Dana R. Moya
Born: December 10th, 2008 at 9:13 am
Weight: 155 lbs 3 oz
Lots of inches

Now go have a cigar!

Today is the 9 Month Anniversary of My Weight Loss Surgery!
Not sure all that needed to be capitalized, but hey, it's a major event to celebrate so why not...

To this day I've lost 155 lbs and I now weigh 160 lbs. I'm almost half 'n half! I am now wearing a size 8 or 10 depending on the brand. Hard to believe, a single digit size fits me.

And just like the pregnancy and birth of a child, the advent of my surgery has wrought many changes in my life. There has been much joy, there has been much loss, there are some sleepless nights and worries that plague me - some founded, others unfounded. There has been stretching. Weeping. Laughing. Kicking. Surprises. Sickness. Moodiness. Hello's & goodbyes. And all along these 9 months were the birth pangs of labor ushering in this new life. And there is so much more life now to live...

Want to see the pictures? Okay, okay, I'll be quiet now...

Same old fuzzy picture in the kitchen side view...Add in one Sunny dog eating breakfast.

Oh Christmas Tree.

Love this next one. Look at me hiding way in the back, arms crossed, leg kicked out...These gorgeous ladies were decorating the Education Suite tree. Rather, they were supervising the decoration of the tree. Apparently Rae was not happy with the placement of an ornament...

Oh yeah?

OH YEAH? Love the deathly pale look.


Okay...

Last out of focus, poorly lit, badly posed one for the day...

They say it takes a tribe to raise a child, I believe the same goes for every journey in our life. I say it takes a tribe to get us through, and oh how I love my tribe! You have cheered me on so! Keep taking the steps with me, big or small we can't journey it alone.

On Being 12

A size 12! Thank you very much.

Well, I promised a weight-loss update so, true to my word, here you go my adoring fans. I must insert the usual "be forewarned" disclaimer that I've merely got a camera phone and my photographer is usually my daughter who forgets to tell me "when". So, with that said, some of the pictures are less than good. Dude, what can I say? I'm no Stan Kwan.

Just to refresh your memory let's begin with where else? Uh, the beginning, duh.

A 315 lb me Nov. 2007

That bears repeating, 315 lbs!

Then...

1 month after surgery.

Then....
3 months after surgery.



And now for the latest photos...

Me...almost 7 months post-surgery. 133 lbs lighter and a size 12.

Shut up! A size 12...Can I just tell you I giggled when I tried these pants on?
I just did.

Me. Again....oh yeah, it is my update.
What's with the funky face?
(That would be the NO warning I referred to earlier.)

Alas me lovies, that's all the blurry, poorly lit, horribly posed, same old kitchen for a background photos I have. For now.

Where from here? Not sure. If the weight loss gods* have forsaken me and left me for greener pastures, then I am just hunky-dory with that. I consider this weight loss surgery journey a success so far.

Considering that I've gone from 2 diabetes injections, 2 to 4 blood sugar finger tests, 2 blood pressure meds, a handful of pain meds A DAY to none of the above a day. I've gone from a size 26/28 to a size 12. From 315 lbs. to 182 lbs. From 165 pounds to goal, to 33 pounds to goal. I've gone from not being able to sit in a chair comfortably (without my hips hanging out the sides and over the edge) to...well...it's still not comfortable but it's now because I have very little cushion between my tail-bone and the chair...I've gone from wanting to sleep all the time to, oh wait, ha, that's still true. From not being active with my family to being active....Any way, you get the picture. If not, scroll up and start over.

So, that's it for now. I will update again at 9 months. The same amount of time of a full term pregnancy. Except by then it will be as if I've given birth to a full grown man.

*(please do not take offense. I am a Jesus loving, scripture believing, Holy Spirit filled girl...I would never be so silly as to truly think that the weight loss gods have forsaken me...so there.)

Support

More than just a good bra or a pair of Spanx. Support is in those who surround you, those who cheer you when you stand firm, who understand when you fall short and somehow carry you forward against the crushing rush of the tide.

Support is an assorted collection of family, friends and even, sometimes, absolute strangers. Strangers they may be, yet because they've walked in your shoes and you in theirs quite enough in life, these unfamiliar faces ring of familiarity.

Because in them you witness your hard-fought tears slip from their eyes, you hear your selfsame struggles in their voices and recognize the demons they have seen as the very same that have haunted you for years. The scars they bear - some old and barely visible, others fresh and still on the mend - are identical to yours for you have been warriors fighting a parallel battle. Synonymous lives.

I only remember a few of their names but I remember every single face. I remember them because we've come together gathered around a common purpose and have rallied for the same cause. I remember each one, because together we are strengthened by each admission of weakness; we take away a measure of courage in the fact that these weaknesses are normal and only temporary. I remember each face because I look around and I see victory in their expressions. I remember because I hear the triumphs declared in each of the voices. I remember the courage and determination of my circle who, against odds decided long ago, have clawed our way out of the dark prison cells of our own making and in to the light of freedom.

And freedom is a marvelous thing.

Reality Bites

The truth is a tough pill to swallow.

Adages that are true but ever so corny in view of the blog you are reading. But still.

I don't have much to add or say to anything I've written before. Still doing okay. Yes, just okay. I am eating right, exercising and so on. And that is good.

I've reached my 100 pound goal and while that is a huge (pun intended) loss I don't feel as elated as I thought I would. And again, while the thought of the huge loss is circling my mind, there is the thought that immediately follows. Like a remora fish on a shark.

The shark being "Wow! You've lost 100 pounds!"

The remora "Now what?"

There are no easy answers or cures for what ails me. No hair of the dog that bit me. I am on a journey I tell myself. Always. And the woods, they call to me...

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
Robert Frost

Lost and Found

FOUND:
Recently I've noticed some things that have been long forgotten. Things like knuckles showing on my hand and wrist bones. Things like ankle bones and tendons. Cheekbones and collarbones. Shoulders and elbows and hip bones.

