Two Month Bandiversary, Groucho Marx and The Punisher

OK so I actually had my massage, nearly backed out a hundred times. You see, in order to have this massage I have to go into the gym where I was once a star pupil, come face to face with the trainers (suck in the air of bitter disappointment and failure), strip down and get massaged by a masseuse who last saw me another 10kilos lighter than this. Not easy - and yes, that was my reward. Once again, I am a walking train crash on a hell bent mission to destroy myself slowly but surely. This all had to be done because they are the best massages EVER! Totally worth the soul destroying walk of shame through the gym. Would have been more enjoyable if the masseuse didnt talk to me the whole time. I really like to zone out but we chitchatted right through every pressure point so I really dont remember much of the massage or how great it was but I am sore still so I suppose it was great.

I have more pics to post but I'm rethinking them honestly. For a few reasons - number one being - My eyebrows. Yes, my eyebrows have seen better days - the name groucho has been thrown around more than once this week and I know people are staring. You see I have very pale eyebrows which, under down lights are completely non existent and make me look like a chemo patient. I get sympathetic stares wherever I go (or maybe its my huge fat arse that attracts all the sympathy? Well this week its my eyebrows). Every once in a while instead of getting my arse up to the beauticians (theres a reason why I dont go to the beautician but we'll get to that later) I dye my own eyebrows and I ALWAYS look like Groucho Marx for a day or two but this time I looked like John Howard (AKA Snuffaluffagus) for a whole week. My mother mixed the dye and I just dont know why I thought that was OK? I still cant understand why I partook of anything my mother was involved in creating????? Anyhow,the dye made my eyebrows go completely black and my hair is completely blonde and no, I do not look all cool and edgy like Gwen Stefani or even slightly interesting ah lah Marilyn Monroe. Just shit really. The kids think I look permenantly cranky. My husband still shudders when I walk around the corner or open the front door to him. My sister is still laughing and my mother thinks they look nice. That says it all. I have learnt that if something looks good to my mother then the rest of the universe will reject it like a runt puppy with a manky leg. I can feel people talking to my eyebrows and not to me (nice change from talking to the DD cup twins). I bought hair bleach and applied it 4 times and it toned it down just enough so my sister only dampened her knickers - not completely soaked them although my husband still wants the lights off if he has to kiss me. So all my pics of the two month bandiversary are headless and look ridiculous and I also noticed, only about 1 - 2 kilos different from the one month anniversary so no different at all really! Interesting and confronting. Still, I'm happy. Technically the band isnt working yet so any loss is a bonus. I go to a support group and there are actually real living, breathing people out there who have had a band for a year and have no restriction and have not lost a gram. All in all, I'm doing ok. If you dont count the eyebrows.

So I hear you ask, why I dont I go to the beautician and get them to fix the said eyebrows? My first and last brazillian is the reason why. This story is, in part, inspired by Forever Fat Girl's waxing story but the eyebrows create the greatest post traumatic stress and bring up the repressed memories. You see my big, fat, roly-poly jutse turned out to be very hard to wax (not to mention painful). I took the 7 year old with me, she was only one at the time (put the phone down and lets leave DOCS out of this). She was always so good at sitting in the pram and looking cute but for some reason her mothers cries for mercy unsettled her and she ended up sitting on my chest and pulling at my already contorted face. The beautician was slapping on that wax and tearing it off and I swear she was going to take a labia with it. If I told her once the wax was too hot I told her 100 times but I'd never had a brazillian before so I thought the pain was all part of the fun.

The poor beautician, lets call her The Punisher, was having a terrible time holding back the various folds and flip flaps and flap jacks to create a smooth and svelte labia and boy was it taking its toll on the girl. What started out as a 20 minute job was turning into a beauticians working bee as another beautician, hearing my daughters cries and sensing fear in her own kind whacked the door open exposing my most vital love muscle to the world and asking through popped chewy if The Punisher needed any help? And boy were we running late by this time! The first daughter had to be collected from kindy or they were going to call DOCS (maybe I should just have a link to them on my blog) and the The Punisher was moving ever faster, the wax was getting ever hotter and the one year old was now straddling my throat with sharp little nails and a squeal that could crack concrete. Fun.

