Gastric Bypass Barbie

Hot Air Balloons, Regain, & Ruby Red Slippers (Oh, My!)

This morning, while Enrique Elliptical and I were having our 45 minutes of cardio together, I got a visual of myself rising up into the air (like a balloon). I was frantically kicking and flailing my arms in a feeble attempt to stay on the ground, but no matter what I did, I couldn’t stop myself from drifting away.

Then, I visualized Dorothy, from the Wizard of Oz. Remember how she got into the basket of the hot air balloon with the Great Oz, after he promised to take her back home? Remember how Toto jumped out at the last second, forcing her to dive right out after him? Of course, we all know what happened next: The balloon drifted away because it didn’t have enough sand bags to weight it down. No matter what Dorothy did, she could not stop it from happening.

Though the entire movie, she tried heroically to get home, but once she missed that balloon, we were all convinced that she’d be stuck in Oz forever. That is, of course, until Glenda (the Good Witch) returned to tell her that she’s always had the power to go home; all she had to do was wish hard enough and click her ruby red slippers together.

So, how does this little tale apply to me in my Bariatric After Life™? Well, the runaway balloon represents weight regain. Remember how I said that I’d visualized myself floating away, unable to keep my feet on the ground? Remember how Dorothy couldn’t keep that balloon on the ground either?

As it turns out, the balloon (and all of the things Dorothy tried in Oz) represented OUTWARD forces – things that were OUT OF HER CONTROL. The ruby red slippers were the manifestation of all that was INSIDE; her INWARD FORCES. Ultimately, she needed to fail at all of her externally motivated attempts so she could finally see that, only by looking inside herself, would she be able to achieve her dream of returning home.

This is what codependency is all about; the idea that we are affected by and seek answers from outward forces, when we really should be looking WITHIN.

What I realized after this little movie played out in my head was this: I have the power to control my weight regain. I am not a hot-air balloon that is leaving without me — I am Dorothy who knows there is NO PLACE LIKE HOME because I have always been there. I’ve always had the control to be where I most wanted to be — and that’s where I stand today.

Today, I had to remember that I have the God-given power within me to achieve whatever I need to achieve – and I don’t need a wise and powerful Oz to live a healthy and happy bariatric after life.

It’s such a simple lesson, it’s hard to believe I ever missed it. But, I guess life is made up of lots of simple answers – which I just like to make more complicated.

Hey, I think I need a pair of cute little ruby red pumps. Uh, so I can always find my way home.

Stairs

In my “before” life, I was terrified of stairs. This fear was NOT without basis, as I had fallen down my share of them and ended up with some pretty nasty (though not permanent) injuries. Interestingly, I had also fallen “up” them (which is a whole other situation). Either way, stairs were my nemesis and I avoided them at all cost.

If there were stairs to climb, I’d take the escalator or elevator.
If there were stairs to descend, and there were no other options, I’d white-knuckle it. One. Step. At. A. Time.

Heck, I had trouble with even ONE stair, as evidenced by two falls out of my motor home!

Poor MexiKen was utterly traumatized by my stair episodes, and still holds his breath when he sees me going up or down them. (Old habits die hard.)

Anyway, the point of the stairs is, before my bariatric surgery, they USED to represent horrible things to me:

• Fear
• Pain
• Trauma
• Effort
• Exhaustion

But, this weekend, as I explored Cincinnati with total abandon (and not the slightest hint of terror at the sight of a flight of stairs), I realized that stairs now mean something entirely different to me.

They now represent good things, like:

• Adventure
• Possibility
• Challenge
• New Heights
• Unexplored Treasures
• Beautiful Vistas
• Conquering
• Success

I’ve come to the conclusion that stairs are really just a metaphor for my weight loss journey. When I weighed 316 pounds, all I could see was a never-ending flight of stairs — hundreds and hundreds of steps between me and a healthy body. Taking the first step was unimaginable; scaling all of them would be impossible.

Before, all I could see was the totality of the stairs; an entire staircase.



Now, as I continue to ascend the steps — but for different reasons — I see each step as growth and opportunity. But, of course, this is all about perspective. I have a much different view of my life from up here.

For example, now when I struggle with 2-5 pounds, I realize that they are just “steps” — not an entire STAIRCASE. All I have to do is step UP, and I’m back to where I want to be. I don’t have to scale the entire thing like I did before.

And that is where the perspective comes in. The mistake I have made in the past is looking at the entire flight of stairs as if I had to get to the top in one step, rather than walking up — one, by one. Of course it seemed insurmountable to me. Of course I didn’t believe I could do it. Even at my best, I can still only take 2 steps at a time — and I’m in pretty good shape!

What I’ve learned in my Bariatric After Life™ is this:

• Stairs can represent something negative or something positive; I choose positive.
• Stairs can bring me to amazing new heights and wonderful adventures.
• Stairs can take me to places I would never have imagined I’d be
• Stairs can help me see things from a perspective I could never dreamt existed.
• Stairs are no longer my enemy; they are my friend. I know it sounds weird, but it’s all true.

This past weekend, in Cincinnati, I climbed up and down so many stairs, and experienced so many wonderful things. I met amazing people and saw beautiful views. I grew as a person, all because I stopped fearing the stairs, and chose to embrace them, instead.

My Emotional Garage (and a bunch of bariatric boxes)

I don’t know about you, but our garage is the picture of semi-organized chaos. Now, this is no swipe at MexiKen, because he does the best can to keep a crap load of…well, crap arranged (after a fashion) in a mere 400 square feet of space. In all honestly, I rarely set foot in the garage, mostly because there isn’t much room to move around, but also because I’m afraid of what I’ll find…or what will find me!