Welcome back guys, I've missed you!


LOST:
Went to visit some family and my great-niece runs up to greet me and after the hug she pats my stomach and says "Where is your baby? You had your baby?"

That....was.... awesome!

Fearfully and Wonderfully Made...

As a friend of mine says "more fearfully than wonderfully!"

And I have to agree. This past month I haven't written much on here. To tell the truth there's not been much to say that you haven't already heard or read.

Because I'm sure that eventually you will get tired of reading: I lost a pound. I didn't lose weight for ___ long. My clothes don't fit. I ate that. I can't eat this. I lost another pound.

So, I think I will hold off until the weight loss surgery muse strikes. Which may be never. I wonder what her name is? We could have fun with that.

For now I will give you this. God, our God. Yahweh Himself. Has one heck of a sense of humor.

I'm probably not informing any of my adoring fans of anything that they didn't already have a clue about.

You know He's so crazy because well, look at giraffes and zebras together on the same playing field. Think about kangaroos and toucans. Odd aren't they? Then there's everyone's trump card when arguing about Mr. Stand Up Comedian in the Sky, the platypus. Don't tell me they were left over parts. He don't need no stinkin' leftovers. Nope, I think Jehovah Laughter was feeling a tad bit silly one morning during the creation process and threw that one in as His own inside joke with the angels.

And then there's us. Enough said right?

And he loves showing off His humorous side. I remember once when I was going through a time where I could not drag my butt out of bed in order to spend time in the word and in prayer. I would hit the snooze until 10 minutes after I should be in the shower. And then whined about it.

I was feeling the effects of not talking with Him and listening to Him. So I begged Him one night to not let me touch that stupid snooze button and make me get out of bed. You know what He did?

Well, He happily obliged of course. In His way. The next morning the alarm went off and Mrs. Stick to Your Guns rolled over to slap that clock silly and I kid you not I rolled right out of that bed and on to the floor.

I laid there for a bit till it hit me that He'd answered that prayer quite nicely. And then I laughed. Pointed my finger at Him and said, You got me didn't you!?!? He's so crazy!

Then there's my recent struggle with the scale. I'm losing, I'm losing - it isn't that kind of struggle. It's the obsessive kind. The kind where I weigh myself every day. And not only that I cannot wait to weigh every day. And every day when the scale moves all of a pound I am thrilled to no end. And every day when the scale stays put, I am woeful beyond sense. Which is crazy.

All this in spite of the fact that I know I should not weigh every day. As women our weight can fluctuate several pounds from day to day. Especially well, you know when.

So what am I doing hopping myself up on that happy-o-meter every day? I. Don't. Know. I thought I had gotten past the part where I found my joy in numbers. But yeah. There I am. Every day. And here I am confessing.

I've told other friends as well. They've chastened me properly. I go home tail between my legs swearing I am going to wait THREE WHOLE DAYS before I step on the sardonic little thing again.

Riiiiiiight.

So, God in His wonderful wisdom has broken my scale.

Broken it. Has to be what has happened because folks this is a brand new state of the art digital scale. Brand new.

What happens when I step on it? Oh, lets see...a range of as much as 30 pounds difference each and every time I get on to weigh.

And this is only for me.

No one else. The danged thing works JUST FINE.

It's. Just. Me. I get on and I weigh 245. Get off. No way that's right. I mean I weigh somewhere around 220. Get on and I weigh 212. Get off. That would be nice but no. Get on 228. Get off. Get on 236. Cuss words. Seriously?

"Jesse?! Will you come weigh yourself?!?!?" Gets on. Number is correct give or take a pound.

"Again!" I tell him. He gets on, it's the same. Exactly the same.

I get on 200. Waaaaahhhhh....

Then it hits me. And while it wasn't so funny at first, I can now see the amusement in it. He has fixed my little problem. He knows I don't like any other scale. I won't know the progress if I weigh at work or at the doctors.

He knows I've been finding joy in the wrong places. Looking for happiness in the wrong direction. Seeking consolation and comfort where there is none. He knows I have no strength apart from Him. And He knows just how to take care of everything. Including my scale.

I am fearfully and wonderfully made. He has made me beautiful. He has made my heart to sing. He has brought me from the wilderness. He. Him. Not the numbers. Not my weight loss. Him.

And that stinking scale - for sure - didn't do any of this.

And that makes me laugh out loud. That was a good one God. You got me on that one!

The Difference

I step on the scale. 235. Step off. Sigh. Same weight as yesterday and the day before that and the day before that.

I have apparently hit what the bariatric surgery world calls a stall. Different than a plateau because it's shorter, only lasting a week or two. But frustrating none the less.

The ironic thing is, so many people have commented on my disappearing act this week. Perhaps it's inches instead of pounds which is still good....but....It's funny how a number, as insignificant as it may be, can give your spirit a lift every day. Just that smidgen of encouragement you need to go on.

I'm not sure how to react to the comments either. Comments such as:

"I don't even recognize you!"
(How do you know you are talking to the right person then???)
"You look like a completely different person!"
(Like who? Can I be Ashley Judd?)
or
"You must feel like a whole new woman!"

Truly? No. Well, I mean yes, I feel good. I feel great in fact. But a completely different person?

I know, I know, what am I complaining about? These are friends who are loving on me. And if any of you reading this has said these things to me, please don't feel bad. I love you for it. But it's just odd to hear. And I never know quite how to respond.

This is how I usually respond: I look in the mirror. Yep that's me.

Brown hair with more gray than I care to think about at the moment?
Check.
Blue eyes?
Check.
Freckles?
Check.
My mom's nose?
Check.
Nice big arms. Big legs. Good child-birthing hips?
Check. Check. Check
Huh.