Before I knew it (no less than one hour) the pain was over and I was high tailing it to kindy with a strangely sticky and, oddly enough, a not so smooth pair of labs. Of course as luck would have it, I got pulled over by the cops for speeding but seeing me crying my eyes out and hearing the words "kindy, DOCS, wax and labia" they let me off and we were on our way again. Later that night with all kids in bed and The Punisher just a distant memory we decide to partake of the freshly manicured love lawn and oh what a sight to behold! The words "plucked chook" come to mind but really, you would have to put "sunburnt" and "leprosy" in there somewhere for it to be truly accurate. The wax was in fact on the hot side and my parts were, effectively, sunburnt. The difficulty of the job meant that it was, of course, not done properly so there was an array of varying length hair left behind in a "chemo - esque" patchy, male pattern baldness kind of fashion. There was a hot red landing strip on the extra sensitive bits and on the REALLY sensitive bits, skin was beginning to wrinkle and peel. Mmmm, come and get me boys! My poor husband still goes limp at the thought of it. What started out as an adventurous, lets-surprise-the-hubby kind of long weekend dabble in the kinky side of life ended up as a week of abstinence, skin peeling sessions and a phobia of beauticians and wax. The most pain my poor little jutse cops these days is non sensitive Nair and let me tell you, THAT stuff gets it smooth, every time, no tears, no fuss.

So The Punisher was the best eyebrower in these parts and I dont have enough eyebrow left to take the chance on any other beautician. I still cannot look The Punisher in the eye and I do see her on the street. I can feel my labia spasm long before I actually see her so most times I get enough warning and can cross the street so we dont have to share that uncomfortable moment where I know she's thinking I have the most gruesome, over sized, roly poly jutse she's ever laid eyes on. I just know she's cringing and thinking of my husband slapping my thigh and catching a sunburnt, peeling, patchy wave in.

10kg Down!

So today is week 7 and I have cracked the elusive 10kg mark!! (22 pounds for the metrically challenged). I have booked a massage (my first 10kg reward) and cant wait! I still feel too fat to be rubbed and rewarded but I promised myself and I must keep that promise. For some reason posting a positive blog is not nearly as fun or entertaining as telling you all the bad things I do but here goes.

As we all know I am obsessed with scales and I very badly weigh myself almost every day except those days I forget and I eat or drink first and then god forbid I should weigh myself with food on (or in) my person! I then obsess all day about how much I may have weighed but its not all bad, I manage to think about food and crap reality TV in the middle of the obsessing so I do make it work. And I do happen to know that on Saturday I weighed 92.2kg but today its 92.6kg either way, its 10kg and just let it go. Let it go Shaggs, let it go. Let it go. No really its ok just thought I'd throw that in. Kinda not really obsessed with the numbers so much anymore. I think I am learning to trust my band and the situation and the reality that I am not eating anywhere near as much as I used to. I love weighing myself but more out of curiosity and the spectacle of it all. I stand on those scales and reel at the fact that I havent suffered (breakfast Sunday aside) and yet they keep on moving down. I know its just a matter of time now. I can believe I'm not going to sabotage this one. No matter how I feel the band is here to stay and this "diet" is going to just be a phase or a fad.

So how come I feel like Claudia Schiffer now when the last time I weighed 92kg it was a devastating travesty and I felt more like Dawn French? Why do we feel so slim and slender on the way down but so huge and swollen on the way up? Is it psychological or is it actually physiological are we actually swollen and puffy when gaining (do we retain water more or something) and are we actually smaller on the down swing? Who knows all I know is I'm feeling pretty good but it feels kinda normal now so I dont feel that much more fabulous. When I look at the pics I can see the difference and I do know the difference in now and 10kg more, so much more comfortable and able bodied.

You know what I love. Seeing people who do happen to know about this and they ask "so how's it going?" and I proudly announce that I have lost 10kg now and they reply "oh, have you?". Yep, 10kg and no one notices and they look at you as if you're completely pulling shit out of your arse. Should I print a Tshirt with an old photo on it? I guess its only 10kg its not 125 pounds like Mindy (skinny in Texas)!! Now thats some pictures to carry around with you! What a star! Part of me really couldnt give a toss about others comments but part of me cant wait to turn around one day and it all suddenly be noticeable and watch their stupid faces fall.

