Monday, March 23, 2009

First Fill and Damien - The Devil's Spawn

Well what a shitter of a day! First things first I ate like a horse over the weekend so I was not looking forward to weighing in with the dietician this morning. Second, no baby sitter for the four year old (we call him Damien and we're waiting for the 666 sign of the devil to show up on his body somewhere in the near future) Damien was already whingeing about going to the doctors with me (although he refuses to go anywhere without me). He knows how long we have to wait in that hellhole. And last, but not least, my first fill anxiety (kinda fear of the unknown kinda scared of the doctor - I'll explain that later) did I mention how much I have eaten in the past week in the name of ovulation and nervous anxiety at having to weigh in? Why do I eat like a horse before I have to weigh in? For the week after, I eat like Ghandi but no, the week before I shove in as much food as possible because I am a dog that shits in doorways. What does that mean I hear you ask? Well, the dog is allowed in the house and all is going well and just to f$%^ things up, the dog shits in the very doorway you just let him in and then whammo - out he goes - wasted the best opportunity of his life!

This kinda nervous eating started way back in my weight watchers days. I would be Ghandi up until Friday (the day before weigh in) and then I'd go beserk. So I'd change weigh in days but that just meant I changed gorge days also. I would sometimes try and counteract the gorge effect by having a chinese tea by the name of Ballerina Tea (named for its use by the slender dancers and also because if you can stand on your toes in wooden shoes then this foul tasting tea is akin to a creamy hot chocolate) Ballerina Tea would - dead set - liquify concrete. By the time I'd weigh in the next morning I would have lost all the gorged food and parts of my pancreas as well as 75% of my body's water so I would drag myself throbbing dehydrated head and all - onto the scales and be the same as the week before. ANYTHING is better than a gain I say. So yesterday afternoon (too afraid to drink Ballerina Tea in case part of my band comes out with it) I gave myself a dose of Benefibre. Didnt work unless you count the three pebbles I passed before I left this morning. I was hoping for an explosive drainage type experience but alas, it was time for complete weigh in honesty - once again - oh how I've grown up!

And once again the scale gods were with me - the scales only registered a gain of 400grams and no i didnt cry. I was relatively happy with that. Thats about the weight of the chips I ate yesterday. The dietician - god love the skinny bitch (you must have a BMI of 11 to work in my obesity clinic) was very pleased with that as it is a sign of needing a fill (I would have said a lobotomy but who's splitting hairs). Of course I had minimal breakfast (seems I can control myself the morning OF weigh in) so by this time I was getting violent with hypoglycemia. Cue waiting with Damien for over an hour to see the doctor and things started to go down hill rapidly.

Damien was whinging (goes without saying). The skinny bitches at the front desk think they're doing you a favour by booking your dietician on the same day as your surgeons visit (never mind the 3 hour wait in between) although you dont actually know what time your doctors visit is so just sit and wait. AND they let people through according to their appointment time so people breeze in and out, late and all and me and Damien are just waiting and waiting and waiting and waiting so I think its time to call in the big guns and I take Damien to the chip machine (conveniently located next to the operating theatre where they do the lap bands - noice). Damien's squealing for a milky bar and of course - my wallet - always full to the brim with change is dry as a bone so we take a trip to the kiosk which - for a really expensive private hospital - is a dirty little hole in the wall with no eftpos and nothing for $1.25 in five cent pieces. I have a moment of inspiration and realise there's change in the car and just as Damien's head is about to do a 360 and spit green slime I get the required Milky Bar and the beast is tamed. By now the waiting room is FULL of people who arrived after us and I walk in with a four year old eating an adult sized chocolate bar - once again - noice. I didnt know whether everyone wanted to tear shreds off me for feeding my child the exact thing that got me in this trouble in the first place or whether they actually wanted to crash tackle Damien for his Milky Bar. Either way, I feared for our lives.

Before you know it (1 hour and 15 minutes) we were in and I was getting jabbed from across the room by Dr Speedy Gonzalez and I was out and bleeding at the front desk. Hurt a tiny bit (emotionally I mean) but there is always something uncomfortable about being treated by a doctor who is about the same age and looks ratio as your good self - really feels like you should be having a drink at a bar not exposing your most stretch marked gut for pricking. Much more comfortable with crusty old doctors. Always seem to have good looking doctors at the most inappropriate times. After 36 hours labour with the first babe the nurses started to twitter that Prince Vince was on his way. "Prince Vince" I ask. Yes, the object of their desire was about to arrive and check out my parts that had been labouring for 36 hours. Had showered in that time but not with soap and metho (my husband recommends kero and a blow torch). So there's Prince Vince (ob and gyno) up my leaking jutsy with all the nurses reapplying lip gloss while I lay there, in all my 110kilo glory sobbing for a cesearean. And yes, Prince Vince had earnt his name! Fast forward ten years and there I am in Speedy Gonzalez's offices discussing morbid obesity with a man you'd only kick out of bed to do on the floor. Noice. (Just in case you read this hubby, I wouldnt actually do him but most would).

Did I mention in all this time that I promised Damien McDonalds on the way home? Good mum aren't I! I was also hanging for a chocolate thick shake (bit scared to do solids although could have hammered a Big Mac). I manage to wrestle Damien to the nearest McDonalds and can you believe - it was shut! Lunch time on a Monday and Mc Donalds was shut!!!!!!!! Have you ever in your life seen a shut McDonalds????????? McDonalds had a black out and had to shut. Thats the kind of day I had. If you cant have McDonalds on the way home from your first fill then when can you?

Damien and I made it home starving and screaming at 3.15pm (and that was for a 12pm appointment). I tried to have a cup a soup but I started to have a post op post traumatic stress situation so I gave it up and had Aldi Danish Feta (fabulously silky and yum) and a bread stick (went down well). Yes I'll take it easy but the lovely husband, so considerate he is, has said that tonight - its my pick - can you believe it! I get to pick whatever I want!! Pity I'm supposed to be on liquids. Oh well...


  1. I just checked my email inbox and guess how many unread messages I have.... 666! I swear on my first born (she's one of the good ones) that the sign of the devil appeared in my inbox!

  2. I have not laughed so hard for so long. I love how you explained your day, and I do feel for you that you couldnt get Damien looked after whilst attending on of the many pain in the ass appointmentst that we have signed ourselves up for. Just think.. in a week you will be back on the downward slope of the scales.. and it will all be worth the madness of todays events.
    Benifibre is shit, and I dont mean that it helps you to shit, coz that it certainly doesnt.. I have used a magical little thing called Microlax.. a kind of mini enema.. a bit gross, but certainly no harm to the band and gentle on the stomach. Its good to clear the body out on the morning of a fill/weigh in. Gives me a bit more confidence when I go to stand on the scales. Soo, what did you chose for dinner??

  3. I didn't think anybody could make me laugh today - and you have. The image of Prince Vince will stay with me forever I think...
    The surgeon who did my op last Dec is considered very dishy, but apart from being 15 years younger than me, he looks as though a puff of wind would blow him away. Every time I see him "What must he think of us lot when he sees us in theatre" goes through my mind. Does he have to climb aboard to reach our stomachs, I wonder. No, don't tell me.

  4. My doctor came in the morning after op at 7am and I looked particularly stunning. His jeans were so tiny and so tight MY eyes watered. He was just BURNING to get out of that room and I do also wonder what he thinks of us anorexically challenged. Dinner was shite! I picked at some crap cause it was Monday night and nothing was open.


Weight Loss From 27th January 2009