bfrancis

I've gone and done it. I have become a hugely annoying member of the Reformed Church of Eating. And, I'm really aggravated with myself for becoming so. One of my primal vexations in life is the irksome need some people have to spread the word on their own beliefs and religions. Don't get me wrong - if you believe in a god on high or a holy mushroom that sits at the bottom of your garden, I am fine with that and wish you well in your quest for finding a meaning to life - but please, for the love of Fungi, don't push it on other people just so you can strengthen your own faith in something you can't really be too sure about in the first place if you need company on your march to enlightenment. So, as I sat there like a grumpy old man, getting disturbed by other people doing exactly that kind of preaching - by jingo - I looked in the mirror and realised I've started doing it myself. Having a gastric band is very much like I imagine being born again is like. You suddenly get the realisation that something else exists out there that is not just the pangs of hunger. You start to appreciate life a lot more and you realise that you can indeed beat the demons. The Nirvana of Slender is within everyone's grasp and the path to that Utopia has been mapped out before you. What you also start to realise is, those that have not had The Enlightenment are heading to a world of fire and brimstone and even worse...flabby thighs. "To be honest, you're probably lining your arteries with a well planned excuse for a heart attack there", I heard myself not only think - but actually say. "Those chips are soaked in unnecessary fats - it's far worse than smoking", the hypocritical ex-eater pointed out. When people hear me reciting my Gospel from the Bible of St Lapsicum Bandicum, immediately their reaction is one of disdain. Of course it is and so it bloody well should be. Look at me. Only being nine weeks out of surgery and sounding like I have any right to suggest that I am able to preach to them about anything healthy. Especially because I am not eating healthily, just less. Especially because I throw any kind of health advice I pretend to offer out the window every time I pick up my trusty and well-used wine glass. Especially because the most exercise I do these days is pouring wine into aforementioned wine glass. I hate myself for doing it - but I can't seem to be able to stop. When I see people eating excessive amounts - it repulses me. It makes me feel nauseous. It makes me feel that they are gluttons...uh oh! Not only have I become a reformed eater - but I have also become one of those people I despised so much for the way they looked at me at the height of my "weight issue". I have become a fattist. It's at this point that I would like to say that the above is all very slightly exaggerated for artistic license and for making a point. I don't actually go around belly-bashing, neither do I cowardly stampede everywhere in a white sheet burning extra large bargain buckets in people's gardens. However, I am feeling some sort of misplaced and unrelenting feeling about the use of food as a comfort blanket. Am I really lashing out at the rotund? How can I be - I am still in the "obese" category. Am I really telling people my belief in my way of eating is any better than theirs? How can I be...it simply isn't. What I really think is that I am lashing out at food. I have effectively ended my relationship with the bulk of most things nasty and have done so in a highly non-amicable way. It's a bitter divorce, plain and simple. When I see other people having a relationship with "her", I become wound up and accuse them of wasting their time - "she" will only bring misery and pain. And, as they don't listen or amend their ways, then I start to look down upon their judgement. As I mentioned in previous posts, I believe this surgery has provided me with more psychological changes and needs for mental adjustment than it has given any physical ones. So much so, it has actually taken me off guard in some areas and has meant that I need to sometimes slap myself and pull it together - usually by writing these novelettes. I do believe that I am totally unfit to judge anyone else's eating patterns, as I am only a novice myself. A novice that has been given the vehicle, hand-book and personal tutor that other people may not have had the luxury to have. Maybe one day in the future I will be able to speak with confidence about what I have learned from everything to do with this experience - but as it stands at the moment, I am merely a passenger on a fast train home. As I stare bemused, befuddled and amazed out of the window at the rapidly passing scenery, I can not hope to imagine that I have any right to judge the other passengers on their choice of locomotive or driver, as they stand at the stations that I pass by - waiting for their own train to come along. Here Endeth the Sermon. Originally posted at: Lap Band Blog

I've gone and done it. I have become a hugely annoying member of the Reformed Church of Eating. And, I'm really aggravated with myself for becoming so. One of my primal vexations in life is the irksome need some people have to spread the word on their own beliefs and religions. Don't get me wrong - if you believe in a god on high or a holy mushroom that sits at the bottom of your garden, I am fine with that and wish you well in your quest for finding a meaning to life - but please, for the love of Fungi, don't push it on other people just so you can strengthen your own faith in something you can't really be too sure about in the first place if you need company on your march to enlightenment. So, as I sat there like a grumpy old man, getting disturbed by other people doing exactly that kind of preaching - by jingo - I looked in the mirror and realised I've started doing it myself. Having a gastric band is very much like I imagine being born again is like. You suddenly get the realisation that something else exists out there that is not just the pangs of hunger. You start to appreciate life a lot more and you realise that you can indeed beat the demons. The Nirvana of Slender is within everyone's grasp and the path to that Utopia has been mapped out before you. What you also start to realise is, those that have not had The Enlightenment are heading to a world of fire and brimstone and even worse...flabby thighs. "To be honest, you're probably lining your arteries with a well planned excuse for a heart attack there", I heard myself not only think - but actually say. "Those chips are soaked in unnecessary fats - it's far worse than smoking", the hypocritical ex-eater pointed out. When people hear me reciting my Gospel from the Bible of St Lapsicum Bandicum, immediately their reaction is one of disdain. Of course it is and so it bloody well should be. Look at me. Only being nine weeks out of surgery and sounding like I have any right to suggest that I am able to preach to them about anything healthy. Especially because I am not eating healthily, just less. Especially because I throw any kind of health advice I pretend to offer out the window every time I pick up my trusty and well-used wine glass. Especially because the most exercise I do these days is pouring wine into aforementioned wine glass. I hate myself for doing it - but I can't seem to be able to stop. When I see people eating excessive amounts - it repulses me. It makes me feel nauseous. It makes me feel that they are gluttons...uh oh! Not only have I become a reformed eater - but I have also become one of those people I despised so much for the way they looked at me at the height of my "weight issue". I have become a fattist. It's at this point that I would like to say that the above is all very slightly exaggerated for artistic license and for making a point. I don't actually go around belly-bashing, neither do I cowardly stampede everywhere in a white sheet burning extra large bargain buckets in people's gardens. However, I am feeling some sort of misplaced and unrelenting feeling about the use of food as a comfort blanket. Am I really lashing out at the rotund? How can I be - I am still in the "obese" category. Am I really telling people my belief in my way of eating is any better than theirs? How can I be...it simply isn't. What I really think is that I am lashing out at food. I have effectively ended my relationship with the bulk of most things nasty and have done so in a highly non-amicable way. It's a bitter divorce, plain and simple. When I see other people having a relationship with "her", I become wound up and accuse them of wasting their time - "she" will only bring misery and pain. And, as they don't listen or amend their ways, then I start to look down upon their judgement. As I mentioned in previous posts, I believe this surgery has provided me with more psychological changes and needs for mental adjustment than it has given any physical ones. So much so, it has actually taken me off guard in some areas and has meant that I need to sometimes slap myself and pull it together - usually by writing these novelettes. I do believe that I am totally unfit to judge anyone else's eating patterns, as I am only a novice myself. A novice that has been given the vehicle, hand-book and personal tutor that other people may not have had the luxury to have. Maybe one day in the future I will be able to speak with confidence about what I have learned from everything to do with this experience - but as it stands at the moment, I am merely a passenger on a fast train home. As I stare bemused, befuddled and amazed out of the window at the rapidly passing scenery, I can not hope to imagine that I have any right to judge the other passengers on their choice of locomotive or driver, as they stand at the stations that I pass by - waiting for their own train to come along. Here Endeth the Sermon. Originally posted at: Lap Band Blog