And how shitty do you get now at people eating? Like - "Do you REALLY have to eat AGAIN????" or "Do you really have to eat MORE????" Are you joking! Can you stuff more in your face? Isnt that shit of me? I'm a bitch. Me of all people knows how that one works and yet here I am miss holier than though judging people for how they eat. And how much food do you have left over in the fridge or the takeaway box now? Take at least 3 adult size portions out of every meal when I used to eat. Now I eat less than the kids.

So I think the brain is starting to catch up with things here. I'm trusting the band and I'm thinking about overeaters like a size 8 bitch scrag. Can you believe the maxed out gorger from last week is sitting here now getting snippy with people for wanting to eat? Noice. Blogging makes you so accountable. I guess you always hate in other the people the very thing you dont like in yourself.

My Friend, My Enemy, My Restriction

That elusive experience called restriction has entered my life and I am loving it! I woke up on Friday morning just knowing that something was different. I was rushing about and didnt have breakfast - now that is just a travesty of the worst kind in my life and I eat for a week to make up for the lost meal - but I forgot all about it. Had lunch at 2pm and then no dinner - thats TWO weeks catching up and a nervous breakdown - I will be anorexic in a week at this rate!! Had a few little cracker nibblies on Friday night and that was it - ALL DAY! How pure and gaunt do I feel? Actually, strange thing is, I dont feel empty, or weak or starving or "holier than though". I feel just normal. I like this normality.

So Saturday was a similar day - but with too much alcohol - nice combination - hardly any food and too much alcohol - FUN! Cue roaring dry horrors on Sunday and whats the best thing for the morning after - Mc Donalds. I attempted a sausage mc muffin and I knew after about 1/2 a bite where it was headed but I soldiered on. Only had not even half but, stupid stupid stupid girl, I had a swig of juice (very bad dry horrors) and man that muffin was stuck like a 14 year old in Supre. It hurt, it ached I sweat, I thumped my chest, I put my arms up in the air (thanks Nene) I had to walk around like when I was in labour I could feel a chuck coming on I bent over and that puppy dislodged and I was all over. The adrenaline rush of relief when that pain went was almost worth it in a sick "mummy cant get a buzz anymore" kinda way. But that was it for me. I had that tight achey pain in my chest all day and it scared me into submission.

I found over the weekend that I am envious of people swigging away on drinks while they eat. I have a new found obsession - drinking while you eat. I no longer crave massive big chewy, crunchy mouthfuls of bread and carbs - now I crave a fizzy cold rush of diet coke to wash a half chewed mouthful down. Oh to drink while I eat! I find myself choosing liquids over solids and not eating so I can drink. Half of me thinks thats just shit but I've always been a very thirsty person and have always drunk alot. I always stole my mothers drinks when I finished my own as a kid. Back in the 70's when you could smoke in McDonalds I had a swig of my mothers drink and yes, I drank ash and ciggie butts. McDonalds cups make great ashtrays. Yum! It seems now that if I eat and wait for half an hour after to drink there just isnt enough time in the day for me to drink enough. I have to ration the eating to allow the drinking. Where will this end?

All the while throughout my little, very minor but very memorable episode, I was thinking of all my bandster gals out there. Poor Nola who had this out in public with a Llama sniffing around, Nene out in a restaurant, the confusion of not knowing which "quiet corner" out in public is going to be the best place to let your innards out. I couldnt imagine the horror! I was at home and only had to hide the extremness of the situation from my husband who is A. Prone to lecturing and B. A bit of a worry wart. I just acted like I was going to the kitchen and had my seizure around the corner near the loungeroom (wooden floors, wipe clean society, dont care where the spew ends up). I didnt know whether to laugh or cry thinking about all you trippers out there who have paved the way before me - the words I would use in my blog to describe my episode - what I would say to my surgeon when my band slipped and I aspirated a McDonalds hash brown. Oh the things that go through your mind in a crisis! Its like a car crash, feels like an hour and everything's in slow motion. Its actually 30 seconds and your writhing around like an excavated worm on a hot day.

I do feel like part of the club now. Trust me to find the belonging in all the foulness. My PB experience was so lame but this was the real mc coy. I got stuck!!! And it hurt!! Why should I be happy about that? I guess it does keep you honest.

So I'm loving the restriction but it is a double edged sword. I cant be a slack arse anymore. I have to be careful with the rules - I now know the consequences. I am worried this will wear off that sometime the insatiable hunger will come back and then where will I be? I want to kiss the surgeon (no tongues) I so viciously bagged out last week for granting me the grace of restriction. I have seen the light and I am transformed. Until the next cherry ripe.