I say to the mirror, "well you look like Dana." and then I think, you sound like Dana too.

But in truth, there are differences. Many. Mainly internal. Mostly unseeable. If that's even a word. I don't think it is, I see a red line....

Like I kind of feel pretty.

And I no longer feel like a Macy's Day Parade float.


And I actually want to go for a walk instead of laying around watching The Top-Secret Recently Opened Never Before Seen Undocumented Footage of Area 51 UFO Files for the 16th time in a month.

What?? The cooking channel was showing Emeril. Not a fan. No baby, give me Tyler Florence or Paula Deen or a Bobby Flay Throw Down any day...

So, that said. I am different. Not yet completely different. Or a whole new different. But well on my way.

Perhaps one day my eyes will see what it is you see.

Into the Great Wide Open

Of eating whatever you want...

Well, sort of. Okay, not really. I can eat almost anything, (Remember the 3 things? No sugar, no fried foods & no leftovers.) however, I can't eat much.

What I've tried (that is not considered 'healthy' food) and what's tried me:

Pizza:
Yes. Pizza. Not on the 3 things list is it? It was fabulous. We ordered a supreme with all the veggies. I was a little worried about the Italian sausage. Pero no problemo baby. Hey, you don't get much...maybe 1/2 of a small slice and I only ate the edge of the crust. For the rest of the slice I just ate the toppings.

Chinese food:
No luck. Or should I say no fortune cookie. Perhaps it was my choices, but my body would not have anything to do with beef pepper steak or sesame chicken. I won't give you the ugly little details, but suffice it to say it was awful. Sad.

Nachos:
Sort of...There was a bit of a difference and MUCH healthier than what you are thinking. No chips since they are fried. Black beans, tomato, zucchini, avocado, raw baby spinach & red bell pepper with low fat shredded Monterey Jack and fat free sour cream. Granted I had so little it took longer to put it together than eat it. But it felt good to have a somewhat normal meal again.

And YES, I do eat healthy foods.

Like I eat lots of chicken. Lots of salmon. Lots of oatmeal. Lots of veggies.

Okay wait, when I say lots I guess I mean I eat these foods often...okay, continue....

I love raw seeds & nuts, almond butter, spinach, tomatoes, zucchini, beans, hummus, cantaloupe, strawberries...the list goes on.

BUT I don't love these oh- so-good-for-your-body foods all the time. There are days my mind screams for a Jethro sized hunk of cake, or a mound of french fries, or a huge fat greasy cheeseburger. So very Americana.

Okay, so I can actually have all of the above, just as long as the cake has no sugar, the fries are actually just roasted potato wedges and the meat in the cheeseburger is lean with almost no bun, and they are all in minuscule, teeny-tiny, eentsy-weentsy, Barbie's little sister sized portions.

Yeah, takes the fun right out of that.

But that my friends, is the biggest battle. The hardest part of the whole journey. You have to defeat the lies your mind tells you and has told you for lo, these many years. Food doesn't equal comfort, peace, stimulation or love. Food is simply energy.

Energy that for the most part, tastes soooo good.

There is this misguided belief that because I've (or anyone else has) had surgery that this is easy. Au contraire mon fraire. Surgery is only a tool to force you towards health. I read somewhere it is only 1/4 of the answer. And the other 3/4th's are the hardest things I've ever had to do.

Yes, the weight has come off fast. Yes, I am in much better health. Yes, I am off all of the medicines I was taking (except my anti-depressants). And I wouldn't turn back now for anything in the world - the fruit of this effort has already come forth in abundance. A veritable cornucopia of blessings.

But it has been, and will continue to be, a long and difficult row to hoe. And that row will need constant tending and protection from pests, weeds, drought and me.

Isn't that ironic? I am the one who must fight, must win - yet I am the very one I am fighting against.

I must lose the fight in order for me to win. I must die in order for me to live.

Out in the great wide open, a rebel without a clue.

Off to See the Wizard

I have no clue why that movie came to mind. Well, maybe it's because I just saw my Dr. for my 6 weeks post-op follow up visit. Say that six times fast.

Everything went well - weight loss, blood work, blood pressure and so on. He seemed very happy with everything. Now that I am at 6 weeks post-op, my diet changed once again. I am so happy....

Dr. F said (read with a thick Argentinian accent) "Now you can eat anything you want. Except 3 things."

When I told my husband this part he starts quoting Monty Python's Holy Grail...
Three shall be the number thou shalt count, and the number of the counting shall be three. Four shalt thou not count, neither count thou two, excepting that thou then proceed to three. Five is right out.

Which made me laugh right out loud...

So, back to the three things I cannot eat...no sugar, no fried foods and I kid you not, no leftovers.

Go figure.

And I want to know, just do I get away with that? And who doesn't love chili or spaghetti more on the second day?

So, I am happy my food choice horizon has just opened up by like a million miles.

The other thing that made me think of the Wizard of Oz was following the yellow brick road. Or, one step at a time towards health.

Truly, if I stopped losing weight this very day and stayed here, I would not be happy number wise, but the surgery will have been a big success.

Just a few milestones:
You know I no longer take any blood pressure or blood sugar meds. But did you know?

I now walk about 3 miles a day without stopping. I started out with a half mile, stopping every once in a while. And have worked up to 3.
I can now sit (fit) in the chairs at Minute Maid Park and watch the Astros. (Ali, I saw you once asked what Minute Maid was and it's the stadium where the Houston Astros baseball team plays)
I can tie my shoes without becoming short of breath.
I can dress, shower, get out of the car, cook, talk without becoming short of breath.
I can get in the car without having to move the seat back and the steering wheel up.
I no longer have to go into the handicapped bathroom stall. TMI? Sorry. Major accomplishment.
I no longer know what size I wear. I was in a 26/28 and I only know that even a 22 is way too large.
I've reached my second small goal of weighing 250. Next goal, having lost 100 pounds.