Remember that I Love Lucy episode where they moved to the country, but had to store all of their junk in the Mertz’s apartment until the house became available? Yeah, that’s our garage, except that we have a small pathway that leads to the extra refrigerator (where I store all of my Protein Blitzs, Propel Waters and Labrada Lean Body RTDs).

The point is, our garage is filled with a ton of stuff. There’s stuff I’ve forgotten we had, stuff I never KNEW we had, stuff that isn’t ours, and stuff that has clearly begun to generate its OWN stuff. I have no idea where things are or why they are even there. Except for the beach chairs, the bikes, the ice chests, boxes of Christmas decorations (MexiKen is Mr. Christmas, trust me) and these little display cabinets where he keeps his miniature car and airplane collection “for his future grandson.”

That’s about all I know.

Don’t ask me where my wedding dress is (I don’t wanna talk about it), or where my high school memory boxes went. Don’t ask me who owns the jumbo Rubbermaid storage bins, those two mattresses, the futon, the ugly end tables, or the lamps without lamp shades. And DON’T ask me what’s up in the overhead rafters. I don’t WANT to know.

My point is, I couldn’t tell you about everything in my garage if my life depended upon it, which is unfortunate, because the state of my garage is really metaphoric to my emotional self in the Bariatric After Life™.

Hmmmm….You didn’t see that coming, did you?

Let me explain.

This morning, I had one of those “D’oh!” moments, where I realized that I was doing something seemingly innocuous, but which was most likely responsible for some nagging pounds I’ve been trying to shed.

Before I tell you what I was doing, let me paint a picture of how my emotional self (garage) looks.

Since I was born, I’ve been shoving stuff into my emotional garage. In the beginning, I’m pretty sure I wasn’t putting things in there in any sort of logical way, but over time (probably as space began to run out), I took greater care in how I jammed stuff in. Think “Tetris” and you’re getting close. I’d see an opening that “looked” like a perfect fit for an emotion, and cram it in, not caring what I was burying in the process. I mean, maybe I “needed” something that I’d carelessly relegated to the bottom layer. In the back. Maybe I “needed” to combine that thing just out of reach with the new thing I was bringing in. Maybe I needed to get rid of some of the junk that was accumulating. But, who would ever KNOW? Maybe OTHER PEOPLE were cramming stuff into my emotional garage without my knowledge. Maybe those people were also TAKING stuff out of my emotional garage (when I wasn’t even having a yard sale!)

The point is, much like the garage in my house, my emotional garage is packed to the gills with heaven-knows-what, and even though I have been cleaning and cleaning and cleaning, there’s still stuff I haven’t reached yet (and aren’t aware of). On the one hand, I have tossed out a TON of emotional garbage; on the other, I’ve unearthed emotional garbage, but set it aside when I wasn’t ready to decide whether to keep it or pitch it.

Of course, just when I feel like my emotional garage is in order, I turn around and look in the driveway, where I see all of that stuff I took out, but haven’t dealt with yet. (Okay, if this sounds a bit like something that actually happened with my physical garage, it is. We actually ended up with stuff for 4 other people in our garage, because they died and there was no place to put everything.) Ahhh, that brings up an interesting point: Why were we willing to take on OTHER people’s stuff, without really considering how it would impact our EXISTING stuff? Was it because we felt we HAD to? The plot thickens. Fortunately, we have successfully divested ourselves of a healthy 75% of the stuff, but we still have plenty more to contend with. And, SOON!

But, I digress (as usual). Back to my emotional garage.

While I’ve been cleaning my garage, I’ve gotten a tad lazy in my decision making about what I’m going to keep and what I’m going to pitch. One of the things I’ve “thrown away” (at LEAST 10 times) in the past three years is: COFFEE. Now, I realize that coffee is not everyone’s enemy, but I happen to know, it is not MY friend. That being the case, I continue to welcome it in with open arms, encouraging it to stay as long as it wants — while storing everything that comes with it in my emotional garage. That includes stuff like dry creamer, Splenda and now, protein. (Because, of course, I got tired of Coffee’s company and thought I could make it healthier by dumping in protein.) Apparently, in my mind, protein cures all evils.

Okay, time for the “D’oh!” moment.

A few months ago, I fully recognized what I was doing to myself, every time I carelessly tossed in more partially-hydrogenated-corn-syrup solids and artifical-chemical-laden-sweetening agents. Not only was I adding unnecessary calories, I was ratcheting up my threshold for “sweetness,” while pouring caffeine into my body (instead of water.) Yes, I even tried to justify it as a liquid. So, I stopped drinking it.

That lasted for a week.

And then, I got a bunch of RTD protein that I wasn’t crazy about drinking, but needed to use. So, as I often do, I deluded myself into believing that I could throw two rocks at one bird, making the coffee “healthy,” while not “wasting” the sorta-yucky-by-itself RTD. Sounds reasonable, right? How smart of me!

So, I was off to the races.

• Hey, I can knock back 40 GRAMS OF PROTEIN before I even leave the house each morning!
• Hey! I can add at least 20 GRAMS OF PROTEIN when my energy is flagging in the afternoon!
• Hey! I didn’t factor this into everything else I was already consuming every day.

Uh-oh.

So, I was gleefully (and willingly) ADDING about 60 (at least!) grams of protein to my daily consumption — and NOT allowing for the CALORIES THAT ACCOMPANIED those protein grams.

Here’s where the lightbulb hit me square in the noggin this morning:

I HAVE BEEN CONSUMING ABOUT 500 EXTRA CALORIES A DAY WITH PROTEIN COFFEE.