It is with much regret that I announce that I have been a very bad boy. Over the last 8 or so days I have, what is commonly known here in the UK, been on a bender. That is not to say that I urinated on someone of a less than heterosexual persuasion, but I have overdone it on the booze. Every day I have frequented my old stomping ground, Froggies, and have drank myself to a stupor. The itch of needing to drink heavily came back with a vengeance and I scratched that itch very hard indeed. I now feel very bad and in need of a good hard slap. My excuses will be common place to those who have listened to the wretched before: I am unable to operate life alone; I need to drink in order to talk to people; I prefer looking at life through a bottom of a glass; I'm not drunk, I'm just sleepy - it must be my medication; pish offff...i'mmm fiiine...I ludge you soooo mush! I have always been a big drinker throughout my entire adult life (and some of my less than adult life) and it has always been part of my persona. People know me as either someone to avoid of a Friday evening or someone who to call when they want to entertain themselves with outlandish human behaviour from a stumbling silver back gorilla. Those that have remained friends with me to date all know it is me. What concerns me is that I thought that this behaviour would stop when I was banded. How very stupid of me. The last time I ventured forth, my concerns (and dare I say the concerns of some of my closer friends) turned into fear. I abused the band! As I stumbled from the dark and dingy pub behind Winchester railway station, named...The Railway, I felt a small pang of hunger. As I marched in my zig-zagging pattern through town my course veered sharply into the local kebab shop. All memories of my band were clearly washed with spirit laced fruit juiced away from my mind. I needed a kebab...because it was habitual. What a fool was I! I said goodbye to the friends I met in the take away with my usual mix of affection and bad breath and headed out into the night and my 40 minute coiling walk home. This usually takes 25 minutes in a straight line. Oh the kebab was going to be a treat - I mean it looked so horrible. I wasn't hungry. But it was a habit that needed satisfying. I managed to wipe out half of it before the feeling most lap banders have experienced in the early days of their new life. The iron fist. My eagerness to completely ignore my lack of hunger and need to fulfil the habit made me swallow each of the few mouthfuls pretty much whole. And they all got stuck. It's not a nice feeling to walk through a cathedral city as lovely as Winchester, clutching onto your chest and trailing a slight vomit path behind you - especially when it is caused by eating like a moron after a major procedure like the gastric band. If I was seen by anyone, they would have caused an ambulance or the police. I was pretty sober after 5 minutes of retching as adrenaline watered down all alcohol in my system and a lovely feeling of drunkenness was replace with terror that I was breaking the band with foolishness. For those who have yet to experience the fist of fury and its associated side effect of clenched regurgitation, I will briefly expand on it - stop reading if you feel this isn't your kind of thing. The feeling is almost indescribable - not because of the pain, but because I had never felt it before the operation. It is quite uncomfortable, but I would say it is very far from pain. All I can imagine it is like is the sensation of swallowing a large unchewed bit of tough steak and having it get stuck. Usually (unless you are very unlucky) this stuck feeling disappears quite rapidly to unbanded "users" of food as your stomach and esophagus muscles do their stuff and pull it down or help you cough it up. However, with the band, it's not so straight forward. The peristaltic waves that would have carried the food up or down are pretty much useless in the area where the blockage is. Your band slows natures effectiveness dramatically. As you do start to "flush" (the body is such an amazing piece of work in danger situations) things happen slightly differently than you have been used to also. Whereas the body was once able to rapidly expel all danger in a few swift waves of disgustig material, you are now only able to expel unacidic spittle and recently eaten food. As an experience, it is far more time consuming and very much more uncomfortable - but infinitely more tasty! No bile whatsoever. So, swings and roundabouts there I guess. So - I woke up in the morning with a huge feel of embarrassment and stupidity. I was able to feel the band was doing its job and that my fears of internal rupture had been unfounded, but I was also left very aware that the risk of damaging the placement and reducing its effectiveness are far too high for me to risk doing that again. Having done so well to date, I am really quite unsure as to why I when on my drinking binge. Perhaps it was the confidence issues I spoke about last time. Perhaps I am finding that with an obese man's confidence, being chatted to as an almost normal sized man needs a hell of a lot more Dutch courage. Realistically, I think I was feeling very low and went for the easiest "happy maker". Whatever the reason is, it must stop - I can't afford to do that again. The lap band has been a god send to my will power with food, but it is only that. An aid to beat an addiction with the munchies. It does not cure your hang ups, it does not rid you of any other kind of substance abuse and it certainly does not give you any more common sense than you had before the operation. I'm putting this one down to a learning experience and hope that the lessons taken away from it are taken heed of by my over-complicated mind. Needless to say - weight loss for that week was a non-starter. Originally posted at: Lap Band Blog

It is with much regret that I announce that I have been a very bad boy. Over the last 8 or so days I have, what is commonly known here in the UK, been on a bender. That is not to say that I urinated on someone of a less than heterosexual persuasion, but I have overdone it on the booze. Every day I have frequented my old stomping ground, Froggies, and have drank myself to a stupor. The itch of needing to drink heavily came back with a vengeance and I scratched that itch very hard indeed. I now feel very bad and in need of a good hard slap. My excuses will be common place to those who have listened to the wretched before: I am unable to operate life alone; I need to drink in order to talk to people; I prefer looking at life through a bottom of a glass; I'm not drunk, I'm just sleepy - it must be my medication; pish offff...i'mmm fiiine...I ludge you soooo mush! I have always been a big drinker throughout my entire adult life (and some of my less than adult life) and it has always been part of my persona. People know me as either someone to avoid of a Friday evening or someone who to call when they want to entertain themselves with outlandish human behaviour from a stumbling silver back gorilla. Those that have remained friends with me to date all know it is me. What concerns me is that I thought that this behaviour would stop when I was banded. How very stupid of me. The last time I ventured forth, my concerns (and dare I say the concerns of some of my closer friends) turned into fear. I abused the band! As I stumbled from the dark and dingy pub behind Winchester railway station, named...The Railway, I felt a small pang of hunger. As I marched in my zig-zagging pattern through town my course veered sharply into the local kebab shop. All memories of my band were clearly washed with spirit laced fruit juiced away from my mind. I needed a kebab...because it was habitual. What a fool was I! I said goodbye to the friends I met in the take away with my usual mix of affection and bad breath and headed out into the night and my 40 minute coiling walk home. This usually takes 25 minutes in a straight line. Oh the kebab was going to be a treat - I mean it looked so horrible. I wasn't hungry. But it was a habit that needed satisfying. I managed to wipe out half of it before the feeling most lap banders have experienced in the early days of their new life. The iron fist. My eagerness to completely ignore my lack of hunger and need to fulfil the habit made me swallow each of the few mouthfuls pretty much whole. And they all got stuck. It's not a nice feeling to walk through a cathedral city as lovely as Winchester, clutching onto your chest and trailing a slight vomit path behind you - especially when it is caused by eating like a moron after a major procedure like the gastric band. If I was seen by anyone, they would have caused an ambulance or the police. I was pretty sober after 5 minutes of retching as adrenaline watered down all alcohol in my system and a lovely feeling of drunkenness was replace with terror that I was breaking the band with foolishness. For those who have yet to experience the fist of fury and its associated side effect of clenched regurgitation, I will briefly expand on it - stop reading if you feel this isn't your kind of thing. The feeling is almost indescribable - not because of the pain, but because I had never felt it before the operation. It is quite uncomfortable, but I would say it is very far from pain. All I can imagine it is like is the sensation of swallowing a large unchewed bit of tough steak and having it get stuck. Usually (unless you are very unlucky) this stuck feeling disappears quite rapidly to unbanded "users" of food as your stomach and esophagus muscles do their stuff and pull it down or help you cough it up. However, with the band, it's not so straight forward. The peristaltic waves that would have carried the food up or down are pretty much useless in the area where the blockage is. Your band slows natures effectiveness dramatically. As you do start to "flush" (the body is such an amazing piece of work in danger situations) things happen slightly differently than you have been used to also. Whereas the body was once able to rapidly expel all danger in a few swift waves of disgustig material, you are now only able to expel unacidic spittle and recently eaten food. As an experience, it is far more time consuming and very much more uncomfortable - but infinitely more tasty! No bile whatsoever. So, swings and roundabouts there I guess. So - I woke up in the morning with a huge feel of embarrassment and stupidity. I was able to feel the band was doing its job and that my fears of internal rupture had been unfounded, but I was also left very aware that the risk of damaging the placement and reducing its effectiveness are far too high for me to risk doing that again. Having done so well to date, I am really quite unsure as to why I when on my drinking binge. Perhaps it was the confidence issues I spoke about last time. Perhaps I am finding that with an obese man's confidence, being chatted to as an almost normal sized man needs a hell of a lot more Dutch courage. Realistically, I think I was feeling very low and went for the easiest "happy maker". Whatever the reason is, it must stop - I can't afford to do that again. The lap band has been a god send to my will power with food, but it is only that. An aid to beat an addiction with the munchies. It does not cure your hang ups, it does not rid you of any other kind of substance abuse and it certainly does not give you any more common sense than you had before the operation. I'm putting this one down to a learning experience and hope that the lessons taken away from it are taken heed of by my over-complicated mind. Needless to say - weight loss for that week was a non-starter. Originally posted at: Lap Band Blog

Thanks once again for the lovely comments my fellow Lappies and Soon-to-be Lappers. Remarkable that my most popular entry was the one about my under used under carriage! A sign that this site is mainly frequented by ladies...? Maybe I need to revise my dating profile to include such things on Match as no one seems to pay any attention to that! Andi - no need for fear - it's a culture shock for sure, but you will find something else to do because when you hit the right fill, you simply won't be interested in eating. I imagine a wave of new hobbies started cropping up around the world when this procedure became popular. Maybe there has been a recent global resurgence of knitting and stamp collecting...?