These all may seem insignificant or small to you, but they are each one more step in the path of my transmigration.

1 Month Post-Op

Last night when the family took our walk to the park I told my daughter I wanted her to take pictures of me for my blog. She asked why and I told her tomorrow (today) is my 1 month anniversary of my surgery. Really, my husband asked. Really.



He thinks it's been much longer than that. It does feel like it at times.


So, here are my 1 month pictures (once again I apologize for the quality. These were taken by a camera phone. At 6 am. By a daughter who had emails to read.):

Still wearing black, but I did mix in some white.

Just a side shot so you can see the belly is starting to go...

Sorry, this was my momma face.

That's better...NOT.

Just so you know...I reached my 50 pound goal. As of today, March 10th I've lost...

53 pounds!!!

That is all. Thank you.

Morning Drive...Fat Not So Fat Lady Style

A couple of things hit me on the way in to work this morning...

1. I was seriously craving a glazed Shipley's Donut. My first real craving since the surgery. For those of you who don't have a Shipley's Donuts in your area, I am so sad for you. NOTHING - hear me you Krispy Kreme freaks - NOTHING compares. They are they best donut in the world. Hands down. And this morning I could taste the sugary-fried-melt-in-your-mouth-breaded-goodness in my mouth. Then I thought of the damage that one little taste of glazed euphoria could do to me and the drool dried right up. Sigh.

2. I still hear my mom's voice tearing me down. Damnit. I was putting on my make-up when I remembered something she used to say whenever she saw a large woman dress up or put on make-up "That's like trying to make a silk purse from a sow's ear." or this one: "You might as well lipstick up the cow." Here I was 14, obese and hearing this and other little snarky comments all the time. No wonder. I thought the tapes had all been erased, re-taped and singing new songs in my ears. The past will sneak back in unexpectedly won't it?

3. I passed my 50 pound mark! One small goal reached and I feel great about it. Next stop 100! Each pound is another step towards health! That said, I sat down in the driver's seat yesterday and didn't have to raise the steering wheel or move the seat back as far. That was a cool feeling.

Well, that was my morning drive in. No Starbuck's. Just Dana....

First Post-Op Dr. Visit

Wednesday was the first time I saw my surgeon since the day he told me I was going home. I was a bit nervous, excited and rather anxious - yes the day he told me I was going home...but I mean this day - to see how I was doing in their eyes.

Of course my scales and their scales differ. I normally weigh in the morning in a nightgown and they weighed me in the afternoon in jeans. So their scales said I was a little heavier than my scale at home. BUT there is only about a 5 pound difference and I am just fine with that.

Incisions look to be healing just fine. Both the largest incision (about 2 inches) and just to the right of it tend to hurt especially towards the end of the day. He said most of the operation is performed via this incision and there are quite a few stitches in the area that burn. Give it time he said.

The only bad part of the visit was that I walked in with about 5 questions in mind to ask but I walked out with none of them answered. Not because they aren't forthcoming with answers, but because I stinking forgot to ask. Even wrote the questions down. If I only had a brain.

Most of the questions came from having read so many blogs and articles, both before and after surgery, regarding Gastric Bypass and all things related. I've read and learned so much and feel more and more that my Dr.'s office isn't as informative as others. Unless you ask. However, with some of the subjects exactly how would you know to ask.

And while those blogs/articles/websites give me many answers, they also filled my mind with what does my doctor want/expect/require in regards to _____?

That said, I still think my Dr. is awesome. He is a skilled surgeon with many successes, zero mortalities and is highly esteemed in the surgical field. Not to mention he is friendly, he does not speak to you in a condescending manner, he jokes, he tells it like it is. So, while I could stand a little more information being shared, I wouldn't trade him in simply because I am the type of person who, no matter how much my doctor or his nurses tell me, I am going to do my own research on the matter.

Why am I writing this? Because if you are considering this surgery (or any kind for that matter) you have to know 1. exactly what you are getting into & 2. what you are looking for in a doctor & 3. what you are willing to do without in a doctor - because you know you will not get a perfect Doctor - like the perfect human, they don't exist.

I am almost to my 1 month post surgery date. I will post updated pictures then.

I'm also VERY close to my first 'small goal' of 50 pounds. WOO HOO!!!! I won't post pictures then....but I may post something.

Lastly I want to say, thank you everyone for your encouragement, love and support!

Day to Day So Far....

You cannot begin to imagine the ride you are about to take. I know that I've already mentioned that, but each day is a new twist and turn on the rapids.

Please don't read this as negative, it isn't. This is what it is, a life change. And at times it is truly detestable, but at others it is exultation.

One step to the next is a lesson learned and a challenge met. Or not. :)

The past two weeks have gone by tremendously slow.

Tremendously. There has been so much going on, both good and bad. There has been absolutely nothing going on good or bad. There was a return to work, which was both good and bad. And each and every stinking day there was no lost weight, which was bad. Panic began to set in. I did what every normal person does when something goes wonky - I hit the internet. C'mon we are all cyberchondriachs.

I visited various and sundry bariatric websites, blogs and on line journals. For the most part very well put together and quite informative. Others not so much.

What I learned is, that at regular intervals the body must rest. It is tired and instead of losing weight you are more than likely losing inches. Huh. Let's give that a look see shall we?

Sure enough, several pairs of pants that did not fit the week before, now slid on with ease. Ahhh. The panic scampered away and settled in the bushes waiting for the next opportunity to strike.

Despite the fact that I lost inches, the scale still needed to show me love. I am selfish and needy that way.

Alas, this morning was the first loss in two weeks and it was a whopping 6 pounds. May not seem like much, but that is a change from 12 days of nothing to one morning 6 pounds. Yes, one day. So, for me, that was quite something my friends.

I've also started attempting to eat soft foods along with my liquids. Fun. You don't know quite what will disagree with you until you try. And trust me, your body will definitely let you know.