How does that sound, people? Does that sound like someone who is in this maintenance game for the long run? Does this sound like someone who was killing herself on the elliptical each morning, JUST so she could keep pace with the extra (wasted) calories coming in each day? What about the mornings I DIDN’T work out? Huh? How do I explain THAT?

Well…it *does* explain the pesky pounds….I have been feeding them a steady diet of proteinated-coffee-in-the-name-of-thriftiness-and-resourcefulness.

And WHY was I doing this? Because I decided to shove that particular behavior back into my emotional garage, without any regard for what was already in there.

Fortunately, it’s never too late to fix a problem like this, so this morning, the very instant I put 2-and-500 together, I realized that I didn’t NEED my (usual-every-day) protein shake (and the 300 calories that went with it), because I’d already CONSUMED about 400 calories before 9 AM.

That was the first step.

The second step was to eliminate the reduced fat cheese from my mid-morning snack of black beans. The third step (as I sit here drinking a NON-proteinated-mug-o-coffee), is to NOT drink another cup of this stuff (with or without protein) later today.

You know what? Progress doesn’t always happen in gigantic forward motions. Sometimes, you have to take a few steps back — you know, step outside of the garage — so you can see what you’re really dealing with.

Life is not limited to the boxes in one small corner; it is the totality of everything you’ve stored up (whether you KNOW it’s there, or not).

I can tell you this: Tomorrow morning, I will NOT be adding protein to my ONE cup of coffee, and I WILL add Almond Breeze, instead of dry creamer.

I am going to continuing cleaning (and clearing) my emotional garage – but, I’m gonna be a LOT more stringent on what I’m willing to put back inside!!!

What does your emotional garage look like? Are you ready for a mental yard sale?

Rocket Ships & Purple Apes

This morning, while I was talking to Jim, I came up with (what I believe to be) two, profound analogies –– or are they metaphors? I can’t tell, so I will use them interchangeably –– for my for my Bariatric After Life™. The first analogy explains how I got to where I am, and the second explains how I will get to where I want to be.

Before I tell you what they are, understand that I’m absolutely certain they are not novel, and they have probably been written up in HUNDREDS of self-help books on the subject of “finding your authentic self.” But, since I’m not much of a reader (ironic, considering I’m a writer), I haven’t stumbled across them, so they are unique (and wonderful) to me.

Hopefully, they will be to you, too.

ANALOGY #1: My Colors

Since I’ve been voraciously reading (I know, ME, right? Didn’t we just talk about how I don’t read? Okay, sometimes I do…) a short, little, simple book that Yvonne (Bariatric Girl) generously gave me about a month ago (title withheld for now…), I’ve come to the conclusion that, a) I am co-dependent, and b) my inner child was wounded in ways I never imagined. With that said, I got to wondering what I would be like now “IF” certain things hadn’t transpired in my life. I likened it to painting on a big canvas or piece of paper (or wall, in my daughter’s case…LOL).

As a child, I’m certain I had a palette of favorite colors that I used to define my world. The way in which I used those colors was uniquely ME. It was my own style, method and creation. The reason I know this is the truth is because I distinctly remember an event in Kindergarten. I was 4-1/2 (December birthday) and I was coloring my “A, Ape” page with a purple crayon because I thought the brown was ugly, and I didn’t like the black. The teacher “helpfully” asked me if I “knew what color an ape” was. “Yes…,” I timidly replied. “Well, why did you color your ape PURPLE?” she “helpfully” asked (in what I interpreted to be an accusatory tone).

By this time, it was clear to me that I had committed an offensible crime, punishable by (what I was certain would be) a paddling when I returned from lunch. I never understood why some people got paddled when they came back from lunch, and I thought it was a “random” thing. Who knew you’d only get paddled if you broke a rule (like not eating everything in your lunchbag, or coloring your ape purple)? I felt this was really unfair because LOTS of kindergarteners left at lunchtime, which left us “full-dayers” directly in the line of “paddle-fire.” And, besides…what if I had lost my black and brown crayons? Then what?

Anyway, the point of this story is that gradually, people in my life added THEIR colors to MY palette, and they began to tell me how I SHOULD be using my colors. (Case in point: Ape = Black or Brown; Not Purple). Eventually, most of my colors and style were replaced by someone else’s, yet I internalized them as my own. In other words, I began to falsely believe that they were my colors, and that how I was living my life (or seeing the world), was my own, unique style.

This pattern continued as I took art class in Junior High. We had to do pen and ink drawings, but being left-handed, I couldn’t use the pen because the nib would always splay and cause the ink to splatter. I got marked down for not doing my art “properly.” Lesson learned: Art has rules.

In case you are keeping score, by this time in my life, I had learned:

a) Apes are not purple.
b) Art must be done a certain way.
c) Left-handed people cannot draw.

Okay, so I adapted. I didn’t pursue art because I couldn’t “do” it properly, and I clearly used the wrong colors. Well, as literal as the art thing is, the conceptual part is that there were lots and lots and lots of things I didn’t pursue or didn’t do, period, or just did differently because I was afraid to get in trouble. I was afraid to express myself incorrectly.

Ultimately, I guess I learned how to be *uniquely me*, according to someone else’s rules – a fact which clearly went on to play a starring role in my insatiable desire to attain control.

Since I couldn’t control anything *else* in my life, I destructively decided to control FOOD. Good plan.

So, now I’m working to rediscover my authentic colors and style in an effort to return balance to my life and beat the desire to binge. I don’t know where this will take me, or what things I’ll have to do to make this happen, but I’m eagerly waiting — box of crayons in front of me (most of them broken and kinda flat, and many colors missing…that’s just how I am), and a whole ream of clean, white paper to draw on. Maybe I’ll practice really, really drawing again. Hmmm…That’s a thought.