Having been in this game for only about 2 months now, I feel somewhat reticent to write on the subject of slimming down - but having dropped over 50lbs in eight weeks, I am perhaps able to see the results more clearly than had I lost weight more slowly. A large drop in a small timescale has left my memories of Billy Bunterdom less hazy that most. For all those sending me cyber-daggers as they read about the initial success, please relax in the knowledge that my primary sprint has turned into a deatlhy crawl and that you have plenty of time to catch up. Remember the tale of The Tortoise & the Hare…? Having discussed much of this in length with another one of my close buddies and actor friends, Mr Christopher Barlow, I figured it would be an interesting topic to scribe aimlessly about. I met Chris about 18 months ago during a production I was staging of The Merchant of Venice and in that time, without any surgical assistance whatsoever, he has managed to shed almost 100lbs. So, I was quietly confident that our shared experience of weight loss was one that many people would be going through also. This article is simply about the things one tends to experience during weight loss that may not have been instantly obvious when starting out on the journey. I also must take this opportunity in the proceedings to advise all ladies and those of a sensitive nature, that during this article, I will be slightly touching upon male genitals (excuse the deliberate and well intended pun). Probably, the biggest issue faced during The Sheddage, has been confidence. For all those yet to embark on the cruise upon SS Not-so-Titanic, you will probably be assuming that I mean - with weight loss comes confidence. Let me stop you there, rewind the tape (or DVD if you are too young to remember tape) and correct that now. What I actually mean is, the speed you lose weight seems to have no bearing on the speed you gain your confidence. None whatsoever. I am very much aware that I look very different having lost the weight that I have done recently and over the past two weeks have been paid slightly more attention by the opposite sex. Not much - but slightly more. I am also able to wear my clothes (purchased from a normal shop!) in a more publically acceptable way. Shirt tucked in instead of Smock-central, a la Demis Roussos. Not to mention that Hawaiian shirts are no longer part of my wardrobe. I now only have two chins instead of four and all in all - I know that I look better. However, I don’t seem to be able to let that knowledge boost my confidence. When anyone catches my eye, I automatically assume they are thinking the worse. My posture is still uncomfortably poor as I try to hide my 6′3” frame away from people’s seemingly accusatory glares. I drink far more than I should of an evening just so I can talk to people. All in all, I would consider myself an emotional wreck! Why wasn’t my 50lbs of flab converted into 50lbs of pride? I know deep down that it should have been. Obviously enough, the years of self-hatred and self-consciousness that is often hidden beneath The Jolly Fat Man image, takes far longer to heal and be rebuilt as one gets used to the new life. Just beware when you start out - it will take longer and quite a lot of effort to fix that part - but it will no doubt be fixed in time. Another thing they don’t tell you is what you should do with your day once eating is out. You will get so very restless because time seems that much longer without a side of cow in your mouth! Boredom it is not. I find the whole idea of eating a lot very opposed to my life now - I don’t miss it and I don’t crave any kind of forbidden mastication. What I do crave, is something to replace those moments of my life when I would automatically reach for a packet of crisps (or chips for those across the water), just to pass the time. Luckily enough, I have hobbies that have come to the rescue. I have been more prolific in my music writing over the past two months than I have ever been. I wrote ten songs yesterday and I do believe my skills at such things are getting better. And all because, I don’t want to snack. So - before you start off - prepare yourself a list of things to do in the quiet, fidgety moments. Our lives are hectic these days - but those quiet times will come and you will need to have something to entertain your grey matter or risk going ever-so-slightly mad. At this juncture, people who do not need to hear about “man bits” can turn off. I write this for the men out there that need that extra little kick before they decide whether weight loss is right for them. I suppose it may well interest their lovers also… Imagine, if you will, a tree. A tree that has stood the test of time in a garden, overlooked perhaps by an all girls school. Each day, the tree would look up to the sun and stretch out its branches to welcome the new dawn, as the sun beat down upon the boughs. Because the gardener loved the tree so much, he used to ensure that its roots were well tended and that the soil below was well stocked. So nervous was he that his pride and joy would topple, that he overlaid much of the lower section of the trunk with turf and soil. This made the tree look very small indeed. But the tree didn’t seem to notice, or even mind. He just enjoyed the occasional attention he sometimes received! However, the girls at the school were mean. They used to look out of their dormitories and laugh. Laugh at the size of this little tree. The tree spent many days listening to the laughter and brushing it off as a fundamental fact of life. “They can laugh” thought the tree, “but that is how God built me, and there is nothing I can do about it”. But the gardener saw the tree slowly wilt over the years with sadness, as his own words of support no longer seemed to be helping. So, one day, the gardener decided that he would help the tree. He woke up bright and early and set about removing much of the soil from around the trunk, exposing far more of the tree than had ever been visible before. When the horrid girls woke up in the morning and leaned out of the window to laugh at the tiny tree, they were shocked to see that it had become so big - they all ran away screaming. This made the tree very happy. It was also fair to point out that the gardener still prays to this very day that that the tree doesn’t fall down after this rather quick soil loss… Enough said? So - there are things to think about and some things that I am sure to find out about as I delve further into this brave new world. I suppose you can guess which particular surprise I am most happy about in a shallow man kind of way - but who knows, there may well be more deep Zen and emotionally deserving surprises just around the corner - at which point I may write a part 2! Originally posted at: Lap Band Blog

Having been in this game for only about 2 months now, I feel somewhat reticent to write on the subject of slimming down - but having dropped over 50lbs in eight weeks, I am perhaps able to see the results more clearly than had I lost weight more slowly. A large drop in a small timescale has left my memories of Billy Bunterdom less hazy that most. For all those sending me cyber-daggers as they read about the initial success, please relax in the knowledge that my primary sprint has turned into a deatlhy crawl and that you have plenty of time to catch up. Remember the tale of The Tortoise & the Hare…? Having discussed much of this in length with another one of my close buddies and actor friends, Mr Christopher Barlow, I figured it would be an interesting topic to scribe aimlessly about. I met Chris about 18 months ago during a production I was staging of The Merchant of Venice and in that time, without any surgical assistance whatsoever, he has managed to shed almost 100lbs. So, I was quietly confident that our shared experience of weight loss was one that many people would be going through also. This article is simply about the things one tends to experience during weight loss that may not have been instantly obvious when starting out on the journey. I also must take this opportunity in the proceedings to advise all ladies and those of a sensitive nature, that during this article, I will be slightly touching upon male genitals (excuse the deliberate and well intended pun). Probably, the biggest issue faced during The Sheddage, has been confidence. For all those yet to embark on the cruise upon SS Not-so-Titanic, you will probably be assuming that I mean - with weight loss comes confidence. Let me stop you there, rewind the tape (or DVD if you are too young to remember tape) and correct that now. What I actually mean is, the speed you lose weight seems to have no bearing on the speed you gain your confidence. None whatsoever. I am very much aware that I look very different having lost the weight that I have done recently and over the past two weeks have been paid slightly more attention by the opposite sex. Not much - but slightly more. I am also able to wear my clothes (purchased from a normal shop!) in a more publically acceptable way. Shirt tucked in instead of Smock-central, a la Demis Roussos. Not to mention that Hawaiian shirts are no longer part of my wardrobe. I now only have two chins instead of four and all in all - I know that I look better. However, I don’t seem to be able to let that knowledge boost my confidence. When anyone catches my eye, I automatically assume they are thinking the worse. My posture is still uncomfortably poor as I try to hide my 6′3” frame away from people’s seemingly accusatory glares. I drink far more than I should of an evening just so I can talk to people. All in all, I would consider myself an emotional wreck! Why wasn’t my 50lbs of flab converted into 50lbs of pride? I know deep down that it should have been. Obviously enough, the years of self-hatred and self-consciousness that is often hidden beneath The Jolly Fat Man image, takes far longer to heal and be rebuilt as one gets used to the new life. Just beware when you start out - it will take longer and quite a lot of effort to fix that part - but it will no doubt be fixed in time. Another thing they don’t tell you is what you should do with your day once eating is out. You will get so very restless because time seems that much longer without a side of cow in your mouth! Boredom it is not. I find the whole idea of eating a lot very opposed to my life now - I don’t miss it and I don’t crave any kind of forbidden mastication. What I do crave, is something to replace those moments of my life when I would automatically reach for a packet of crisps (or chips for those across the water), just to pass the time. Luckily enough, I have hobbies that have come to the rescue. I have been more prolific in my music writing over the past two months than I have ever been. I wrote ten songs yesterday and I do believe my skills at such things are getting better. And all because, I don’t want to snack. So - before you start off - prepare yourself a list of things to do in the quiet, fidgety moments. Our lives are hectic these days - but those quiet times will come and you will need to have something to entertain your grey matter or risk going ever-so-slightly mad. At this juncture, people who do not need to hear about “man bits” can turn off. I write this for the men out there that need that extra little kick before they decide whether weight loss is right for them. I suppose it may well interest their lovers also… Imagine, if you will, a tree. A tree that has stood the test of time in a garden, overlooked perhaps by an all girls school. Each day, the tree would look up to the sun and stretch out its branches to welcome the new dawn, as the sun beat down upon the boughs. Because the gardener loved the tree so much, he used to ensure that its roots were well tended and that the soil below was well stocked. So nervous was he that his pride and joy would topple, that he overlaid much of the lower section of the trunk with turf and soil. This made the tree look very small indeed. But the tree didn’t seem to notice, or even mind. He just enjoyed the occasional attention he sometimes received! However, the girls at the school were mean. They used to look out of their dormitories and laugh. Laugh at the size of this little tree. The tree spent many days listening to the laughter and brushing it off as a fundamental fact of life. “They can laugh” thought the tree, “but that is how God built me, and there is nothing I can do about it”. But the gardener saw the tree slowly wilt over the years with sadness, as his own words of support no longer seemed to be helping. So, one day, the gardener decided that he would help the tree. He woke up bright and early and set about removing much of the soil from around the trunk, exposing far more of the tree than had ever been visible before. When the horrid girls woke up in the morning and leaned out of the window to laugh at the tiny tree, they were shocked to see that it had become so big - they all ran away screaming. This made the tree very happy. It was also fair to point out that the gardener still prays to this very day that that the tree doesn’t fall down after this rather quick soil loss… Enough said? So - there are things to think about and some things that I am sure to find out about as I delve further into this brave new world. I suppose you can guess which particular surprise I am most happy about in a shallow man kind of way - but who knows, there may well be more deep Zen and emotionally deserving surprises just around the corner - at which point I may write a part 2! Originally posted at: Lap Band Blog