We visited a little cafe' that was recommended to us and I ordered the baked tilapia and potatoes and green beans. There is no way I can eat even 1/8th of this meal, however everyone else in the family decides to go for the chicken fried steak. Definitely not on my menu.

Three bites of tilapia, pretty good, one small taste of potato - yes it is allowed - and boom. Throat closes up, chest feels heavy, waves of nausea and the frothing begins. Just. That. Fast.

Truly I should know better, potato has not gone over well with me before. I tried cream of potato soup and honey it was all over but the crying. Wait, I think there was some of that as well.

The nausea doesn't last long, 10 minutes or so and then you start to feel better. But you truly wish with all your heart you could take back that one bite for those 10 minutes. And for me, the oddest part is the frothing at the mouth. I think your body produces the excess of saliva in order to digest the offensive food quickly as there is no longer stomach acid.

Whatever the case, nasty business. Trade off? I can have sugar free popsicles. I can have hummus. I can have salmon. I can have a lot of things. Just not potatoes for now. I'll take it.

Well, speaking of for now I'd better go. I have rambled on long enough and I have other blogs to attend to. I am quite sure they are feeling just as neglected. I will write soon!

Week One

Well I made past seven days.

Guess I didn't really have a choice. The Lord did, but not me.

Each day has had a life of its own. Many varying degrees of emotional and physical responses and reactions.

The first day of surgery you are so medicated that everyone is your best friend and this is the greatest thing ever. Until they won't give you a damned sip of water or an ice chip to save your life.

Seriously, I felt like I had French-kissed a wool sweater for several hours on end.

The problem is, they can't give you anything to drink. They would love to if only to shut up your perpetual whining. But your stomach just met the butcher and needs a bit of rest before you subject it to some marinade.

Relief comes, sort of, soon. On the second day they wheel you down to CAT scan hand you an impossibly small bottle of vile tasting chemical that you suck down immediately because in all seriousness you are so thirsty Pine-Sol would look like the most satiating artesian water right about now.

Once they give you the good to go, you go back to your room and inhale about all the water you can. Blessed, cold, liquid, wet water. Then and only then are you able to pull the wool fibers off of your tongue.

The first meal looks like you'd expect. Chicken broth, a Popsicle, decaf tea, water and a straw. Have at it girlie. Right. You cannot truly understand that you don't have a stomach now until you think you can actually consume all of what is before you.

Several sips in to the warm delicious (yes, delicious) broth and you are FULL. Hurting full. Like you've spent several hours at the Chinese Buffet full.

The next few days are spent rather as if you had the flu. You become cold, (nice feeling actually) you are tender, you get hot, you run to the bathroom as often as you breathe, and you sleep.

Home is a welcome, yet scary sight. Scary because there are no professionals here. Just me and the family and the dogs. And they get real food.

For me the hardest days, both physically and emotionally were my first two days at home. My husband had to work, my kids were at school, I was scared, depressed and not sure of what to do with myself.

In retrospect I am glad I shopped for the vitamins and the liquid diet items before hand. It was wise to do so since you are not to once you get home. That is unless you have the constitution of a California Redwood.

A couple of shopping tips:
Don't get the usual. You will have had chicken & beef broth for breakfast, lunch and dinner for all of two days and will feel quite ready for a change. Not to mention it isn't enough, nutritionally or otherwise.

Do go to a store that has more than your usual groceries. A store such as Central Market or Whole Foods. There you will find more nutritious options as well as variety of soups that are a wonderful addition to beef and chicken bullion routine.

Do get skim milk, fat free and almost sugar free yogurt, apple or grape juice, crystal light and sugar free popsicles. These items will be great in between soup and such.

Do keep whatever protein shake powder you have. Yes, I know, after two meals a day for fourteen days of the not-so-delicious stuff you will never touch it again. But you will. And if you use skim milk to make it instead of water (even though Isopure calls for water) you will find it is actually a bit more palatable. Besides, loaded with protein and vitamins that you are not getting anywhere else.

Don't disobey. This is critical to success in all areas of this life change. But especially now when you are one, just beginning and two, your digestive track has just been traumatized beyond what you can imagine.

Do walk, walk, walk. Walking is beneficial for so many reasons, digestion, circulation, activity, family time and just plain ol' mental stimulation.

I know it is almost week two, and I am just a little behind. I will write soon, I promise!

This Is It...

Reality is a deceptive word. It seems that you know exactly what you are headed for, but later you find that the reality of then, was only what you thought it was.

Not a mirage. Not fantasy. Not even a misguided belief. More like a belief that is at each moment evolving, once blurred by thought and now sharpened by experience.

Two weeks ago, in reality, I fully realized that in 14 days I would have surgery. I knew the reality was that this surgery would absolutely change every aspect of my life - permanently. And I, being of sound mind, had done my homework thoroughly and was, or so I thought, prepared for the road ahead. No regrets, no fears, no worries.

And one week ago, in reality, I had said surgery and all things I imagined it to be, were brought in to focus and no longer what I originally thought, but now what I knew.

And then there comes a moment, when you wake up several days later, have chicken broth for breakfast for the third day in a row, have absolutely nothing you recognize as hunger for the third day in a row, have six large incisions across your belly and no idea if what you are doing is even going to work, when you say to your educated self, "Oh me, you had no clue. What have you done?"

All those so called well-informed-ideas that kept away any presentiments you might have had, go tearing out the door leaving it wide open for those nasty neighbors known as doubt to walk right in and make themselves quite comfortable. And you? You have not an inkling of what to say to them, how could you? You've never been here before.

This is not to say that I now feel some form of regret. Not at all. Just reality, sinking its sharp little claws deep into the very pit of my brain better known as the heart and the soul. The innermost being as it were.