METAPHOR #2: Rocket Ships

I was watching a show on the history of NASA and the astronauts, and one of the things I remember from an episode with Buzz Aldrin (yes, mom, I spelled it correctly this time), was his description of what it felt like to blast off from the launch pad in a Saturn 5 rocket. As he described it, it was not a smooth ride at all. Rather, it was a frightening, quivering, forceful event, comprised of a colossal amount of noise and constant adjustment. He said that there were these thrusters that were really just massive gyroscopes, and each one had the job of keeping the rocket STRAIGHT. You see, rockets don’t just have one, really big exhaust flume — they have a lot of little jets that fire and spin to create the perfect alignment for lift-off. Buzz said it felt like he was sitting on a spinning top, and the crew was never really sure if they were going to clear the tower, because of all the leaning and constant correct.

See, it’s the job of the thrusters to control the upward motion of the rocket — this one shoots harder than that one, this one points that why, while this one tilts the other way… Sometimes a thruster has to exert less power to allow another to compensate. Have you ever seen footage of rockets that blast off, then veer directly into the ground? Problem with the gyro boosters…

Are you getting the picture? Like life, lift-off is NOT just a solid thrust of power, followed by an endless orbit! It is a series of corrections (and over-corrections!)

Now, here’s where this applies to my Bariatric After Life: Up until this morning, I mistakenly believed that my energy had to be channeled or focused into a single flume; but now I realize I need to distribute it over many, many “gyroscopic boosters” (for lack of a better expression), in order to keep me pointing in the right direction. I can’t just focus on “this” or “that;” I have to look at all of the energy sources and all of the energy requirements, and get them working together with the requisite “give and take.”

But, there’s more to this little metaphorical analogy! Remember how I’d mentioned that “restlessness” thing I’d learned from a fellow blogger? She’d wisely explained that the source of her desire to eat was directly related to her feeling of restlessness — not boredom! She felt that “recovery” would come from learning to “be okay” with the restlessness; learning to sit with it, until it dissipated.

Well, thanks to something brilliant that Jim said (as an aside, really…I swear, he doesn’t say much, but when he says SOMETHING, you’d better listen!) — he mentioned that he is also restless, and what he tries to do is FOCUS that energy into positive activities.

Did you read that clearly?

FOCUS. THAT. ENERGY.

Not wait for it to dissipate.
Not try to quell it or quiet it.

FOCUS IT.

Hmmm…Guess what? My RESTLESSNESS IS ENERGY (nervous, anxious, whatever you want to call it — but it IS energy.) This is completely OPPOSITE of listlessness! What a GIFT I’ve been given! I actually HAVE energy, I don’t need to FIND energy!

So, armed with that knowledge, and my newly minted rocket-ship analogy (or is that simile? I keep getting these metaphors mixed up), I am filled with powerful knowledge that should help me to conquer (or at least wrest control of) my binge problem. It’s not really about understanding it at all. It’s about using the energy I already have to overcome it.

Then I can focus on the more important things in life…like painting my ape purple, if I wanna.

Obsessively addicted to shows about obsessive addictions

I watch Intervention and Obsession on A&E all the time. I think I might be obsessively addicted to them, and I don’t know if that’s a good thing, or a bad thing.

As a food addict and a binger, I see a lot of myself in the people on the shows, and sometimes it scares me. I find myself wishing that I could be swept away to some 30- or 90-day recovery program where I could kick the food habit, once and for all. But, I realize that’s not going to happen and, at least as far as I can tell, my friends and family are not covertly planning any “meetings” for me….

You know, the dangerous thing about being a gastric bypass person who is also a bingeing food addict is that it’s easy to “justify” my addiction by telling myself things like:

• I don’t hurt my family
• I’m not spending money I don’t have on junk food
• No one is affected by my addiction
• My addiction is not illegal
• I can do my addiction in front of anyone, and I won’t get arrested
• I need food to live, but other addicts can survive without alcohol, drugs, gambling or shopping.

In other words, I tell myself all kinds of lies (with varying degrees of truth to them), and I come out being a good person who just so happens to like to eat too many (insert junk food item here) sometimes.

I guess what I’m saying is, whenever I watch Intervention or Obsession, I find myself shaking my head and talking to the TV, reacting to the absurd things that come out of addicts’ (and their loved ones’) mouths. I say things like,

“Are you KIDDING ME? You think you aren’t hurting anybody but yourself?”
“You think your addiction/obsession is your own problem?”
“You think giving the addict money or turning the other way is showing them love?”

Oh boy. it’s so clear when I see it on TV, and then then instant the self-incrimination starts to set-in, I just conveniently press the “Play” button on the internal recording. Then, everything is okay again.

“I don’t look like those people.”
“I don’t do as much as I did when I weighed 316 pounds”
“I’m not spending money on my addiction; I’m just eating what’s in the cabinet.”
“I am in therapy, so I don’t need an intervention”
“I am not doing anything illegal.”

Somewhere in that mess is the truth, and I’m unearthing it, one, ugly lie at a time. It’s a painful process, and sometimes it takes everything I’ve got NOT to feel like a failure. But then, I have a really good series of days where the Carb Monster is not lurking around every corner, and I’m on the top of my game, eating right, working out, and feeling good. Like today.

How could I be an addict if I still have a job, a life, hobbies and normal social interactions?

Isn’t *THAT* the big question? Stay tuned…

What do you mean, “BARIATRIC LIFESTYLE?”