I am writing this article based on a suggestion by my dear friend and confidant, James Lucas. Or, as I affectionately know him, Jumbo Jim. He’s not a fat man. Just, like most people, slightly overweight. Now, thinking about it, I’m not entirely sure what exactly I am referring to when I proclaim his Jumbo-ness. Perhaps I should stop. Jimmy it will be from here on. We were discussing exercise machines of all things the other day. Having invested in an elliptical trainer last month, he was interested to see if I was still using it or whether it was now a large clothes horse. I am now in a place in my life where exercise machines are “investments” and not “wastes of money”, so I was happy to report that I was still using it. Maybe not as much as I should. Mainly because of the reason that when I start off on my 5 meter hike, my drying clothes tend to fall off it. He has been on a number of diets with me over the years. Sometimes, I am very aware that the “diets” that he instigated and we subsequently embarked on, were more of a support to try and help me lose my weight. But, there were times, especially after Christmas festivities, that it would have no doubt been beneficial for him to lose a few “mince pie” pounds too. We met in 1991, when I moved in with him and his long term girlfriend. It wasn’t long before she moved out. It wasn’t long after that, that I moved out. It wasn’t long after that, that she and I moved in together in the flat above his and subsequently got married. It all sounds horrible and incestuous thinking about it - but he ended up being my best man at the wedding - which made it all so much better! My father passed away soon after our move in upstairs from Jimmy. His heart had all but given up toward the end of his 49th year, which he spent living with my mum and her second husband (we are incredibly friendly people in this part of the world!). Jimmy was known by everyone as having what one would term as “Foot in Mouth” syndrome. If something wasn’t to be said, it was said by Jimmy. What made it so acutely funny, was watching his face as he uttered misplaced words to people. Being a brash and to-the-point kind of guy, he is incredibly aware of how word can have the power to offend and he is, in his own particular way, very sensitive. I remember one day, soon after my dad’s death, I was helping Jimmy down stairs with a refrigerator. Obviously being “on the larger side”, it wasn’t as easy for me as it was for him and he recognised this. He looked at the sweat breaking out on my forehead and demanded “Come on Benna, let’s stop, you’re about to have a heart a….”. What always makes me laugh about that particular moment was the immediate terror that wrapped his face and he stopped in his verbal tracks staring at me silently mouth wide and prepped for the remaining letters of “attack” to emerge. They never did. The fear he had of having offended me by jibing at heart attacks made me nearly wet myself with laughter. He stood like a scared rabbit in his own headlights for what seemed like an age. I am smiling now just thinking about it - and a wealth of other more classic faux pas he has graced us with over the years. Faux pas on the whole that are not so faux, but are backed up by his amazing reactions of disbelief toward himself afterward. Jimmy has always been aware of my weight and has valiantly tried to help me avoid the potential “hearta” that I was heading for. He even joined me in a sponsored weight loss that was subsequently picked up by a UK national paper, pointing our website as being one of the top ten websites in cyberspace. This list made it to the offices of the Discovery Health Channel and they broadcast (repeatedly) a 15 minute documentary of what we were doing. Now, being an actor and self-publicist, I adored the attention. However, Jimmy is far removed from the desire for public attention. Son of a farmer, who has castrated many a poor animal in his time, he hates being in the public eye. But, despite this, he was willing to be interviewed for the programme in, what I now recognise as, an effort to help me lose my ample lipid appeal. After having rambled about my life with Jimmy, I seem to have bypassed the original suggestion he had for this article. But I have done so intentionally to give some background on this wonderful character. His suggestion was to write a piece based on the effect that my lap band is having on people around me. Going back to our discussion on exercise machines - he advised me that he was bidding on eBay for a rowing machine. How odd, I thought. He hardly ever exercises! My brother also purchased a cross trainer three weeks ago. Hang on a sec - what is happening to the world? My brother usually sits in his dark flat watching films. Why is he exercising now?! As Jimmy pointed out, the people around me are starting to become very aware that the man they once knew as one of their fattest friends (and perhaps their excuse for over indulging sometimes), was rapidly heading to becoming a normal weight. Suddenly they realised that I may soon be thinner than them! I am experiencing a number of people around me suddenly becoming very conscious about their own love handles. My gastric band is actually helping THEM to lose weight. Whether they will keep off the few pounds that they may lose over the coming months remains to be seen. Whether I soon make my suggestion that Jimmy slows down his working days in case HE is the one that actually suffers a “hearta” also remains on the back burner. All I can say is that a health regime has been kick started in and around Winchester due to one small prosthesis that I have had installed inside me. Let’s hope they don’t know anyone heading in for a sex change - I fear the consequences! So, what started out as an essay on a remarkable ripple effect that is happening around here has ended up a biography on one of my best friends. Here's to friends! Here’s to Mr Jimmy! Originally posted at: Lap Band Blog

I am writing this article based on a suggestion by my dear friend and confidant, James Lucas. Or, as I affectionately know him, Jumbo Jim. He’s not a fat man. Just, like most people, slightly overweight. Now, thinking about it, I’m not entirely sure what exactly I am referring to when I proclaim his Jumbo-ness. Perhaps I should stop. Jimmy it will be from here on. We were discussing exercise machines of all things the other day. Having invested in an elliptical trainer last month, he was interested to see if I was still using it or whether it was now a large clothes horse. I am now in a place in my life where exercise machines are “investments” and not “wastes of money”, so I was happy to report that I was still using it. Maybe not as much as I should. Mainly because of the reason that when I start off on my 5 meter hike, my drying clothes tend to fall off it. He has been on a number of diets with me over the years. Sometimes, I am very aware that the “diets” that he instigated and we subsequently embarked on, were more of a support to try and help me lose my weight. But, there were times, especially after Christmas festivities, that it would have no doubt been beneficial for him to lose a few “mince pie” pounds too. We met in 1991, when I moved in with him and his long term girlfriend. It wasn’t long before she moved out. It wasn’t long after that, that I moved out. It wasn’t long after that, that she and I moved in together in the flat above his and subsequently got married. It all sounds horrible and incestuous thinking about it - but he ended up being my best man at the wedding - which made it all so much better! My father passed away soon after our move in upstairs from Jimmy. His heart had all but given up toward the end of his 49th year, which he spent living with my mum and her second husband (we are incredibly friendly people in this part of the world!). Jimmy was known by everyone as having what one would term as “Foot in Mouth” syndrome. If something wasn’t to be said, it was said by Jimmy. What made it so acutely funny, was watching his face as he uttered misplaced words to people. Being a brash and to-the-point kind of guy, he is incredibly aware of how word can have the power to offend and he is, in his own particular way, very sensitive. I remember one day, soon after my dad’s death, I was helping Jimmy down stairs with a refrigerator. Obviously being “on the larger side”, it wasn’t as easy for me as it was for him and he recognised this. He looked at the sweat breaking out on my forehead and demanded “Come on Benna, let’s stop, you’re about to have a heart a….”. What always makes me laugh about that particular moment was the immediate terror that wrapped his face and he stopped in his verbal tracks staring at me silently mouth wide and prepped for the remaining letters of “attack” to emerge. They never did. The fear he had of having offended me by jibing at heart attacks made me nearly wet myself with laughter. He stood like a scared rabbit in his own headlights for what seemed like an age. I am smiling now just thinking about it - and a wealth of other more classic faux pas he has graced us with over the years. Faux pas on the whole that are not so faux, but are backed up by his amazing reactions of disbelief toward himself afterward. Jimmy has always been aware of my weight and has valiantly tried to help me avoid the potential “hearta” that I was heading for. He even joined me in a sponsored weight loss that was subsequently picked up by a UK national paper, pointing our website as being one of the top ten websites in cyberspace. This list made it to the offices of the Discovery Health Channel and they broadcast (repeatedly) a 15 minute documentary of what we were doing. Now, being an actor and self-publicist, I adored the attention. However, Jimmy is far removed from the desire for public attention. Son of a farmer, who has castrated many a poor animal in his time, he hates being in the public eye. But, despite this, he was willing to be interviewed for the programme in, what I now recognise as, an effort to help me lose my ample lipid appeal. After having rambled about my life with Jimmy, I seem to have bypassed the original suggestion he had for this article. But I have done so intentionally to give some background on this wonderful character. His suggestion was to write a piece based on the effect that my lap band is having on people around me. Going back to our discussion on exercise machines - he advised me that he was bidding on eBay for a rowing machine. How odd, I thought. He hardly ever exercises! My brother also purchased a cross trainer three weeks ago. Hang on a sec - what is happening to the world? My brother usually sits in his dark flat watching films. Why is he exercising now?! As Jimmy pointed out, the people around me are starting to become very aware that the man they once knew as one of their fattest friends (and perhaps their excuse for over indulging sometimes), was rapidly heading to becoming a normal weight. Suddenly they realised that I may soon be thinner than them! I am experiencing a number of people around me suddenly becoming very conscious about their own love handles. My gastric band is actually helping THEM to lose weight. Whether they will keep off the few pounds that they may lose over the coming months remains to be seen. Whether I soon make my suggestion that Jimmy slows down his working days in case HE is the one that actually suffers a “hearta” also remains on the back burner. All I can say is that a health regime has been kick started in and around Winchester due to one small prosthesis that I have had installed inside me. Let’s hope they don’t know anyone heading in for a sex change - I fear the consequences! So, what started out as an essay on a remarkable ripple effect that is happening around here has ended up a biography on one of my best friends. Here's to friends! Here’s to Mr Jimmy! Originally posted at: Lap Band Blog