And too, reality is a word pregnant with possibilities. Possibilities that, when given breath, put to death the shadowy doubts that cower in the corners of your mind. Possibilities have their own reality, a reality that itself evolves.

The hope of victory becomes a tangible reality one day at a time. The desire of perseverance takes yet another step on solid ground. The thought of resolve pounds in your heart one beat to the next, drumming out the whispers of what if and not you. And these realities become more and more at home in your mind than the doubts, the words of naysayers and the fleeting fears that once tried to nest.

And what was, transmigrates in to what is. And this day, this is it, this is your reality. Make it what you will.

The "S" Word

Surgery.


The big day cameth...ith.

I wasn't nervous, scared or second guessing this decision. The day was here and it all seemed so routine or methodical. Surreal is probably more what I was actually feeling. I kind of just went through the motions, no excitement, no chit-chat, rather calm and ready for whatever.

They sign you in. Take you back. WEIGH you AGAIN. Put you in your gown, your socks and lay you on a slice of cardboard big enough for Barbie and maybe, just maybe if Ken sucks it in, him too. Definitely not wide or long enough for you to relax. Go figure.

The pre-op nurse asks you a thousand questions, most of which you have answered already. Questions such as...Any allergies? How do you react to them? When was your last period? Anyone with you today? What's his name? Does he have a cell phone?

She takes your blood pressure, your temperature, and so on. And then she shivs you with a needle as big around as your finger. Don't let that little piece of pink plastic fool you. There is nothing cute or dainty about starting an I.V.

As soon as the I.V. is started they bring back whoever is with you. They tell you this a thousand times. The person who walked me to the pre-op check-in area, the receptionist at pre-op check-in, the nurse who walked me to a room to get dressed for pre-op (pre-pre-op?) and the pre-op nurse all said "Anyone with you? We will bring him back as soon as your I.V. is started."

What they don't realize is, a husband/wife/sister/mom whoever is going to wait for the next few hours with 50 strangers and their misbehaving children and or screaming babies while you go under a knife in the hands of strangers will need their caffeine.

What they also don't figure is, the cafeteria is about 10 miles away from pre-op & surgery center. NO coffee in the waiting room. WHY? Who knows. But someone needs to consider it. Because when they called my husband oh, 50 times, he was walking back from beyond-far-Egypt with his precious thimble of $2 coffee. And he ALMOST missed seeing me before surgery.

Then another person comes and asks you...Any allergies? How do you react to them? When was your last period? Anyone with you today? What's his name? Does he have a cell phone?

Then the doctor comes. I don't know what your doctor will talk to you about, but my conversation went like this:

Dr. F: Are you ready?
Me: Yes, are you?
Dr. F: I am always ready. See you in a few minutes.
Me: Okay.

That was it. We don't dance around our conversation. No small talk for us. Just down to the nitty-gritty and we're off.

Then the anesthesiologist comes to visit. He asks you a couple of questions. Questions that seem VAGUELY familiar. Repeat after me: Any allergies? How do you react to them? When was your last period? Anyone with you today? What's his name? Does he have a cell phone?

Can they NOT read a chart? I am sure it was written down somewhere at some point. See, I think they are trying to trip you up. They want to see if they can catch you in a lie or find a bit of new information you hadn't divulged in the last 6000 times you were asked these very same questions.

But I held firm. I gave them nothing they could use against me. My offish-ee-al membership in the Harriet the Spy Club was worth every one of those 83 boxtops of cereal I ate at the age of 10. Yes it was.

At this point things go a little fuzzy. Having told the anesthesiologist that anesthesia has, in the past, made me deathly ill he came in with a little happy juice for my veins. He injected it into the gaping hole that was my I.V. and I was out. Okay so fuzzy wasn't a good word for what I fest at this point. Blackness. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Lights out. I was a goner.

Woke up in my room. Okay, so here is where it is appropriate to use the word fuzzy. People came to see me. Talk to me. Called me. No memory of it. Any of it. Apparently I am quite the funny girl on pain meds. Who knew?

So that was my surgery day in a nutshell. Or in a post or whatever. I cannot promise yours will go the same. But my hopes are that it would. Uneventful and successful are good outcomes for surgery.

The hospital completely followed through with my original expectation, I had surgery. The Head Nurse/Ring Master would be so incensed to know I answered right.

Finals

They put the fear of the Surgery Nazi in you. Tell you to lose 10 pounds or else - "no surgery for you!"

They mean well. They want to see if you will follow their directions. It makes the surgery easier on the stomach. It makes the transition to a purely liquid diet that much easier. Lowers your health risks, yada yada yada.

So, I knew the Big W-day was drawing close. My old fears and long ago fought battles rose up out of their shallow graves and laughed their ghostly heads off right in front of me. Did I lose enough? What if I gain 3 pounds overnight. Better skip a protein shake until after weigh in. Wrong. Wrong. WRONG!

My stupid scale at home wasn't helping the mental matters either. My clothes were a bit baggy. I was feeling a bit lighter. But my scale showed me very little love. So, rather than give in and be defeated I went to another scale. And another. And glory be, I'd lost 20 pounds!

Forget a bit baggy, suddenly my pants were about to fall off.

So, I headed off to the hospital ready to jump through all the final pre-op hoops with confidence tucked neatly under my arm. They have their circus act down pat. In this ring you pee in a cup. In this ring you give a little blood. And in this ring you have an EKG.

Then the ring master walks in. Uh oh...

I hate this part. I am always afraid I am going to answer something wrong. It's too much like a test...

Head Nurse/Ring Master: What is your religion?

Me: Um...Christian?

Head Nurse/Ring Master: *staring at me*

Me: Baptist?

Head Nurse/Ring Master: *writing and talking* Christian.

I'm thinking dang, that was a few points off.

This one was my favorite by far:

Head Nurse/Ring Master: What do you expect from your hospital stay?

Me: Um, surgery?