A lot of people ask me, “Hey, Barbie — just what do you mean when you say you follow a ‘Bariatric Lifestyle?’”

First of all, there’s really nothing magical or mysterious about my definition; it’s pretty straightforward. Following a Bariatric Lifestyle means I am committed mentally, emotionally, spiritually and physically to honoring (as closely as possible) the guidelines, practices, habits and behaviors that will help me to successfully maintain the weight I lost after bariatric surgery.

Obviously, some days/weeks are better than others, but as long as I renew my commitment regularly by revisiting the basics, refocusing on what matters most — be it protein, vitamins and supplements, exercise, or charitable activities – I know that I will not secretly, quietly, unwittingly, deceptively or unintentionally slip back into the life I led BEFORE bariatric surgery.

Now, clearly, everyone’s “bariatric lifestyle” is different, because every BODY is different and, what “I” call a bariatric lifestyle might not be someone else’s definition. Furthermore, there are many people who will say, “But, BARBIE, there’s no such THING as a bariatric lifestyle! I don’t follow one at all! I just _____”

Well, to me, the “____” IS the bariatric lifestyle IF what you are doing is helping maintain the weight you lost after surgery. I mean, you’re either living a changed life, or you’re not. I’d go so far as to consider that the percentage to which your life has changed is directly proportional to the percentage of excess weight you are managing to keep off!

Consider this: If any one of us had done as pre-ops what we have learned to do as post-ops — and maintained those behaviors — we most likely would not have needed bariatric surgery in the first place. But, I know in my case, I simply wasn’t ABLE to. My body’s messages were seductive, destructive and downright impossible to ignore. I was a prisoner to my physiology and had adapted my psychology to perpetuate my obese condition. Even if I had WANTED to live a bariatric lifestyle BEFORE, I wouldn’t have been able to; trust me, I tried.

In MY case, what I did PRE-surgically (before) is radically different from what I do POST-surgically (after). This is due, in no small part, to the dramatic physiological changes that have transpired within my body (the messages my brain sends are different). SO, I’ve have changed my behaviors and have undergone a massive mental and emotional transformation. I am quite simply a DIFFERENT PERSON now (in the Bariatric After Life™) than I was before.

Now, don’t go parsing my words and looking for reasons that I am wrong in my personal definition. You can have yours and I can have mine and they do not need to be the same. AND, don’t try to tell me I don’t have a bariatric lifestyle, just because you say you don’t.

Ultimately, obesity is a multi-faceted problem with no easy (or permanent solution). I get it.

By my (personal) definition, the life that I am CHOOSING to live NOW is a Bariatric After Life. Should I (God forbid) someday decide to abandon the principles I’ve learned to keep me active, fit and healthy, then I will more than likely return to my morbidly obese state. In other words, I will no longer be living a bariatric lifestyle. It’s just that simple.

So, that’s MY definition of a bariatric lifestyle.

At the end of the day, should you choose to live your life as a bariatric post-op (or even as a bariatric pre-op, working to change your behaviors), as long as you don’t do after what you did before, then what you are doing now will (hopefully) contribute to a healthier (bariatric?) life after.

No matter what you are doing, I hope you are enjoying your life (bariatric or otherwise) as much as I’m enjoying mine. Oh, and don’t get me wrong. At the risk of sounding like a Pollyanna — the Bariatric After Life is NEVER easy, but it’s ALWAYS rewarding.

Take Care!

Habits or Behaviors?

I haven’t blogged about therapy in awhile, and I thought I’d take a moment to share what happened on Tuesday morning (I now go Tuesday mornings, instead of Fridays or Thursdays, just so you won’t be confused).

I was talking to Jim about my frustrating — though enjoyable — trip to Mexico to pick up my in-laws. The long and short of it was this: I had packed my protein and told myself that I had everything I needed: Tortilla/Flax/Soy chips, instead of tostadas or corn tortillas; beans, cheese, Greek yogurt — heck, even salsa! For “sweets” I had brought a Power Crunch bar (peanut butter), and I had plenty o’ Protein Blitz and Propel Waters. Even brought a package of Body Tech Pro Pudding. In other words, I left nothing open to chance.

Now, for those of you who might not understand how things roll with Mexican families, when you arrive at a house, you are immediately offered FOOD. Okay, my family understands that I have my own food, and they are not offended that I can’t partake of the pozole (pork and hominy soup), or rice, or fideo (noodle soup). They truly understand and this is wonderful. So, I sat down with a bowl of beans, some of my sister-in-law’s salsa, my Greek yogurt, and a little melted cheese, and life was good. Until she put the stack of warm, fresh, corn tortillas on the table. I lasted…oh…about 5-1/2 seconds. BAM. Knocked back TWO (that I’m willing to admit) in a very short (painfully short) span of time. Yes, my pouch paid the price. But the salsa burned right through it and life was bién (otra véz).

Until the Mexican pastries came to town. Now, I hate Mexican pastries — they are dry and not sweet enough. Except for the stupid cortedillos — which are really nothing more than a trés leches cake with pink frosting and sprinkles. It was my Kryptonite before surgery, and it is still my Kryptonite now. Oh. and the stupid marshmallow cookies. And the iced cookies that I’d never seen before, but had to eat. By the handfuls.

Okay, I think you can see where this went: WILDLY AND UTTERLY OFF THE RAILS.

Thank God I was only there for about 24 hours, that’s all I can say.

Did I mention the churros? Two, DIFFERENT batches of churros? Plucked straight from the hot vat of boiling oil? Yeah, you can’t cross the border without eating them. It’s breaking some immigration law, or something. I’m serious.

