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You've been inside my belly, but we've only just met.
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This is a bit of a rant and this seems like the thread to put it in.
I had lap-band surgery on the 21st of July. This has been a good thing in my life. I feel empowered, confident and finally on the way to making life long positive choices. This was the switch I wanted.
You know that switch? You are in the zone with the new diet and you can push bad choices aside without sounding like food is out to get you. You easily move through a supermarket and don't even consider the salty sweet high carb things. Going out is a breeze. You lose weight. You feel good about -this- diet. And then someone throws the switch back.
You start making excuses for your choices. All food is good food, but moderation is out the window. You stop caring that you've gained all that weight back and then some.
I flicked this switch back and forth so many times I reset my brain. I just couldn't diet anymore without setting myself up for failure before I even started.
The band has been my choice to take back control. I get to keep my switch on and know that even if I stumble along the way, the band and my supporters will get me back on track.
The surgeons are suppose to support you in this. Right?
I have two good doctors. One whom I love, the other was the lead surgeon. Calm, dry humoured, but quietly confident. A contrast to my happy doctor, but still filling me with confidence.
On Monday I got my staples out. I met the second surgeon. He had been inside my belly and I hadn't even shaken his hand.
Instantly it felt off. He didn't seem to look me in the eye. I was up on the table getting those staples whipped out before he could say 'this won't hurt'. Which he didn't say.
I had questions. He answered them monosyllabically. I thought I was doing well, He kept telling me how that would change and giving me examples of how I would fail.
I was out of there in about 10 minutes with my confidence shattered. It was like he got me at my most vulnerable and then hit me with statements guaranteed to make me feel like even the band can't help me.
It took me a few hours before I could even begin to cry and then I felt like I couldn't stop.
24 hours later I managed to change my next appointment back to the doctor that makes me feel good about myself.
I -know- this is partially me projecting my fears on a surgeon who was probably just being brusk. I know it was partially him being insensitive jerk who has no bedside manner.
I hope this vulnerable feeling will pass.
I hope I never see that doctor again.
Thanks for letting me rant.