Head Nurse/Ring Master: We are not amused. Of course you will have surgery. What do you expect?

Me: Good care?

Dang, I am so failing this...

Head Nurse/Ring Master: No one knows how to answer that question.

Well at least I am in the 100 percentile there.

Head Nurse/Ring Master: Are you allergic to anything?

Me: Yes, codeine, morphine, vicodin.

Head Nurse/Ring Master: *disbelieving tone, looks over top of glasses* What do they do to you?

Me: Chest pains, rash, heart racing, short of breath?

Head Nurse/Ring Master: *impressed* Okay.

Me: Whew.

The Ring Master lets me leave the interrogation. I'm off to see the trapeze artists next.

No kidding. Having an x-ray is really like that. Hold on to the bar over your head, deep breath in, lift your leg, swing! Now, turn this way, flip, deep breath in and swing!

Can I have some pop-corn now? Where are those stinking clowns cause this ain't funny anymore.

After two hours of that I headed off to the Surgery Nazi camp and waited for the call. And waited. And waited...

Finally my time had come. I weighed in and met with Dr. F.


Two thumbs up. I'd lost 22 pounds, all my tests went well and so on.

I asked what my results were from the hospital tests. He said I passed with a 94.

An A!

I think six points were taken off for being Baptist.

Green at the Gills

Here's the thing, this isn't in any way easy. Don't be fooled by thinking it is. I am talking mostly to myself when I say this. You see those before and after shots. You watch those Discovery Channel documentaries. You do your homework and research this thing through to the nth degree. And you think you are prepared. You have no idea.


Two weeks. Two meals. Nasty shakes. Well, kind of nasty. The dutch chocolate is many miles better than the vanilla.


It isn't so much that you are hungry. You just have to keep drinking the same stuff over and over. And over and over. At this point in the game, nine days and eighteen shakes into it, I would trade a shake for some overcooked spinach. Wait, let me rethink that....


But again, I am determined. And this is what it takes. I just want you to be fully aware that this is one of the hardest things you will ever do and this is only the beginning.

Shaking My 'Tude

Fair warning: This post is very frank. Deal with it.

So.

I started the liquid diet.

(Two meals replaced with a protein shake every day for two weeks.)

And at the same time I started the antibiotics.
(1000 mg of Amoxicillin & 500 mg of Biaxin taken with Prevacid twice a day.)

And at the same time I started my period. And to top it off, despite the fact that I've eaten yogurt EVERY day, I am starting to get a yeast infection. Oh great.

Can you say 'miserable', children? I knew you could.

Needless to say, I am not feeling my best nor am I behaving my best. I have an attitude from hell.

Days 1 & 2. I am determined to carry on. This is nothing in the scheme of things. I am not hungry in any way, in fact I have a problem trying to finish the shake. But as well all know, hunger often has nothing to do with why we eat. To top it off, I have a very bad attitude towards everyone and everything. Perhaps this is a combination of carb detox and my period. The shakes are not horribly tasting, but they are in no way delicious. And I guess they aren't really meant to be. Of course the antibiotics leave a strong metallic taste in my mouth and that probably does not help.

A few tricks I have learned:

Add half ice cubes half water. Put everthing in the blender, blend well and then pour into a shakeable container. Then place in the freezer for 30 minutes or so. When you take it out shake well.

You can leave it in a bit longer (in a cup otherwise it will freeze inside the bottle and you won't be able to eat it) and eat it like an ice milk.

Add a small spoonful of instant coffee and half a packet of splenda. (to the dutch chocolate flavor.)

Add bitter fruit to the vanilla or dutch chocolate, such as blackberries or raspberries.

For some reason drinking it through a straw makes it easier to go down.

Day 3. Attitude slightly better, although I feel shaky and weak today. I am having a problem with nausea. This is primarily due to the antibiotics I know, but it isn't making chugging down 10 ounces of brown vitamin sludge any easier. We went to the grocery store and that was a challenge. Throw me in front of a bus why don't ya? But once I think about the effect this food will now have on the outcome of my surgery, on the progress I've made thus far and the mental effect - in other words one taste of the forbidden - I am able to look away. This was a small triumph that I celebrated with, you guessed it, a protein shake.

Days 4 & 5. Muuuuuch better. Better attitude. Better feeling. Better day at work. Shakes still stink, but oh well. I am doing good. The only time I get hungry is before lunch. Then I eat a big salad with chicken and I feel so much better. I get full faster at lunch as well. I weighed myself on day 5 and I've lost 10 pounds. THAT makes me smile.

I guess I will take this part of the challenge one chug of protein shake at a time.

2 Weeks and Counting

In just two weeks I will have my surgery. These past few days, and I am sure the ones to come, have been like awaiting the birth of a long hoped for child. A new beginning. A new life. Expectation for the future.

I want to be clear that I in no way perceive or believe weight loss surgery to be the magical solution to all my weight issues. That would be a foolish belief. And momma didn't raise no fool. The one analogy that I've used with people is that this surgery is more like a bundle of dynamite. Not enough to take down the whole mountain, but enough to make the mountain a bit more manageable.

Nice to compare myself to a mountain right? Well I've heard worse about me. I've said worse about me! And that is way up there on the list of things I will not miss. The stares, the comments, the snickers...(snide laughing, not the candy bar I will miss those).

I've been on both sides of the women's department so to speak. Having lived for many years as a size 8 to 12, I know what gets said of those in the 18+ sizes. And no not everyone is childish and mean, but there are some very mean spirited people in the world. Folks who have no clue what it's like to walk in a size 22 outfit. People who think the 22's need to have a little self discipline, push away from the buffet table and stop having a side of beef with a gallon sized milkshake for lunch.

But no one could be as mean to me as I am was. It is was probably more of a protective measure than self loathing - you know, I make a fat comment/joke to let you know that I know you are thinking along those same lines. That way you don't have a chance to hurt me I've already done that.