Ovulating and Oyster Sandwiches

Life is driving me f%^&ing mad! I'm so cranky and agro, EVERYTHING is just shitting me so hard core. I dont know if it my hormonal situation at the moment or the fact that I feel totally out of control with my eating and its getting me down. I have even tried to clean the house to get some feel good going on but to no avail.

Here's what I ate today: I need some advice on whether this is standard or ridiculous - I think its alot. Also - I am hoping by purging this day's worth of food in the blog I may be able to have a better one tomorrow.

Breakfast:
One mashed fried egg with a piece of shaved ham and some low fat grated tasty (a kind of basic omelette no oil for frying) fits a side plate (about 1 cup of food) I'd say a perfect breakfast
Low fat cappuccino

Lunch:
Starving by 12.3o so:
TWO WRAPS!! some chicken breast and beetroot and garlic sauce on a tortilla style flat bread (small size Old ElPaso) wrap but really? TWO?

Afternoon Tea:
Half an oyster sandwich (favourite food in the entire world)
Was that really necessary after that lunch?

Afternoon Tea II:
Some premium crackers and danish feta
Speechless

Dinner:
2-3 small size pieces of pizza
Dont feel like being in the kitchen after all that eating and this is the takeaway I never got after the fill

I think thats alot - dont you? I have my stomach banded and have had one fill and I can still eat all that!!! And I could keep going!???!?!? And I have CONTROLLED MYSELF!!!!!!!

If I am completely honest (once again - very hard for me to take my head out of the sand in order to do this) I have felt full and stopped eating accordingly instead of eating and having to stop myself before I felt full and then suffer the pain. And I do feel the food going down now - it can be a tight squeeze. But really, thats a lot of food. I may be having small meals but is having 6 of those meals still acceptable?

I really dont feel guilty either, its just like its out of my control so go hard. Or is that just a lame excuse (I'm good at those too). I think I'm at the tail end of the monthly eating binge (its ovulation time and my body thinks it needs to double its calorie intake to produce eggs - funny thing is I dont want to have sex when I've binged to the point of pain and discomfort so the eggs are pointless and they wouldnt fertilise anyway) that insatiable feeling IS coming and going. I dont think its here to stay (bloody better not) but it is horrible being a slave to it and its the reason why I got banded in the first place. Apparently third fill is the charm. I might also check out some herbal remedy or something for the extreme hormone experience.

Or maybe I should just have a drink - fixes everything else.....

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...

My Last Hurrah - Again.....

So tomorrow is my first fill and today is my last hurrah - again. How many last hurrah's have I had during this process? One before Opti, one before the op, one before mushies, one before solids, one on Friday, one yesterday and now today - and they're the ones I can count. So you're probably all thinking - its only the first fill you wont feel any different or any restriction BUT if I'm completely honest with myself and you (kills me to have to be - natural born denier here) I am already pretty restricted. I do quite often get around it with little sips of liquids to just "ease" things down and thats only when I am REALLY loving something. I am rarely actually hungry and even then its a mood slump not a hunger in my stomach. My capacity is still nowhere near what it was pre op but it is also not exactly perfect but I do kinda feel thats my fault (gee I wonder why?). So I'm thinking a fill now might just help me pull the reigns in a little tighter and hell, I've never had one so lets go! Always up for something new. And I am still dreaming about that initial post op restriction - now that was somethin' special! So maybe a fill is exactly what I need. I have noticed that I am starting to want a piece of bread after a meal like the olden days and I can even go for extra food (thats not with drinking) so I guess I am in a text book need of a fill. Thank God for blogging to sort out whats the truth and whats not and how we actually DO feel and not THINK we feel.

So, my last hurrah. White bread after lunch today - one piece just to wipe the plate (one of the world's greatest pleasures) I cant really think of what else I'd really like.... I've told you food is losing its power and now its losing its appeal too... I think bread and sandwiches are my biggest loss really. Oh and the odd piece of Sara Lee chocolate cake - nibbled a little piece last night to celebrate my dead grandmothers birthday but it does congeal like a brick in your band but it was worth it.