Anyway, with that debacle behind me, I sulked my way into therapy and lamented that I was tired of Binge Barbie taking over my life, even though I make all sorts of plans and contingencies to steer clear of the trouble.

Sadly, we (Jim and I) did not arrive at a solution for that problem yet –– (why do they always have to buzz his office to tell him somebody else is waiting in the lobby just when I’m getting to the good stuff?)  –– although I believe we are laying the groundwork for progress and change.

HOWEVER, the session was not a total loss, and one of the things that did come up, was my abject dislike of the term “habits.” I hate that word: HABITS. Whether it’s preceded by the word “bad” (as in bad habits), or “good” (as in — something I am supposed to be creating in my Bariatric After Life.) Pffffttt.

See, I am a skeptic about recovery. That’s just the bottom line. I look at alcoholics and drug addicts, and all I see is a vast majority of people who DON’T “make it” and very, very small minority of people who do. (I am also, apparently, a pessimist about it). Perhaps I should stop watching “Intervention.”

Hmmm…I dunno.

Whatever the case, I tend to look at people who actually remain in recovery from their addictions as the RESULTS-NOT-TYPICAL crowd. I’ve written about this before in regard to my own experience as a post-op. I am a results-not -typical because I (at one point) lost way more than I wanted to. Apparently, I am not generous in my application of that label to all aspects of my life, so deep down (or not so deep down) inside, I have doubts that I will be able to overcome my binge addiction. I bristle when I hear people blithely tell me that “all I have to do is create healthy new habits to replace unhealthy old ones.” As if.

So, one of the ground rules I laid with Jim is the fact that we will NOT be working on developing any sort of habits for me. What we will be doing is establishing new behaviors to replace old ones. Now, that might just sound like simple semantics, but the point of it all is that when I hear the word “habits,” I think of the words “subconscious” or “automatic” — as in, I will learn to “automatically” or “subconsciously” do the right things because they will become HABITUAL to me.

Uh, no.

I believe — and perhaps I am mistaken, and maybe I am selling myself short — but I believe that my bad habits are deeply ingrained because they are LEARNED habits that were created when I was a blank slate. In other words, it was not hard to internalize them, because there was nothing in their place to start with.

Now, at age 43 (and some), to try and create a NEW habit would imply that I am dislodging the OLD habit, and I really don’t believe that is possible. I view it like a chalkboard. You remember how, when the teacher would erase the board to write something new, there would always be chalk residue, and even a little bit of writing left over? (That, by the way, was one of my pet peeves! If there was a HINT of writing left on the board, I would hyperfocus on it to the exclusion of all else on the board. Story for another day.) Okay, so the point of that metaphor is, when you erase the chalkboard, there’s still chalk-residue — old habits that you are trying to overwrite. But you always know there was something else there, and I think that gets in the way of replacing the old habit with a new one.

I believe that the only way I will succeed at beating this binge addiction thing is to reframe my strategy. I can’t comfortably target “subconscious habits” so I’m going to go for new learned behaviors which will never be intrinsic, intuitive, habitual or automated. I will always have to “stop, drop and roll.” You know? Like, stop the bad behavior in its tracks, think about the correct behavior, then implement the new behavior. I don’t really know if I will be able to do this every time, and when I’m not successful, will I just want to stop trying? I don’t know, but one would hope not.

Jim reminded me that, when treating an alcoholic, recovery does NOT necessarily mean complete and total abstinence. This revelation shocked, scared and excited me a bit. I mean, I am a very black and white person. If you’re an alcoholic, then you’re no longer in recovery the minute you take a drink. Black. White. I apply the same (flawed) definition to bingeing. The minute I binge — even a little, it’s all over.

Well, part of my goal is to find techniques to minimize harm from bingeing. Sounds like a tall order, but I’m up for the challenge. Even though I had a bad day yesterday. Ugh. Hey, nobody said it was gonna be easy!

So, that’s what’s been happening in therapy. I have some other thoughts, too, but my brain and fingers are tired for now, so I will blog more later.

Why Did I Choose Bariatric Surgery?

I don’t know if you’ve ever taken a poll, but when I ask WLS people “why” they chose to have bariatric surgery, I typically hear things like this:

• “I did it for my health.”
• “I did it because I didn’t want to die young.”
• “I did it because I wanted to be there for my kids.”
• “I did it to enjoy my grandkids.”
• “I did it so I could have surgery on my knees.”
• “I did it because I was tired of being tired.”
• “I did it to get rid of my diabetes/sleep apnea/high cholesterol/blood pressure problem.”

Here’s what I DON’T typically hear: “I did it so I would look hot.”

Okay, okay, *maybe* some people say they did it so their “clothes would fit better” or so they’d “feel better about themselves”…but I don’t hear a lot of people say they did it so they’d look sexy in pictures.

Guess what?  I did it so I’d look sexy in pictures.

Maybe that’s an oversimplification, but does that make me bad and wrong? Do you respect me less? Perhaps in some people’s eyes, it makes me shallow, vacuous, superficial, selfish, arrogant and self-absorbed. And maybe there is some truth to that. But, I despised the way I LOOKED, and I despised how that made me FEEL. If someone managed to sneak a picture of me, I was mortified by what I saw staring back at me from the image. That’s because I didn’t recognize that woman. The girl I remembered was young, bright eyed, had fabulous hair, a gorgeous smile (and, yes, always felt fat.) But this person’s eyes were dead (or just buried under the fat of her cheeks), her smile was forced (because she couldn’t lift the corners due to the aforementioned fat cheeks); she looked old and ugly, and her bras and panties were an embarrassment drying on the clothesline. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t make herself LOOK better. The makeup wouldn’t last (it would just wear off from sweat), the clothes were hideous and baggy, and she was utterly and completely self-conscious of her appearance all the time.