I look forward to working on letting that go. I will be losing and gaining at the same time.

This week was spent taking various medical tests and that along with much busyness at work helped the week to pass quickly. There was bloodwork, and echo cardiograms and more blood work and so on.

Test results are all in. I have very mild sleep apnea, not enough to warrant a machine. Which I am glad about since I understand the cpap machines can run expensive. My heart is very healthy, all things considered. My blood did show me to have an infection, taken care of easily enough with antibiotics.

This week I will start the liquid diet in order to lose weight before my surgery date. Yes you read that right, I will need to lose weight before I have the surgery. Only 10 to 15 pounds. Why? Because just that little bit will reduce the risk of surgery on my morbidly obese body. It is also shown to help speed recovery and increase weight loss during the first year. My doctor recommends Isopure protein powder which comes in Dutch chocolate, mmm yummy. I am trying to psyche myself up here folks!

I am hoping it tastes half-way edible. I've heard it said "Nothing tastes as good as thin." That is a load of...and that person's momma couldn't cook. There is a lot of stuff that tastes better than thin. If that were true, we'd all be thin. Now, I am not aiming for thin. No way honey, I did that for too many years with tragic results.

I am aiming straight for healthy.

Testing, Testing 1...2...3

Last night I had to go in for a sleep study. Seems that I snore. So loud that metaphors such as "dynamiting a mountain" and "bringing down a forest" and my absolute favorite "Darth Vader" have been tossed about as a comparison.

So before I go under the knife my surgeon wants to make sure I don't have sleep apnea. At first I was afraid this would make me an unlikely candidate for the surgery, but then I understood this was a protective measure.

I arrived around 9 pm, already 30 minutes past my bedtime. I was quite ready for sleep at that point but I wouldn't have the opportunity for several hours.

We waited, my family and I, for quite a bit of time in the room that was to be my bedroom for the night. We waited and we waited.

The room was nice, rather like a set up at a furniture store, fake plants and all. The bed seemed to be sleep-worthy, but still not my bed. Located in an office building it was quite obvious that this was once someone's workplace. Only now there's a bed. And a video camera. And a loudspeaker. And a motherboard. And a fan. THANK GOD for the fan!

Questions ran through my mind. Questions like, what if I pass gas? (Seriously!) What if I talk in my sleep? (Am I an entertaining sleep conversationalist?) What if I have to go to the bathroom and I am connected to the motherboard? (Do not wet the bed.) I was worried most about the bathroom. Just the slightest possibility of having to hold it all night made me visit the facilities 3 or 4 times before they locked it up tight.

My family left and finally she came and began to attach all the wires. And I thought finally I will be able to get some rest! Right. So, if you've never had a sleep study you'll want to know that you are attached to a box with wires coming out of almost every possible spot on your body. A connection beside each eye. A connection on each leg. A connection on each side of your chest. A connection on your neck, your chin and your jaw. Behind each ear and right on the top of your forehead. And eight glued to your scalp all around your head. A pulse oximeter on your finger. And finally a sensor that sits on your top lip and fits inside each nasal. This is in order to sense the heat of the breath coming out of your nose.

Once she got me all wired up the fun began. Apparently the machine wasn't reading anything. Insert brain dead joke here. Despite her many attempts and pleadings the machine refused to work. Plan B, move to another room. Except we had the same problem in there. She switched this, reattached that, wiggled something else and turned herself about.

I think the turning herself about did it because Houston, we had liftoff. Whew, I sigh. Not yet says the motherboard who apparently had more tricks to pull out of its sleeve. Plan C we move back to the other room and try a few more dance moves. This impressed the motherboard and we finally began the test. It was midnight.

Problem #1. I was no longer sleepy. Problem #2. I was in pain. Problem #3. I had to pee. Dang. I tossed and turned and would just about drift off and sleep was snatched from me by the sleep mugger. I must have finally drifted off because when I thought I just couldn't hold it one more second she said she would be more than happy to come unplug me, let her stop the test. She came in and I asked what time it was, she said 6 am and I had given her some lovely snoring. Lovely.

We went home and I slept all day. That is really going to mess me up tonight. But I couldn't help it. It was my bed, my sheets, my home and best of all I could go pee whenever I wanted.

Aria Overture

This is me....

And this...

Oh and this...

Apparently I think black is slimming...

My name is Dana. I am a mother of 4, wife, friend, wannabe writer and 315 pound woman and I am about to have gastric bypass surgery.

Like most people who are morbidly obese, weight has always been an issue. Always. I cannot remember a day in my life that I've not worried about the numbers on the scale and on the tag of my clothes. For much of my life, despite the efforts of many, both the happiness I felt and the quality of life I enjoyed were relative to those insignificant digits.

So much so, that for 13 years I offered up my soul for servitude in the hopes to have the happiness I just knew waited on the other side of 5 pounds less. The demon from hell I offered it to - bulimia - held me down and stripped me of control and freedom and held me on a very short chain of idolatry, squeezing my spirit until it was bled of every drop of dignity.

Salvation from this has been my hardest fought battle.

The months after recovery were slow, however the weight came on quickly. It's not that I ate so much, it was that I ate and kept it down. I ate and didn't exercise for 4 hours. I ate and had no laxatives to follow. And my body was tired from years of subjugation. Very tired.

I've tried to lose weight in the years since my recovery. I would have some slight measure of success, only to end up right back where I started or even heavier.

Then my blood pressure began to creep up. I now take 2 blood pressure medicines to keep it under control.

Then the depression flared again. I now take medicine for that as well.

Then two years ago I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia. Not a condition that is weight related, however, it does tend to exacerbate the symptoms.

At the same time I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia, my blood sugar must have felt left out because it began to have itself a fit and I was diagnosed as a diabetic.

And then I turned 40. Lovely.