eating continued to plague me. When I went away to college my daily exercise decreased and my eating--with all you can eat cafeterias, and no parents on my case--increased. I gained even more. The first time I remember weight-loss surgery coming up was my senior year. My parents wanted me to do it but I wasn’t ready--it scared the bejesus out of me. One night, after discussing it with my parents on the phone, I decided I needed something drastic. I headed off to Walmart to buy some of those stupid, dangerous, Ephedra, over the counter weight-loss pills. I was depressed and desperate for something to help me. I needed these to work. I never even really got to give them a chance. Just buying them gave me a panic attack. It was probably the scariest experience of my life. It was about as close to an out-of-body experience as I can imagine getting. I felt very far away from all of my surroundings. My heart was pounding and my breathing was sharp and shallow. My head was racing, but it was the same thought over and over again--I had to move. I paced the store, my hands shaking. Stupidly enough I got behind the wheel of my car, but managed to make it home safely. The panic attack was still going strong. By that point it was about 11PM on a Friday night. I felt like I had to do something, I had to keep moving. I rolled up my pants, filled the bathtub with water and bleach, and got in and started scrubbing madly. When I was finished with the bathroom I went into my room, pulled out the top drawer of my desk and began frantically throwing the papers around in what was supposed to be an attempt to organize. Half-way through I suddenly stopped, lay down on the floor where I was and cried. I had a few more miny-attacks as I tried to deal with my depression but slowly--with time, some happy pills from my doctor, and the help of my family and friends--I pulled myself out of that big, black hole. And, of course, I got rid of the Trim-Spa, or whatever it was I had bought that night. Still, I had no control over my weight. The little exercise I got in college slowed even more in vet school. For a short while I would walk this huge hill a couple of times a week--about two-miles round trip--but that didn’t last long, especially as my work-load increased and my free-time decreased. I was working 70-80 hour weeks and studying any other time that wasn’t spent sleeping. I certainly wasn’t taking the time out to cook healthy, gourmet, meals--I was stuffing myself full of crap. By the time I graduated I had hit the mark I had always promised myself I would never hit--The big 3-0-0. It was around this time that I started seriously considering weight-loss surgery. I had always been invested in my education. I put the rest of my life on hold. Now there was no more school and I was ready for my life to begin. But what kind of life could I have trapped in the body of a morbidly obese person? I moved back to Long Island where I grew up, but I didn’t really know anyone in the area anymore except for my family. I didn’t have the built in social circle of fellow class mates that I’d always had in the past and I was--and still am--too insecure to really put myself out there and meet new people. So for the past year my social life has been even more stagnant than before. I’ve got my job of course, which--though I’m still getting comfortable with the new responsibility--I thoroughly enjoy. But when I see an obese cat or dog, I feel like a hypocrite. When people ask me about making their pet lose weight, I usually tell them the same thing…”If I had someone with my best interests at heart controlling everything that went into my mouth, I’d be a lot better off for it.” And it’s true—but why shouldn’t I be that person with my best interests at heart? Despite all of my medical, health, and nutritional knowledge, I’m still slowly eating myself to death. So, the time has finally come. I know that even surgery isn’t some “magic bullet.” I will have to work hard and make some serious changes in my life. There is a possibility that I might fail, even at this. But I’m ready to take that chance. I’m ready to make those changes. After all, I spent the last 26 years in school learning, preparing, waiting for my life to begin and now that school is over, I feel like I’m still waiting. If I wait much longer for my life to start, I just might be waiting until my life is over.