If she could have hidden away in a dark room forever and never left it, she would have.
If she never had to see old friends or family again, she wouldn’t have.
If she’d been able to stay away from clients, vendors, or parties, she’d have done it.

Can you understand why I had bariatric surgery, now?

In the past, when asked, I have usually said it was for my physical health (my back hurt, my knees hurt, I had fibromyalgia and hypothyroidism; I didn’t want to develop any co-morbidities), but in reality, that was secondary to my mental health. I was dead – inside and out; I had no value, purpose or self-worth. I was ugly, through and through.

Fortunately, gastric bypass surgery redeemed me from that misery and gave me a second chance at living the life I never dared to dream.

I’ve said it a million times in the past 2-1/2 years: “I have become the woman I always was.”

What does that mean, exactly? Well, it means that, as the weight melted away, it exposed a person I already knew and had waited my whole life to meet again. I didn’t experience the same identity crisis that many post-ops do when they look in the mirror and see a thin person staring back at them, because I didn’t see a fat person in the reflection at all. I saw a block of marble being chiseled away by the master’s hand to reveal the Venus de Milo (with arms, of course).

In other words,in my Bariatric After Life™, I have never had to overcome body dysmorphia or crisis of self. What I DID have to do was accept the speed at which it was all happening — but that wasn’t too much of a challenge (if you don’t count my utter and complete impatience at the process…)

So, where does that leave me now?

Today, I happen to love what I see in the mirror; I love the woman I’ve become because she finally matches the image I’ve always held so closely inside the deepest recesses of my heart. I am free to shine — without limitation or restriction. I feel like I can fly EVERY SINGLE DAY. Oh, sure, sometimes I get disappointed when I see my shrinkly tummy or melty legs, but I don’t linger there because I have too much living to do. It is what is is. I am who I am. Why let silly things hold me back — for even an instant?

Am I gloating or bragging? I hope you don’t think so, but why else would I be sharing this (you ask)?

I guess it’s because I want you to know that we all have different reasons for choosing bariatric surgery to treat our obesity, but not everyone would consider all of them “worthy”, “upstanding”, “ethically justified” or “altruistic”. Fortunately, I don’t spend a lot of time worrying about whether my decision was “acceptable” to the masses or not.

I accept it…
MexiKen accepts it…
My family and friends accept it…
And that’s good enough for me.

You know, I did a ton of “internal” emotional work before surgery – about 5-7 years’ worth – but in the final analysis, I was more enticed by the reward of external improvement than internal improvement, so maybe that explains why I have so easily accepted my bariatric after-self.

Or…maybe I just did it to LIVE.

All I know is, my long-lost friend has returned, and I don’t ever want her to go away again.

Higglety-pigglety pop!
The dog has eaten the mop!
The pig’s in a hurry,
The cat’s in a flurry.
Higglety-pigglety pop!

First of all, let me tell you that inspiration and consternation share similar characteristics,and their sources often spring from the same seed.

With that out of the way…why on earth did I include that poem up there? Well, it’s been jostling around in my brain today. That’s why (as if I need a reason). I guess I love the melodic, nonsensical sound it makes when I say it over and over and over. Perhaps it reminds me of Alice in Wonderland or a Dr. Seuss book. Not sure.

Whatever the case, after saying it for about the 20th time (do not talk to me about OCD), I decided to look it up online so I could see where it actually came from. Lo and behold, I learned that it’s from a book called: Higglety Pigglety Pop! Or, There Must Be More to Life (By Maurice Sendak.)

Yes, *that* Maurice Sendak. The author of Where the Wild Things Are.

Fascinating.

Aside from the fact that the book title is intriguing (there must be more to life, indeed), the book’s synopsis is even more apropos:

This dreamy, slightly dark story, illustrated in Sendak’s renowned pen-and-ink style, tells of a gluttonous dog’s transformation from someone who cares only about her next salami sandwich to one who would risk her life for a weaker being (while still wondering where that next sandwich is coming from)..

I’m gonna go out on a limb here and tell you that, in a weird way, that sounds like ME.

That’s all. Nothing too heavy here; light on the mayo, heavy on the rhyme.

Rainbows, Unicorns & Myths

TRUE OR FALSE: 50% of all marriages end in divorce. FALSE

How many of you have heard AND REPEATED that statistic?

Well, I’ve got news for you: That supposed statistic is actually a misrepresentation and gross distortion of facts. You can find support for this in about a million locations on the web, but I chose the following site because it clearly explains why the oft repeated divorce statistic is totally untrue:

A false conclusion in the 1970s that half of all first marriages ended in divorce was based on the simple but completely wrong analysis of the marriage and divorce rates per 1000 people in the U.S. A similar abuse of statistical analysis led to the conclusion that 60% of all second marriages ended in divorce.

These errors have had a profound impact on attitudes about marriage in our society and it is a terrible injustice that there wasn’t more of an effort to get accurate data (essentially only obtainable by following a significant number of couples over time and measure the outcomes) or that newer, more accurate and optimistic data isn’t being heavily reported in the media.

It is now clear that the divorce rate in first marriages probably peaked at about 40% for first marriages around 1980 and has been declining since to about 30% in the early 2000s. This is a dramatic difference. Rather than view marriage as a 50-50 shot in the dark it can be viewed as a having 70% likelihood of succeeding.  But even to use that kind of generalization, i.e., one simple statistic for all marriages, grossly distorts what is actually going on.

Source: http://www.drheller.com/divorcemyths.html

• • •

TRUE OR FALSE: Lemmings commit mass suicide by hurling themselves off cliffs and into the water where they drown. FALSE.