When I first learned that my initial band adjustment was going to be four weeks after a whale’s wake of hunger that had kicked in, I was a little disturbed. I was in fact terrified that the substantial weight that I had kicked off over the previous weeks would come flooding back with a vengeance and all would be lost (or indeed gained). Then, that fear was replaced with a certain feeling that a challenge had been set - a challenge for me to have one more attempt to combat and defeat the beast that had been haunting me all my life. A chance for me to stare the dragon that is my hunger directly in eyes as I plunged my sword of resistance and self-control into its black heart and watch it crash to the ground. I envisaged my heroic pose as I stood on the reptilian carcass and decapitated it for all villagers to see. After a whole (almost) day of winning this melodramatic crusade, I tripped and fell on my own bloody sword. Imagine my joy, when in my death throws I received a call from the life-saving Rhoda to tell me that Mr Byrne’s secretary had actually made a mistake and the appointment had been booked in incorrectly and my adjustment would be in a few days time. Rhoda, the guardian angel that sat on my shoulder that day, is my assigned nutritionist. She gives me the impression that she has never had to defeat her own appetite, being so slender herself - which is why I imagine she is so good in being able to exterminate that state in others. I may well be mistaken in that assumption and could find that she is indeed a past-life big momma. That said, her seemingly clinical detachment from the whole process that I and others attending her “class” are going through leads me to assume that she has never quite been there. No matter - she called with joyous news! I naturally spent the rest of the week berating myself. I live alone. What else is there to do? Over the next few days, after the humiliating stumble, I took stock once again and managed to not exactly drown my hunger, but recognise it. With the recognition of the excessive need for sustenance comes a certain self-control that would normally disintegrate as I buried my head in the sand and thought more on my need to satisfy my urges than to maintain or improve my health. Also, having a close date to aim at for the band fill gave me that little more encouragement to hold off from the recently emptied larder. So, Saturday morning came and I marched defiantly into the hospital. For those that have not recognised, my love of acting ensures that I can’t just “walk into the hospital”. That just wouldn’t be luvvie enough darling! So, I walked defiantly (perhaps even majestically) into the hospital. I took my seat in the waiting room and waited for the moment when I would take the next step on the road to recovery. As I waited, I started to get a little nervous about the impending appointment. As I mentioned in a previous post, I am a terrible coward. I started to fear the obvious needle that was amplifying in my mind into a rusty bayonet. Then I started to insanely ponder about the possibility that if the band was over-filled it would explode and send shards of medical prosthesis into my now rapidly beating heart. I had to take my mind off such ridiculous meanderings, so I took hold of my iPhone and Twittered something juvenile about small pricks and my forthcoming swallowing abilities. At the tender age of thirty six, I like to think I can publish puerile innuendo along with the best of them. Mr Byrne, the surgeon that performed the operation and the recent object of my total gratitude, walked into the hospital. A knight in the shining armour of a rather expensive looking suit. He approached the receptionist to ask where he could park his steed called Range Rover. After leaving again to settle her into the stables of the private car park, he came back to check into his non-permanent residence of the private hospital. As he walked past, he greeted me…then another two people in the room. It dawned on me - they had been sitting next to me in quiet consideration of the same fate. These were the same people that had been under the knife that day at the end of February. They were fellow bandsters! We all shuffled in our seats and returned to the inner sanctums of our own contemplation. I was immediately called in. The time had come. When I first met Mr Byrne, he seemed a very cold and aloof person. His distant emotional approach caused me a little concern. I rather xenophobically assumed he was German. But, having met a few Germans, I now realise they are not quite as cool and emotionally reserved as Indiana Jones had led me to believe. The surgery day reaffirmed my opinion that his bedside manner was a little chilly. However, he was now an entirely different person. He was affable and entirely friendly. I confirmed my thoughts of the last month. I very much doubted that anyone would like to get to friendly with someone they were about to slice up and put their life in your hands. It would be much easier to play around with the offal of someone who was more of a statistic than a person. So, at this visit, I was happy to see he was indeed a human and not a weight-loss designated cyborg. After an initial bout of banter, I was invited to lay on his bed. As much as I have yearned for similar situations with the occasional lady-friend, I mounted the tissue-lined trolley with a tad less excitement. I made the mistake of briefly glancing over to see the preparations that were underway. My fears of a bayonet were well founded. I had never seen such a thing! Before I wonder off into what seems like another tirade of smutty double-entendre, I must confirm that I am describing the medical syringe that he was filling with saline. The needle was pretty much akin to a Biro pen. I tensed up and shut up. With his newly found amiability, he attempted to ease my tension (please people…gutter minds!). He said that I would feel a small scratch and I tensed every muscle in my body as I awaited the stabbing sensation. I started to wonder how long he would take faffing around before I felt the imminent piercing. As I wondered, he walked back to his desk saying it was all done. What?! I felt nothing. “Bloody hell”, I pondered to myself. I really need to insert a little courage into my life before I tremble to death. Oh my lord..do you think I could tremble to death!? Mr Byrne, then turned round and proclaimed “Strawberry or Raspberry?” - he was offering me a low-fat yogurt! How very nice of him. It was apparently time to see if the 4cc of saline pumped into my band was enough to cause ample restriction to help and not hinder. If I could swallow about half the pot without throwing it back into my lap, it would be alright for me to go home. If it did end up all down my shirt, he may need to deflate the band slightly. I was shown to the waiting room, where I could self-consciously chow down on the chosen Strawberry, while he attended to one of his other flock. As I sat down, I tried to think of a way that I could casually open a pot of yogurt in a waiting room filled with strangers (probably in for a variety of consultations unrelated to weight loss) without them assuming I was a glutton unable to eat in the privacy of my own home. There was no way. I just had to turn the pot slightly so that “low-fat” was visible to all and sundry and read the paper casually as I spooned it in carefully. By the time I had eaten half the pot, I had read quite a lot of the news and fifteen minutes had passed. Was this possible? Was I feeling…full?! On half a pot of yogurt!! I nearly wept. It seemed as if the dragon had been finally slain. The effect was immediate and astounding. A lady sat very sheepishly opposite me. She produced a small pot of yogurt. I gave her a knowing smile and raised my half full pot in a toast to our new adjustment. And there we sat for a few minutes discussing our experience to date, until Mr Byrne came out to give us the all clear to go home. He pointed out that he was going on holiday for a week the next day - so if we had an urgent need for deflation…could we have it in the next few hours. As I sit from the comfortable position of having been “adjusted” and see how pathetic my struggle against hunger was last week, I can perhaps understand a little why the majority of naturally lean people look down on us more fleshy creatures. With the benefit of having a suppressed appetite - the huge emotional strain of over hunger looks ridiculous. I looks like an easy-to-conquer and dare I say lazy affliction. However, having been involved in the fight, I know very differently. Originally posted at: Lap Band Blog

When I first learned that my initial band adjustment was going to be four weeks after a whale’s wake of hunger that had kicked in, I was a little disturbed. I was in fact terrified that the substantial weight that I had kicked off over the previous weeks would come flooding back with a vengeance and all would be lost (or indeed gained). Then, that fear was replaced with a certain feeling that a challenge had been set - a challenge for me to have one more attempt to combat and defeat the beast that had been haunting me all my life. A chance for me to stare the dragon that is my hunger directly in eyes as I plunged my sword of resistance and self-control into its black heart and watch it crash to the ground. I envisaged my heroic pose as I stood on the reptilian carcass and decapitated it for all villagers to see. After a whole (almost) day of winning this melodramatic crusade, I tripped and fell on my own bloody sword. Imagine my joy, when in my death throws I received a call from the life-saving Rhoda to tell me that Mr Byrne’s secretary had actually made a mistake and the appointment had been booked in incorrectly and my adjustment would be in a few days time. Rhoda, the guardian angel that sat on my shoulder that day, is my assigned nutritionist. She gives me the impression that she has never had to defeat her own appetite, being so slender herself - which is why I imagine she is so good in being able to exterminate that state in others. I may well be mistaken in that assumption and could find that she is indeed a past-life big momma. That said, her seemingly clinical detachment from the whole process that I and others attending her “class” are going through leads me to assume that she has never quite been there. No matter - she called with joyous news! I naturally spent the rest of the week berating myself. I live alone. What else is there to do? Over the next few days, after the humiliating stumble, I took stock once again and managed to not exactly drown my hunger, but recognise it. With the recognition of the excessive need for sustenance comes a certain self-control that would normally disintegrate as I buried my head in the sand and thought more on my need to satisfy my urges than to maintain or improve my health. Also, having a close date to aim at for the band fill gave me that little more encouragement to hold off from the recently emptied larder. So, Saturday morning came and I marched defiantly into the hospital. For those that have not recognised, my love of acting ensures that I can’t just “walk into the hospital”. That just wouldn’t be luvvie enough darling! So, I walked defiantly (perhaps even majestically) into the hospital. I took my seat in the waiting room and waited for the moment when I would take the next step on the road to recovery. As I waited, I started to get a little nervous about the impending appointment. As I mentioned in a previous post, I am a terrible coward. I started to fear the obvious needle that was amplifying in my mind into a rusty bayonet. Then I started to insanely ponder about the possibility that if the band was over-filled it would explode and send shards of medical prosthesis into my now rapidly beating heart. I had to take my mind off such ridiculous meanderings, so I took hold of my iPhone and Twittered something juvenile about small pricks and my forthcoming swallowing abilities. At the tender age of thirty six, I like to think I can publish puerile innuendo along with the best of them. Mr Byrne, the surgeon that performed the operation and the recent object of my total gratitude, walked into the hospital. A knight in the shining armour of a rather expensive looking suit. He approached the receptionist to ask where he could park his steed called Range Rover. After leaving again to settle her into the stables of the private car park, he came back to check into his non-permanent residence of the private hospital. As he walked past, he greeted me…then another two people in the room. It dawned on me - they had been sitting next to me in quiet consideration of the same fate. These were the same people that had been under the knife that day at the end of February. They were fellow bandsters! We all shuffled in our seats and returned to the inner sanctums of our own contemplation. I was immediately called in. The time had come. When I first met Mr Byrne, he seemed a very cold and aloof person. His distant emotional approach caused me a little concern. I rather xenophobically assumed he was German. But, having met a few Germans, I now realise they are not quite as cool and emotionally reserved as Indiana Jones had led me to believe. The surgery day reaffirmed my opinion that his bedside manner was a little chilly. However, he was now an entirely different person. He was affable and entirely friendly. I confirmed my thoughts of the last month. I very much doubted that anyone would like to get to friendly with someone they were about to slice up and put their life in your hands. It would be much easier to play around with the offal of someone who was more of a statistic than a person. So, at this visit, I was happy to see he was indeed a human and not a weight-loss designated cyborg. After an initial bout of banter, I was invited to lay on his bed. As much as I have yearned for similar situations with the occasional lady-friend, I mounted the tissue-lined trolley with a tad less excitement. I made the mistake of briefly glancing over to see the preparations that were underway. My fears of a bayonet were well founded. I had never seen such a thing! Before I wonder off into what seems like another tirade of smutty double-entendre, I must confirm that I am describing the medical syringe that he was filling with saline. The needle was pretty much akin to a Biro pen. I tensed up and shut up. With his newly found amiability, he attempted to ease my tension (please people…gutter minds!). He said that I would feel a small scratch and I tensed every muscle in my body as I awaited the stabbing sensation. I started to wonder how long he would take faffing around before I felt the imminent piercing. As I wondered, he walked back to his desk saying it was all done. What?! I felt nothing. “Bloody hell”, I pondered to myself. I really need to insert a little courage into my life before I tremble to death. Oh my lord..do you think I could tremble to death!? Mr Byrne, then turned round and proclaimed “Strawberry or Raspberry?” - he was offering me a low-fat yogurt! How very nice of him. It was apparently time to see if the 4cc of saline pumped into my band was enough to cause ample restriction to help and not hinder. If I could swallow about half the pot without throwing it back into my lap, it would be alright for me to go home. If it did end up all down my shirt, he may need to deflate the band slightly. I was shown to the waiting room, where I could self-consciously chow down on the chosen Strawberry, while he attended to one of his other flock. As I sat down, I tried to think of a way that I could casually open a pot of yogurt in a waiting room filled with strangers (probably in for a variety of consultations unrelated to weight loss) without them assuming I was a glutton unable to eat in the privacy of my own home. There was no way. I just had to turn the pot slightly so that “low-fat” was visible to all and sundry and read the paper casually as I spooned it in carefully. By the time I had eaten half the pot, I had read quite a lot of the news and fifteen minutes had passed. Was this possible? Was I feeling…full?! On half a pot of yogurt!! I nearly wept. It seemed as if the dragon had been finally slain. The effect was immediate and astounding. A lady sat very sheepishly opposite me. She produced a small pot of yogurt. I gave her a knowing smile and raised my half full pot in a toast to our new adjustment. And there we sat for a few minutes discussing our experience to date, until Mr Byrne came out to give us the all clear to go home. He pointed out that he was going on holiday for a week the next day - so if we had an urgent need for deflation…could we have it in the next few hours. As I sit from the comfortable position of having been “adjusted” and see how pathetic my struggle against hunger was last week, I can perhaps understand a little why the majority of naturally lean people look down on us more fleshy creatures. With the benefit of having a suppressed appetite - the huge emotional strain of over hunger looks ridiculous. I looks like an easy-to-conquer and dare I say lazy affliction. However, having been involved in the fight, I know very differently. Originally posted at: Lap Band Blog