I have always been overweight. In elementary school there used to be a day every year where they weighed you in gym; I think it was at the same time that they did the scoliosis test. I don’t ever remember a year where I wasn’t afraid and embarrassed to step on that scale. My parents tried to get me involved in sports to help control my weight and I played little league soft-ball and soccer, but it didn’t keep the pounds off. By the time I was 12 and heading off to junior high, my parents were even more concerned about my weight and the implications it would have on my social life. That summer they shipped me off to fat-camp. I lost about 25lbs that summer and gained about 50 the following year. During junior high I joined the cross country and track teams and ran for miles--albeit very slowly--but no matter how many pounds I ran off, I ate more on. I tried plenty of diets: Weight Watchers, Atkins, I met with nutritionists, I even gave bulimia a stab. I went to a psychiatrist to help me deal with my issues with food and managed to get my binging and purging habits under control, but the obsessive over-eating continued to plague me. When I went away to college my daily exercise decreased and my eating--with all you can eat cafeterias, and no parents on my case--increased. I gained even more. The first time I remember weight-loss surgery coming up was my senior year. My parents wanted me to do it but I wasn’t ready--it scared the bejesus out of me. One night, after discussing it with my parents on the phone, I decided I needed something drastic. I headed off to Walmart to buy some of those stupid, dangerous, Ephedra, over the counter weight-loss pills. I was depressed and desperate for something to help me. I needed these to work. I never even really got to give them a chance. Just buying them gave me a panic attack. It was probably the scariest experience of my life. It was about as close to an out-of-body experience as I can imagine getting. I felt very far away from all of my surroundings. My heart was pounding and my breathing was sharp and shallow. My head was racing, but it was the same thought over and over again--I had to move. I paced the store, my hands shaking. Stupidly enough I got behind the wheel of my car, but managed to make it home safely. The panic attack was still going strong. By that point it was about 11PM on a Friday night. I felt like I had to do something, I had to keep moving. I rolled up my pants, filled the bathtub with water and bleach, and got in and started scrubbing madly. When I was finished with the bathroom I went into my room, pulled out the top drawer of my desk and began frantically throwing the papers around in what was supposed to be an attempt to organize. Half-way through I suddenly stopped, lay down on the floor where I was and cried. I had a few more miny-attacks as I tried to deal with my depression but slowly--with time, some happy pills from my doctor, and the help of my family and friends--I pulled myself out of that big, black hole. And, of course, I got rid of the Trim-Spa, or whatever it was I had bought that night. Still, I had no control over my weight. The little exercise I got in college slowed even more in vet school. For a short while I would walk this huge hill a couple of times a week--about two-miles round trip--but that didn’t last long, especially as my work-load increased and my free-time decreased. I was working 70-80 hour weeks and studying any other time that wasn’t spent sleeping. I certainly wasn’t taking the time out to cook healthy, gourmet, meals--I was stuffing myself full of crap. By the time I graduated I had hit the mark I had always promised myself I would never hit--The big 3-0-0. It was around this time that I started seriously considering weight-loss surgery. I had always been invested in my education. I put the rest of my life on hold. Now there was no more school and I was ready for my life to begin. But what kind of life could I have trapped in the body of a morbidly obese person? I moved back to Long Island where I grew up, but I didn’t really know anyone in the area anymore except for my family. I didn’t have the built in social circle of fellow class mates that I’d always had in the past and I was--and still am--too insecure to really put myself out there and meet new people. So for the past year my social life has been even more stagnant than before. I’ve got my job of course, which--though I’m still getting comfortable with the new responsibility--I thoroughly enjoy. But when I see an obese cat or dog, I feel like a hypocrite. When people ask me about making their pet lose weight, I usually tell them the same thing…”If I had someone with my best interests at heart controlling everything that went into my mouth, I’d be a lot better off for it.” And it’s true—but why shouldn’t I be that person with my best interests at heart? Despite all of my medical, health, and nutritional knowledge, I’m still slowly eating myself to death. So, the time has finally come. I know that even surgery isn’t some “magic bullet.” I will have to work hard and make some serious changes in my life. There is a possibility that I might fail, even at this. But I’m ready to take that chance. I’m ready to make those changes. After all, I spent the last 26 years in school learning, preparing, waiting for my life to begin and now that school is over, I feel like I’m still waiting. If I wait much longer for my life to start, I just might be waiting until my life is over.

Well, here goes nothing. Earlier this week I paid a visit to a bariatric surgeon and have decided to start preparations to undergo Lap-band surgery. I’m about to embark on a life changing journey and I’m here to give you the skinny on getting skinny. Not that “skinny” is really what it’s all about; it’s far too superficial of a word to encompass everything that I’m trying to achieve by undergoing weight-loss surgery. In fact, I don’t even really expect to get skinny at all. Mostly I’m shooting for a healthy, comfortable weight—basically, not fat. Of course, I’m not going to deny the superficial aspects of my decision. I’m almost 27 years old and I tip the scales at over 300 lbs. I have no clue what it’s like to feel beautiful, sexy…skinny. I can look in a mirror and like what I see when I’m having a good hair day and my makeup is freshly applied, but that’s only above the neck—actually that’s only above the extra chins. I never leave the house feeling like I’m going to turn heads—at least not for a good reason. I remember being out at a bar a few months ago and some guy offered to buy me a drink. I was confused and politely declined. It was only after a few minutes that I realized that he might be hitting on me. Sure, it’s nice to have other people find me attractive, but what difference does it really make if I don’t find me attractive? If I’m not happy with who I am how will I ever be happy? But I digress from the philosophical, self-help, mumbo-jumbo. The point is, my motivations go beyond what I look like. My weight problem affects every aspect of my life, in ways most people don’t even think about. Take clothing for example—sure, I can find regular clothes in plus-sized clothing stores, but what about more specific clothing needs? I love to ski but I can’t find appropriate ski clothing in my size. I have to scour racks at the uniform store to find lab coats and scrubs big enough for me to wear to work. I can’t even wear most boots because they won’t zipper up over my calves. There are other things too. Like the last time I flew I needed a seat belt extension. Or the last time I went to an amusement park and I had to sit in a special seat on the roller coaster for people with “large chest dimensions.” There are more common examples like sitting in seats with arms that dig into my sides or trying to maneuver my way through a crowded room and having trouble finding openings big enough for me to squeeze through. And of course there’s my health which—knock on wood—has actually been quite good so far. I have irregular periods and sometimes I have some lower back pain but otherwise I'm pretty healthy. But I don’t feel like waiting for diabetes or hypertension or heart disease to hit before deciding something needs to be done. Yes people, an ounce of prevention really is better than a pound of cure. So basically, if I lose the weight and become a knock-out I’ll be ecstatic. But if I don’t become a heart breaker, at least I’ll know that my heart is still functioning properly. If I don’t suddenly have guys falling at my feet, at least I won’t have lost either of said feet to diabetes. And if my life doesn’t turn out like some of the fantasies in my head, at least I’ll still have a life—and it’ll be one I can live to the fullest.