According to Wikipedia:

The myth of lemming “mass suicide” is long-standing and has been popularized by a number of factors. In 1955, Disney Studio illustrator Carl Barks drew an Uncle Scrooge adventure comic with the title “The Lemming with the Locket”. This comic, which was inspired by a 1954 American Mercury article, showed massive numbers of lemmings jumping over Norwegian cliffs.[8][9] Even more influential was the 1958 Disney film White Wilderness, which won an Academy Award for Documentary Feature, in which staged footage was shown with lemmings jumping into sure death after faked scenes of mass migration.[10] A Canadian Broadcasting Corporation documentary, Cruel Camera, found that the lemmings used for White Wilderness were flown from Hudson Bay to Calgary, Alberta, Canada, where they did not jump off the cliff, but in fact were launched off the cliff using a turntable.[11]

Because of their association with this odd behavior, lemming suicide is a frequently used metaphor in reference to people who go along unquestioningly with popular opinion, with potentially dangerous or fatal consequences.

In other words, when you say that someone is “like a lemming to the sea” you’re really just saying that they are migratory.

• • •

TRUE OR FALSE: People who get paid for reviews can’t be trusted to give an honest critique. FALSE.

Ahhh, this one is a little harder, right? I mean, if someone (let’s say, a blogger) receives monetary compensation from a company to give an impartial review of their product, the prevailing attitude in the ethosphere seems to be that the blogger can not be trusted. BUT, if they get the product for FREE, then it’s okay. But…wait a minute, isn’t receiving free product COMPENSATION? If that’s the case, then, according to the conventional wisdom, logically, we shouldn’t listen to any blogger who receives product for free because their opinion is being bought and paid for.

But…that doesn’t seem right, I mean, there are so many bloggers out there who spend a lot of time and energy making sure everybody knows they “haven’t been paid to give a review.” In actuality, unless they purchased the product themselves, that’s a misstatement.

Let’s look a little deeper here.

I believe that the misconstrued concept of “not being ‘paid’ for a review” actually comes from the necessity for complete legal disclosure. As a reviewer, many companies require me to DISCLOSE that I was not PAID for my review and received FREE product. Is that so people will trust me? Not at all! It has more to do with compensation, income taxes, accounting, consulting, etc. than it does anything else. If you PAY for someone to advertise for you, that is different than if you GIVE FREE PRODUCT (and receive advertising for it.)

Do you see what I mean?

Clearly, somewhere along the line, someone heard the phrase, “I was not paid for this review,” and decided that it meant something that it didn’t. They determined (incorrectly and illogically) that, since the person wasn’t ‘paid’ (in money) for their review, they were more believable! So began the myth. Just like the inaccurate divorce statistic and lemming mass suicide!

Well, in my case, I AM compensated for every review I do IF I am given free product. Does that mean you shouldn’t listen to me? Does that mean the companies I talk about are BUYING my complimentary reviews? No, it means that legally, they don’t have to declare me as a paid consultant for their company, and that’s about it.

When you think about it, why would it make more sense to listen to someone who isn’t compensated to do what you’re asking them to do?

To me, it doesn’t.

I guess what I’m saying is, if a person is qualified to do something that a company needs, a company can choose to hire that person to perform a service on their behalf.

When did that become a crime? Does a blogger who is monetarily compensated have to wear a scarlet “$” on their chest?

Now, let’s muddy the water a bit. How about critics? Aren’t they paid to do television shows and write newspaper articles about movies, techno-gadgets, cars, or anything else that they review? Think about Roger Ebert, or Leo LaPorte (the tech guy). These guys have television and radio programs where they are PAID to give their OPINIONS about the products they review. Sure, they probably get to watch the movies for free, and they probably get free iPods, cell phones and other gadgets — BUT, the people who broadcast their programs PAY them to do what they do. They are PAID to give their OPINION because it has been proven that they are trustworthy and knowledgeable.

Ultimately, am I more likely to listen to Leo LaPorte, or to my next door neighbor, next time I’m in the market to buy a computer? I’ll probably ASK my neighbor’s opinion (see how he likes his, etc.), but I will give Leo LaPorte’s opinion more weight, because of his technical expertise (and, because he has a good track record). I do not discount his opinion because the radio station pays him to do a show, and I do not value my next door neighbor’s opinion more because it’s free. It actually flies in the face of logic to do that!

So, what about me? In my case, when I am looking for a new protein powder, bar or healthy snack idea, I don’t really care if a reviewer (or blogger) is paid to review it; I care whether my tastebuds AGREE with that reviewer’s taste buds, plain and simple. And, who cares if the opinion I listen to was paid for, lock, stock and barrel by a company?

If I like something, I like it.

But, I’m not done yet.

When did it become accepted practice that reviewers had to automatically give companies FREE advertising for their products?

If I don’t do that, am I bad and wrong?

Am I a better person if I review something FOR FREE?

You know, I’ve actually had people tell me that I’m not too smart for “giving away” my reviews — which is something I don’t agree with, by the way, because I happen to love what I do. I prefer to think of myself as just generous…but if I like something, I like it, and I talk about it. A LOT. That’s because I believe in helping people and companies to succeed.

But, let’s get real! If a company WANTS to pay me to do a review for them, I won’t turn them down, nor will I LIE about my opinion of their product. You can’t buy a lie from Barbie!

Call it full disclosure, but when you hear me say that I receive free product, I’m not saying it so you’ll believe me more. I’m saying it because, legally, I have too And, if someday I get paid for my opinion…I’ll celebrate. Then, I’ll cash the check.