"I can resist anything except temptation." A typically wonderful quote from Oscar Wilde. A quote that rang trough my head yesterday as I succumbed to the lessening powers of The Band over Mothering Sunday lunch. As I sat in my favourite restaurant and bar (La Place in Winchester - highly recommended!) I finished off the whole plate of Steak Haché et Frites (hamburger and chips for us lesser mortals). I had sinned and needed to birch myself severely. The reprimand I deserved could not wait. I needed immediate chastisement and nothing should delay the inevitable self-flagellation that would follow...well, nothing except another few more frites! For those that don't quite understand the adjustable Lap Band, I will briefly explain where I am at the moment and relax my friends and family before they think the whole procedure has been a waste of time, stress and money. The band was fitted around the top of my over-active stomach (fitted internally around my actual stomach - I am not walking around with a big elastic band around my belly). Effectively it is strangling the cavernous beast and creating a very small "virtual" pouch at the top which will act as my stomach in the future - thus allowing me to eat a small portion of food and feel marvellously replete. The effects of this are quite literally astonishing, as I found during the first three weeks after the operation. Because the band was sewn in place around the stomach, there was ample swelling after the fitting, which means the aforementioned strangulation is amplified somewhat for a few weeks. However, as the swelling goes down - as mine seems to have done - the throttling eases off and one finds a new ability to eat again. This is where the beauty of the device kicks in. I have had a small "port" attached under my skin, just below my ribs. This is connected, by a tube, to a balloon that is patiently encasing the inner rim of the band. This allows the surgeon to inject a small amount of saline solution, through the port and tighten the anti-hunger grip, so as to achieve the desired full effect of the band. As it is best to under-fill and not over-fill due to obvious blockage reasons - it may take a few fills to get it just right. But it eventually will get to where it needs to be. Ingenious! However, my surgeon has decided that he will delay my first adjustment for a month - he probably has some pretty mountainous golf courses to explore in the meantime. Now, this leaves me in a precarious and worrying situation. To date I have lost 42lbs (in about 6 weeks consisting of pre-surgery fear and latterly post-op mush). With the help of the band and its swelling after surgery - I have to admit, losing this weight was pretty easy. Forgetting any emotional side-issues, the practical part of not eating the equivalent of a week's food for most people each and every day was simple. Yesterday however, I found my old friend hunger again. As the swelling settled, Beelzebub dropped in to live with me in my furniture-less bachelor-pad - and he came supplied with twenty suitcases full of Temptation. I think I am going to have to insist that he sleeps on the floor! My band-fill date is 18th April - so I am now in the precarious position of having to diet like a normal over-hungry fat man for four weeks. Oh my God! But - I am now prepared. Yesterday's realisation that I could eat normally, frightened the over-sized underpants off me. Living alone means that I can empty the place of anything unhealthy or unnecessary. I am not going to a restaurant for the next month - all my eating will have to be done in the confinement of my own home and I am going to stock up on carrots for my new best friend: the juicer. Who would have thought carrot juice would be so very tasty to a huge carnivore such as me? It's quite an interesting challenge to set myself actually. I am very much looking forward to getting back the full effect of the band, but perversely I really want to see if I can continue to lose weight over the next four weeks and keep Lucifer gagged and bound. Wish me luck! Originally posted at: Lap Band Blog

"I can resist anything except temptation." A typically wonderful quote from Oscar Wilde. A quote that rang trough my head yesterday as I succumbed to the lessening powers of The Band over Mothering Sunday lunch. As I sat in my favourite restaurant and bar (La Place in Winchester - highly recommended!) I finished off the whole plate of Steak Haché et Frites (hamburger and chips for us lesser mortals). I had sinned and needed to birch myself severely. The reprimand I deserved could not wait. I needed immediate chastisement and nothing should delay the inevitable self-flagellation that would follow...well, nothing except another few more frites! For those that don't quite understand the adjustable Lap Band, I will briefly explain where I am at the moment and relax my friends and family before they think the whole procedure has been a waste of time, stress and money. The band was fitted around the top of my over-active stomach (fitted internally around my actual stomach - I am not walking around with a big elastic band around my belly). Effectively it is strangling the cavernous beast and creating a very small "virtual" pouch at the top which will act as my stomach in the future - thus allowing me to eat a small portion of food and feel marvellously replete. The effects of this are quite literally astonishing, as I found during the first three weeks after the operation. Because the band was sewn in place around the stomach, there was ample swelling after the fitting, which means the aforementioned strangulation is amplified somewhat for a few weeks. However, as the swelling goes down - as mine seems to have done - the throttling eases off and one finds a new ability to eat again. This is where the beauty of the device kicks in. I have had a small "port" attached under my skin, just below my ribs. This is connected, by a tube, to a balloon that is patiently encasing the inner rim of the band. This allows the surgeon to inject a small amount of saline solution, through the port and tighten the anti-hunger grip, so as to achieve the desired full effect of the band. As it is best to under-fill and not over-fill due to obvious blockage reasons - it may take a few fills to get it just right. But it eventually will get to where it needs to be. Ingenious! However, my surgeon has decided that he will delay my first adjustment for a month - he probably has some pretty mountainous golf courses to explore in the meantime. Now, this leaves me in a precarious and worrying situation. To date I have lost 42lbs (in about 6 weeks consisting of pre-surgery fear and latterly post-op mush). With the help of the band and its swelling after surgery - I have to admit, losing this weight was pretty easy. Forgetting any emotional side-issues, the practical part of not eating the equivalent of a week's food for most people each and every day was simple. Yesterday however, I found my old friend hunger again. As the swelling settled, Beelzebub dropped in to live with me in my furniture-less bachelor-pad - and he came supplied with twenty suitcases full of Temptation. I think I am going to have to insist that he sleeps on the floor! My band-fill date is 18th April - so I am now in the precarious position of having to diet like a normal over-hungry fat man for four weeks. Oh my God! But - I am now prepared. Yesterday's realisation that I could eat normally, frightened the over-sized underpants off me. Living alone means that I can empty the place of anything unhealthy or unnecessary. I am not going to a restaurant for the next month - all my eating will have to be done in the confinement of my own home and I am going to stock up on carrots for my new best friend: the juicer. Who would have thought carrot juice would be so very tasty to a huge carnivore such as me? It's quite an interesting challenge to set myself actually. I am very much looking forward to getting back the full effect of the band, but perversely I really want to see if I can continue to lose weight over the next four weeks and keep Lucifer gagged and bound. Wish me luck! Originally posted at: Lap Band Blog

Hi Tammy I had exactly the same fears - as probably did everyone on this board. The way I dealt with it all was to put everything into context. Hopefully this will help: Morbid Morbidity - Lap Band Surgery and Lap Band Discussion Forum The fact that you are catering for the mental issues ahead as well as the natural fears is excellent news! On top of that - you are a woman and not a whingeing man - so the post-op pain will no doubt be a breeze too! All the best Ben

Thanks for your feedback back chapesses! voiceomt2002 - thanks. Just to clarify though - my partner was a she not a he...unless she had an operation she didn't tell anyone about either! Band_Groupie - as ever, a well qualified and indepth post! Thanks for your thoughts - I'm all up for long posts...um actually, based on what I just said to voiceomt2002, I take that back... Thank you again!