I am still convinced the band will slip or something is going horribly wrong inside me. Every little pain and twitch signals the end until I shove something down my gob and it goes down fine - no vomiting or burping or pain and then I'm back again abusing the band that is changing my life by the minute. I figured out on Friday night - my first social drink since op - that you cant keep drinking your alcohol if you're also going to partake of the nibblies. A handful chips and then you have a good guzzle of you bourbon and coke and whammo, chips stuck and you can feel every millimetre of them passing through you band infront of a wave of fizzy grog. Ooooh not pretty. Before the band bourbon and coke always gave me heartburn which is now gone and I have been very reluctant to try a drink but it all went down well BUT I did notice the next day (both yesterday and today - I didnt say I ONLY drank on Friday night) i have had alot of restriction especially in the morning. It may be the effect of bourbon and coke on my stomach or it may be all the shit I shovelled down with it, either way, I think I'll stick to sipping wine alone and not getting too swept up in the social aspects of drinking.

Its a learning curve! Cant wait for that fill though - I feel like tomorrow is the day I ACTUALLY have to start being a grown up and a big girl and get on with the whole "I am actually TRYING" philosophy. We'll see.....

Higher Power for a Food Junkie

I'm bored again. There's numerous things I could be doing but none of them really feel like a Friday afternoon thing to do. I'm at a standstill with the latest project (making an office and "ooger booger" room for readings) and I dont really feel like getting too actively involved in anything cause after all, it is Friday and I really should be kicking back with a drink and welcoming in the weekend. A slave to the stereotype I know. But I dont really feel like drinking (!#$%^& shock freakin horror!) I mean, why? Whats the point? I'll probably end up having one but really, why? Oh I know why, I got pleasantly tipsy last night! Anyway, I'm bored so I've been reading my blog from the beginning. I dont know if its just the pleasantly numb (and bored) mood I'm in but I feel like I've turned a corner on all the things that used to upset me no end. I remember pouring buckets of tears on some of the pages I posted, its a wonder the keyboard still works but now, those things kinda dont really conjure a terrible lot up?!?!? I know the things I wrote were true and meaningful and quite validly upsetting, but now, I think I've turned a corner.

Perhaps with each kilo melting away its taking a problem with it? Could eating have stopped me from getting through the problems in the first place? Of course I still have issues (massive, ginormous gangsta sized problems) but they're current, past ones kinda wash over me??!! I chucked a mega wobbly yesterday and it was funny, I wanted to eat, I wanted to sulk I wanted to in some way act like an emotional baby so I washed up. Yes, Shaggs of the "anything is more important than cleaning" philosophy cleaned cause she felt bad! (well f$%^ me!). Boy am I growing up! (nice change from growing out thats for sure!) In the end I even seeked out comfort and company when normally I turn into a recluse until the pain eases (or the mint slices run out). Of course I'm probably being cocky and tomorrow I'll have a meltdown about something that happened 8 years ago but for now, its all feeling rather good!

I am so glad that this band has happened. I could never have imagined the HUGE impact on my life it would have. I remember going through withdrawals both physical and emotional and I know it wasnt easy and I know I will still suffer at times and I know the physical pain was (and sometimes still is) hideous but really, I would do it all again 100 times over.

First fill is on Monday and its hard to get my head around the fact that technically, the band isnt supposed to be working yet.... freaky hey! Boy is it pulling its weight! Pity I'm not but its doing enough work for the two of us so far. After years and years and years and years of struggling and crying and eating and bingeing and hating and screaming and just pure hate I feel like (almost literally overnight - it feels like the blink of an eye) the cloud has lifted and something or someone else now has my problem cause it is not with me anymore. For want of better words and to not go all 12 step or evangelical on you all, (totally not religious I swear) my problem has been surrendered to a higher power and that higher power is my band. I am so grateful to that little piece of silicone, to my doctor (AKA Speedy Gonzalez beside manner of a meerkat but moves faster) to my husband for the money and time and energy and most of all to my cyber friends. Does this sound like an Oscars speech or what? Should I be on Oprah? And no, I havent had any mood altering drugs (not today anyway) I havent joined a cult or religion, I'm still a food junkie I will always be teetering on the edge of a tantrum and binge but now I can live too. Its not ALL about the food.

Now this conjures up feelings in me. I could have a little cry for happiness but I think I'll drown it out with a Friday afternoon beverage (or ten).