Well, here goes nothing. Earlier this week I paid a visit to a bariatric surgeon and have decided to start preparations to undergo Lap-band surgery. I’m about to embark on a life changing journey and I’m here to give you the skinny on getting skinny. Not that “skinny” is really what it’s all about; it’s far too superficial of a word to encompass everything that I’m trying to achieve by undergoing weight-loss surgery. In fact, I don’t even really expect to get skinny at all. Mostly I’m shooting for a healthy, comfortable weight—basically, not fat. Of course, I’m not going to deny the superficial aspects of my decision. I’m almost 27 years old and I tip the scales at over 300 lbs. I have no clue what it’s like to feel beautiful, sexy…skinny. I can look in a mirror and like what I see when I’m having a good hair day and my makeup is freshly applied, but that’s only above the neck—actually that’s only above the extra chins. I never leave the house feeling like I’m going to turn heads—at least not for a good reason. I remember being out at a bar a few months ago and some guy offered to buy me a drink. I was confused and politely declined. It was only after a few minutes that I realized that he might be hitting on me. Sure, it’s nice to have other people find me attractive, but what difference does it really make if I don’t find me attractive? If I’m not happy with who I am how will I ever be happy? But I digress from the philosophical, self-help, mumbo-jumbo. The point is, my motivations go beyond what I look like. My weight problem affects every aspect of my life, in ways most people don’t even think about. Take clothing for example—sure, I can find regular clothes in plus-sized clothing stores, but what about more specific clothing needs? I love to ski but I can’t find appropriate ski clothing in my size. I have to scour racks at the uniform store to find lab coats and scrubs big enough for me to wear to work. I can’t even wear most boots because they won’t zipper up over my calves. There are other things too. Like the last time I flew I needed a seat belt extension. Or the last time I went to an amusement park and I had to sit in a special seat on the roller coaster for people with “large chest dimensions.” There are more common examples like sitting in seats with arms that dig into my sides or trying to maneuver my way through a crowded room and having trouble finding openings big enough for me to squeeze through. And of course there’s my health which—knock on wood—has actually been quite good so far. I have irregular periods and sometimes I have some lower back pain but otherwise I'm pretty healthy. But I don’t feel like waiting for diabetes or hypertension or heart disease to hit before deciding something needs to be done. Yes people, an ounce of prevention really is better than a pound of cure. So basically, if I lose the weight and become a knock-out I’ll be ecstatic. But if I don’t become a heart breaker, at least I’ll know that my heart is still functioning properly. If I don’t suddenly have guys falling at my feet, at least I won’t have lost either of said feet to diabetes. And if my life doesn’t turn out like some of the fantasies in my head, at least I’ll still have a life—and it’ll be one I can live to the fullest.

Hi KC. Through my research I know of a few good surgeons on LI so I'd be happy to give my advice. Originally my PCP had highly reccomended Dr. Ahmad at Mather Hospital in Port Jeff. I was going to try and use him but unfortunately he wasn't covered by my insurance. So I called up my insurance company and had them give me a list of names in the area that took my insurance, that's probably a good way to start. Then I cross referenced those names with my research. Dr. Gabriel from St. Catherine's of Sienna in Smithtown is supposed to be very good as well. Dr. Braithwaite in Patchogue is also very good. The last two however I had to wait a while to get appointments and in that time I went to see Dr. Geiss out in Syosset. He's a little far from me but I liked him a lot at our initial consult and he's very experienced. He's done almost 3000 lap-band procedures which is more than anyone else in the North East. So anyhow, I would recommend checking out any of those Dr.'s depending on where on LI you are and who accepts your insurance. Good luck and let me know if I can help anymore, although I'm not much further along than you are right now.

Hi jeanette. It's good to hear from some one else in my area. Congrats on your loss so far. Down 25 is great. Slow and steady--especially if it took you a long time to get the band adusted. I'm going to Dr. Geiss in Syosset. It's a little far from me, since I'm out in. Suffolk--Holbrook--but I liked him, and he's definitely got the experience.

I've been thinking about having bariatric surgery for almost a year now but do to my circumstances--just graduating and starting a new job, and then changing jobs, and getting new insurance, etc--I'm only now making the decision final so I haven't told EVERYone yet, but I'm on my way. I've made a decision to take control of my life and face my problems head on. That's a decision to be proud of. So far I haven't had any negative responses. Most people have been interested about what the surgery entails and how it works. In my opinion, anyone who thinks you're "taking the easy way out" or doesn't respect your decision, probably doesn't understand it. Being open and honest and answering people's questions in the best way to help them understand where you're coming from and the choice you're making.