It’s Sod’s Law that the one person that I expected to support me in this procedure has been the only one person that hasn’t. Damn that Sod and his bloody law making! Without wanting to sound like an angry young (ahem!) man and post my second negative post, I thought I would try and do it in a defensive way rather than go in with guns a-blazing. The gloves were originally taken off as I pressed the “new post” button - but they have duly been put back on. In fact, I have retired to the changing room, away from the ring to write a considered response with the help of a bit of Rufus Wainwright serenading me and a hot cup of jasmine tea. Actually, forget that - I am going to have to snipe a bit, so decaf coffee it is. Firstly, I won’t bother going through my reasons for undertaking this surgery. If you want those, you can easily read through the swathes of words I have on the subject. Secondly, I will start my defence a bit absurdly. I will start with a list of mistakes that I made leading up to the surgery and a few of my most outstanding weaknesses. This way, I can be judged in full for the actions I took. Thirdly, I intend to iterate why this blog was set up and why I continue to push people here instead of talking about it face to face. Fourthly, I will try and defend the accusations that have flown recently and put them in their place once and for all. I won’t be going over it again - so listen carefully! Lastly, I intend to lose some weight with dignity and pride and hopefully a bit of happiness - so if you don’t like it - back off and let me get on. Please. So, as detailed above, I launch my defence with point 1. Go read. The biggest mistake I made before undertaking this step was not to make the decision with my partner. Instead I chose to research and make the decision entirely alone. I chose to not discuss my fears with anyone and let the decision be made before I told a soul. When I did tell, it was already well decided in my mind that I would do it. In hindsight, I would probably have realised that this was to be a shared experience and needed buy-in and approval from everyone affected. I do admit that the way I did it was perhaps selfish. I won’t defend it, as I believe now it should have been done another way. My second mistake - but one that I am not so sure was entirely wrong, was not to inform my friends until it was all done. This was again because the procedure was so huge to me that I wanted to be in and out of it before anyone could grill me and make my life too stressful before I undertook the seemingly controversial operation. I think that they now feel slightly distant from me as I was unable to share this with them - which perhaps I should have done. My excuse for that is hopefully well understood and forgivable. My weaknesses can be pretty much listed out verbatim. I am well aware of them and pretty much everyone who knows me is also very well read on the subject. Again, I won’t excuse the failings - just lay them out on the table. I am absolutely CRAP with money. I don’t quite understand its value and I can’t hold onto it as long as I should. It has gotten me into some dire situations and I am aware that it has caused some distress to those around me. Never ever lend me money. Ever! I am a frightful coward. Everything that has any kind of danger attached fills me with dread. I hate roller coasters, flying and high speed. I cower at spiders and tremble at heights. If you are looking for courage in a burly man - look elsewhere. I am pretty stubborn. Once I have decided upon something - that will always be the right thing in my mind. It takes a lot of persuasion to talk me around to another point of view. Some people may well recognise this as arrogance! I was (no more) a big drinker. I binged and usually got very “bombastic” in the process. Imposing one’s personality on friends and stranger can be quite daunting for them. Using booze as a crutch to overcome my utter shyness and inability to have a conversation with people was probably not the best therapy. I have many other weaknesses, but are probably irrelevant for this post - so I will stop self-flagellating. [*]This blog was set up for two reasons. I needed an outlet where I could do a bit of cathartic self-therapy. Writing everything down in this way seems to be a brilliant tool for exploring one’s mind and really coming to terms with issues that bother you. I recommend it for anyone undertaking a journey like this that they have concerns about. Even if you don’t publish it - write it down. The honesty you can deliver to a uncaring, uninterested computer screen is immense. The second reason was to enable my friends to read my reasons behind my decsion and see more into the process. It gives them the full picture without taking up my entire life talking about it. If people want to know, they go to my blog. Also, I figured it would help people contemplating the operation in the future see the thought processes I went through stage by stage and help them to come to terms with the options available. I’m not entirely sure my readership is that enormous nor whether people actually take in what they read in between the rambling sentences. But, from the few comments I have received, it is ringing a similar chord with other people who have had the surgery. Time will tell if this helps anyone else. [*]Now, the accusations! This blog is simply self-indulgent crap. Well, it has been an important part in my decision and coming to terms with opting for the surgery. It has also helped others close to me to fully understand what I did. Whereas with talking and conversation - they would only have had the full story. I just wouldn’t have the time to quote the articles in teh blog to all my friends. I can’t really defend the “crap” bit. I didn’t cater for the feelings of my partner when I made the decision on my own Yes I did. I shouldn’t have made the decision on my own, but her feelings were very much considered and put into the equation. The trouble is - I didn’t accurately predict what her feelings would actually be. Hence the discussions should have been made. Half of a defence there. I wasted money on the operation when I could have invested in the family unit and dieted instead like most people. Sorry - but there is no basis to that one. Firstly - here is a fact. Of all diets - only 3-5% are successful in the long term (reference Dr Jessie H. Ahroni Ph.D., A.R.N.P.). A whopping 95 to 97% of people who diet are wasting their time! I have tried dieting and my mental and physical make-up is such that I was one of the 95-97% of people who failed. I tried for 15 years. This was a last resort as you will probably know by now from my self-proclaimed cowardice. Secondly, me paying for a surgery to keep me alive for many more years than previously expected IS an investment into the family unit. Imagine my salary over, let’s say, 20 years. Lastly, the money spent on the operation is approximately how much I overspent on food and alcohol over two years. So, in conclusion - this has not only cost nothing - it has actually put money BACK IN to the family unit (remembering my fiscal weakness - you may wish to check these facts!). Along with that, it is giving me the opportunity to live a bit longer. So, there you have it. Now I intend to get on with my new life, in a slightly different way than I had originally planned - but get on with it I shall. Originally posted at: Lap Band Blog

It’s Sod’s Law that the one person that I expected to support me in this procedure has been the only one person that hasn’t. Damn that Sod and his bloody law making! Without wanting to sound like an angry young (ahem!) man and post my second negative post, I thought I would try and do it in a defensive way rather than go in with guns a-blazing. The gloves were originally taken off as I pressed the “new post” button - but they have duly been put back on. In fact, I have retired to the changing room, away from the ring to write a considered response with the help of a bit of Rufus Wainwright serenading me and a hot cup of jasmine tea. Actually, forget that - I am going to have to snipe a bit, so decaf coffee it is. Firstly, I won’t bother going through my reasons for undertaking this surgery. If you want those, you can easily read through the swathes of words I have on the subject. Secondly, I will start my defence a bit absurdly. I will start with a list of mistakes that I made leading up to the surgery and a few of my most outstanding weaknesses. This way, I can be judged in full for the actions I took. Thirdly, I intend to iterate why this blog was set up and why I continue to push people here instead of talking about it face to face. Fourthly, I will try and defend the accusations that have flown recently and put them in their place once and for all. I won’t be going over it again - so listen carefully! Lastly, I intend to lose some weight with dignity and pride and hopefully a bit of happiness - so if you don’t like it - back off and let me get on. Please. So, as detailed above, I launch my defence with point 1. Go read. The biggest mistake I made before undertaking this step was not to make the decision with my partner. Instead I chose to research and make the decision entirely alone. I chose to not discuss my fears with anyone and let the decision be made before I told a soul. When I did tell, it was already well decided in my mind that I would do it. In hindsight, I would probably have realised that this was to be a shared experience and needed buy-in and approval from everyone affected. I do admit that the way I did it was perhaps selfish. I won’t defend it, as I believe now it should have been done another way. My second mistake - but one that I am not so sure was entirely wrong, was not to inform my friends until it was all done. This was again because the procedure was so huge to me that I wanted to be in and out of it before anyone could grill me and make my life too stressful before I undertook the seemingly controversial operation. I think that they now feel slightly distant from me as I was unable to share this with them - which perhaps I should have done. My excuse for that is hopefully well understood and forgivable. My weaknesses can be pretty much listed out verbatim. I am well aware of them and pretty much everyone who knows me is also very well read on the subject. Again, I won’t excuse the failings - just lay them out on the table. I am absolutely CRAP with money. I don’t quite understand its value and I can’t hold onto it as long as I should. It has gotten me into some dire situations and I am aware that it has caused some distress to those around me. Never ever lend me money. Ever! I am a frightful coward. Everything that has any kind of danger attached fills me with dread. I hate roller coasters, flying and high speed. I cower at spiders and tremble at heights. If you are looking for courage in a burly man - look elsewhere. I am pretty stubborn. Once I have decided upon something - that will always be the right thing in my mind. It takes a lot of persuasion to talk me around to another point of view. Some people may well recognise this as arrogance! I was (no more) a big drinker. I binged and usually got very “bombastic” in the process. Imposing one’s personality on friends and stranger can be quite daunting for them. Using booze as a crutch to overcome my utter shyness and inability to have a conversation with people was probably not the best therapy. I have many other weaknesses, but are probably irrelevant for this post - so I will stop self-flagellating. [*]This blog was set up for two reasons. I needed an outlet where I could do a bit of cathartic self-therapy. Writing everything down in this way seems to be a brilliant tool for exploring one’s mind and really coming to terms with issues that bother you. I recommend it for anyone undertaking a journey like this that they have concerns about. Even if you don’t publish it - write it down. The honesty you can deliver to a uncaring, uninterested computer screen is immense. The second reason was to enable my friends to read my reasons behind my decsion and see more into the process. It gives them the full picture without taking up my entire life talking about it. If people want to know, they go to my blog. Also, I figured it would help people contemplating the operation in the future see the thought processes I went through stage by stage and help them to come to terms with the options available. I’m not entirely sure my readership is that enormous nor whether people actually take in what they read in between the rambling sentences. But, from the few comments I have received, it is ringing a similar chord with other people who have had the surgery. Time will tell if this helps anyone else. [*]Now, the accusations! This blog is simply self-indulgent crap. Well, it has been an important part in my decision and coming to terms with opting for the surgery. It has also helped others close to me to fully understand what I did. Whereas with talking and conversation - they would only have had the full story. I just wouldn’t have the time to quote the articles in teh blog to all my friends. I can’t really defend the “crap” bit. I didn’t cater for the feelings of my partner when I made the decision on my own Yes I did. I shouldn’t have made the decision on my own, but her feelings were very much considered and put into the equation. The trouble is - I didn’t accurately predict what her feelings would actually be. Hence the discussions should have been made. Half of a defence there. I wasted money on the operation when I could have invested in the family unit and dieted instead like most people. Sorry - but there is no basis to that one. Firstly - here is a fact. Of all diets - only 3-5% are successful in the long term (reference Dr Jessie H. Ahroni Ph.D., A.R.N.P.). A whopping 95 to 97% of people who diet are wasting their time! I have tried dieting and my mental and physical make-up is such that I was one of the 95-97% of people who failed. I tried for 15 years. This was a last resort as you will probably know by now from my self-proclaimed cowardice. Secondly, me paying for a surgery to keep me alive for many more years than previously expected IS an investment into the family unit. Imagine my salary over, let’s say, 20 years. Lastly, the money spent on the operation is approximately how much I overspent on food and alcohol over two years. So, in conclusion - this has not only cost nothing - it has actually put money BACK IN to the family unit (remembering my fiscal weakness - you may wish to check these facts!). Along with that, it is giving me the opportunity to live a bit longer. So, there you have it. Now I intend to get on with my new life, in a slightly different way than I had originally planned - but get on with it I shall. Originally posted at: Lap Band Blog

Stepping on the scales a few days ago to realise that I had cast aside the title of "morbidly obese" was almost as thrilling at when I first discovered Sicilian lemon pudding. Almost. As I left the bathroom, adorned with my new proud banner of "obese", I was mentally working out when my next heavy-weight title adjustment to "overweight" would be. Perhaps I wasn't savouring my obese label with as much pureed relish as I should have been. What it took to lose my "morbid" moniker! The one thing about slowly shedding a life-long disability is the dawning realisation that you may well not be fully ready to throw away the crutches and run as soon as you would like. Having hidden behind morbidly obese for so long and realising that in a few months I would be just overweight started to make me feel a little edgy. What excuses would I be able to conjure up when I didn't fancy going for a walk? What reason could I give for feeling depressed some days? What lies could I make up for the reasons I never made it as a singer? I remember being filmed for a documentary for the Discovery Health channel and giving the sob-story that my songs would never make it because no one wanted to see a man of my weight on stage. I didn't conform to the marketable beauty that all rock and pop stars must have. Soon, my only excuse will be that my music just isn't that good. It's a scary prospect that I may well have to admit that to myself one day and not blame the belly. Such massive life adjustments, whether for the best or not, are bound to be scary. It's new territory that I am totally unused to. I can't remember ever being anything but fat and, this time next year, I will be in the nerve-wracking zone of a normal, healthy weight. I just have no idea what lies ahead because of this change. Also, moving on from a long-term relationship into a small flat on the other side of town brings an even greater anxiety of uncharted seas ahead. In the old days (ie last month), I would take a short overview of the situation and settle down with a big fat steak - and forget it all. Bury my head in the sand of that huge unending desert that is emotional gorging. Now those wastelands are not part of my life - I have to find a new way of dealing with my upsets and fears. Maybe, just maybe, I will have to...gulp...deal with it! All this change and personal turmoil is certainly going to be one interesting ride and I think the best and only thing to do is sit back, watch it all happen and enjoy the ride. Originally posted at: Lap Band Blog

Stepping on the scales a few days ago to realise that I had cast aside the title of "morbidly obese" was almost as thrilling at when I first discovered Sicilian lemon pudding. Almost. As I left the bathroom, adorned with my new proud banner of "obese", I was mentally working out when my next heavy-weight title adjustment to "overweight" would be. Perhaps I wasn't savouring my obese label with as much pureed relish as I should have been. What it took to lose my "morbid" moniker! The one thing about slowly shedding a life-long disability is the dawning realisation that you may well not be fully ready to throw away the crutches and run as soon as you would like. Having hidden behind morbidly obese for so long and realising that in a few months I would be just overweight started to make me feel a little edgy. What excuses would I be able to conjure up when I didn't fancy going for a walk? What reason could I give for feeling depressed some days? What lies could I make up for the reasons I never made it as a singer? I remember being filmed for a documentary for the Discovery Health channel and giving the sob-story that my songs would never make it because no one wanted to see a man of my weight on stage. I didn't conform to the marketable beauty that all rock and pop stars must have. Soon, my only excuse will be that my music just isn't that good. It's a scary prospect that I may well have to admit that to myself one day and not blame the belly. Such massive life adjustments, whether for the best or not, are bound to be scary. It's new territory that I am totally unused to. I can't remember ever being anything but fat and, this time next year, I will be in the nerve-wracking zone of a normal, healthy weight. I just have no idea what lies ahead because of this change. Also, moving on from a long-term relationship into a small flat on the other side of town brings an even greater anxiety of uncharted seas ahead. In the old days (ie last month), I would take a short overview of the situation and settle down with a big fat steak - and forget it all. Bury my head in the sand of that huge unending desert that is emotional gorging. Now those wastelands are not part of my life - I have to find a new way of dealing with my upsets and fears. Maybe, just maybe, I will have to...gulp...deal with it! All this change and personal turmoil is certainly going to be one interesting ride and I think the best and only thing to do is sit back, watch it all happen and enjoy the ride. Originally posted at: Lap Band Blog

I was a caffeine addict last year - I kicked it about two months ago. In prep for the surgery I was taking at least 16 strong espressos every day along with 8 Solpadeine (medication with huge caffeine amounts along with the addictive codeine) It was the hardest but second best thing I had cut out in my life (guess the first!) It was probably three weeks of utter hell; headaches, nausea and desperation. But boy - when you're through - what a difference! The headaches that caffeiene cured me of turned out to be the cause. The reflux and lack of sleep (obviously) were a thing of the past. And now - I can't bear the thought off coffee (bit of a bitch when I was given Solpadeine after the op - but I managed to stick to plain old paracetomol). However - I am now addicted to the replacement I made peppermint tea - I await the fresh pee consequences...

Once again - thank you all for being so kind and supportive. You're all far too lovely - along with the fantastic resource of information you get from this forum, its such a great thing to have support where one wouldn't usually receive from local communities (mainly because the people around this place would never admit to the procedure, so I can't seek them out and demand a hug!) Happy_Girl: <blush - aw stop it!> Thanks for your comments. Unfortunately us Brits don't care for the accent as much as other nationalities seem to. I need to find me an American! heidib: Uh oh - do you think men will start to notice me a bit more as well...? WannaBSkinnyB: Thanks - and I am a songwriter (although some people like to say I'm not!) - shameless promotion...Benedict Francis: Music Melody2006: Hug coming straight back at ya! JABBA THE MUTT: Brilliant quote! Glad to hear the "quality time" is picking up...rub it in why don't you! (um...wrong turn of phrase there I think...) aubrie: That's exactly what I am positive about. Although, Rafi (my boy) maybe a few miles further away, I know that I will be able to play football with him this time next year. Being a full time dad and not being able to participate in those kind of things is probably much worse than an active part-timer. Thanks everyone.

Thanks for your comments fellow (and soon to be fellow) bandies! Always good to know someone is reading this veral diarreah!

My blackness has duly had its burial procession. Hidden at the back of an unvisited and unkept cemetary. I just couldn't go out without giving one final "up yours"! Thanks spud.mama!

Thanks for your support everyone. Toooooo kind! It would be a llittle narrow minded of me to pretend that the surgery was the only reason - I think it was just a catalyst. Never mind, onward and upward (or indeed downward). I have far too many mushy recipes to concoct to be worried about abandonment issues! Thanks again Ben

Just like the words of a blues song: I had me a woman I cute as can be I came home from havin' Weight loss surgery She done packed up her bags And taken my son I got me no money Damn, what have I done? At least she didn't take the dog. Not that I have one. But if I did, I guess that wouldn't be here either. As I read through the many books on having weight loss surgery - I couldn't help but hover over the chapters on the way this kind of thing could have an impact on relationships. In so much as it can strengthen a strong bond - but destroy a weak one. I guess I saw it coming. I kept my thoughts from her for several months before I made my decision to have the surgery - after which I told her. A word of warning for those that are thinking about this - it might be worth making the decision WITH your partner rather than on your own. Perhaps I was selfish in making one of my biggest life decisions on my own. Or perhaps it was teh way it was meant to be. Either way - I have come clean with everyone I know - let's await the flack!