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.

Barbie Celebrates Her 1 Year Blogiversary

1 Year ago today, I officially launched GastricBypassBarbie.com. Hard to believe, isn’t it? I mean, in those days, I didn’t know if anyone would find the site (let alone stick around and read my musings!) And if they actually did find me, I wasn’t sure they’d return! I vividly remember how excited I was to learn that 5 people had stopped by…or 1 person had left a comment. I was simply amazed that anyone would care what I had to say. Back then, I had no idea where the site would take me, how it would change over time, or how I would so radically evolve in the process!

Let me take you back to July 22, 2009.

I was 1-1/2 years post-op, and feeling as green as the day is long. A few, well-meaning people had “whispered” things into my ear that made me doubt whether I should even start a blog. They “helpfully” told me that I should “wait until I had three years of success under my belt” as a bariatric post-op; before I writing about my experiences; that way, people would “believe me more.” Other people told me that, since I was “so unusual” (in that, I’d lost more weight than the “average post-op,”) I’d just end up offending people, and no one would listen to anything I had to say, because it wouldn’t apply to them! In other words, there was a lot of negativity, disguised as supportive advice.

Fortunately, there was a lot MORE positivity and, being blindly optimistic, my passion for sharing won out! Well, *that* and I’m incredibly stubborn and impatient, so I didn’t want to wait. Of course, that didn’t stop me from wrestling with whether anyone would take me seriously for not having lived a very long bariatric after life. I had my doubts that I would find new and interesting things to say for longer than about a month; I wondered if I would always feel as enthusiastic, positive and successful as I did then. In July 2009, I was fresh, alive, inspired, largely unaffected by the online world…and filled with self-doubt.

When I pressed  the “Publish” button for that first time, I was both terrified and proud. After all, I had taken that first, big step –– even though I had NO IDEA where the road would take me.

Here’s how I would describe the Barbie from 1 year ago:

• Optimistic
• Wide-eyed
• Innocent
• Naive
• Encouraged
• Passionate
• Sensitive
• Thoughtful
• Motivated
• Healthy
• Focused
• Carefree
• Natural
• Reactionary
• Loving
• Generous
• Nervous

Well, I think it’s pretty clear to anyone who’s followed me over the course of the last 12 months that, while some things have remained the same, OTHER things are much different.

Here’s how I would describe the Barbie of today:

• Confident
• Focused
• Centered
• Grounded
• Guarded
• Positive
• Seasoned
• Aware
• Compassionate
• Skeptical
• Responsive
• Supportive
• Loving
• Generous
• Empowered
• Gratified
• Humbled

I’m sure I left out words from both lists, but I think you can see the idea. A lot of things can happen in 12 months, and my life is no exception. I wonder what the NEXT 12 months will hold? I guess we’ll have to wait until July 22, 2011 to find out

In the meantime, let me share a few, notable milestones from the past year:

1. I started seeing an amazing therapist (Jim) and we have made tremendous progress in ways I couldn’t have dreamed possible.
2. I have begun to find balance and harmony in my Bariatric After Life™ (work in progress)
3. I have become mentally and emotionally stronger, happier, more confident and deeper
4. I went to the 1st annual WLS Meet in Greet in Las Vegas as an exhibitor and speaker with MexiKen, Super Dave and Maid Marian Michele and made wonderful new friends and professional connections, including (in no particular order): Antonia Namnath – WLSFA.org, Dr. Bariatric, Sarah Will Be Skinny, Andrea JunglGirl, Lynnda, Mike and Toni, from BariatricTV, Ian McAgh and his lovely wife and son, T2Nashville, Tammy from Tennessee, Banded Wendy (and all the Banded Bitches), Nancy Weasel Hunt, ILTommyD (Tommy Dunmore from Illinois), JC (who had just begun his bypass journey about 3 weeks before the M&G), Amy Fekete (who videoed my talks), and a bunch of other people who are forever etched in my brain, but apparently not in my fingertips! You are not forgotten, I promise!
5. I launched my Youtube Channel (where, for the first time in my life, I do not run away from a video camera) and got to meet a bunch of remarkable people who comprise a vibrant and active WLS online community.
6. I joined Facebook and am rich with new and wonderful online friends.
7. I went to OH in Costa Mesa and made MORE wonderful new friends and professional connections, like: Dr. Garth Davis, Dr. Connie Stapleton (love her!), Yvonne McCarthy (Bariatric Girl), Teresa Dunn White (Celebrate Vitamins), Shannon Watts (Revival Soy) and many, many more!
8. I went to ASMBS in Las Vegas and — yes — made MORE wonderful new friends and professional connections: Susan Maria (Bariatric Eating), Dr. Guillermo Alvarez (Endobariatric, Piedras Negras, Mexico), Dr. Robert Davis, Dr. Marc from Bariatric Fusion, Eric, Kim and Kristin from Obesity Help and a bunch of other people whose names have escaped me, but whose impact on my life has not.
9. I participated in a photo shoot for the hospital where I had my RNY and will appear in their marketing materials. Billboards??? EEEK.
10. I will be attending the OH Conference in Cincinnati (crosses fingers) in August and Houston in November, and was even given my own discount code (GBBarbie) — How cool is that?
11. I have formed a team to participate in the Long Beach WALK FROM OBESITY (Team Barbie) in September, and already have 5 walkers and several sponsors.
12. I will turn “3-bariatric years old” in December.

This is, by no means a complete list but, it is from the heart. I mean, I knew my Blogiversary was coming up *soon,* but didn’t realize it was TODAY until I checked last night!  By golly, I was almost late to my OWN party (which is not hard to believe, if you know anything about me). So, while this is probably not how I envisioned my celebratory blog entry to read, it IS a finished blog entry, and it is published on the actual anniversary date, so I’m putting it squarely in the “success” column

Heck, maybe there’s a metaphor for my new life in there: I learn, I adapt, I risk, and then I do it all over again — whether I’m ready or not!

Anyway, I’ll leave you with this:

To those of you who have been with me from the beginning, I thank you for your encouragement and love.

For those who have discovered me along the way — and stuck around for the insanity — I thank you for your patience and fortitude.

For those of you who just found me today – I hope you will find something of value here on the site, return regularly, andl be encouraged to continue living the most fruitful and rewarding Bariatric After Life possible.

Most of all, to MexiKen, who continues to support and champion me as I forge my way through uncharted terrain, I give all of my love. I literally could not do this without his belief in me. He is my biggest fan (and I am his).

I’m not sure where this whole *thing* will take me, but I know this: Even though I don’t get paid a single penny to do it — but maybe one day will — I will continue to help others. It is my passion and my drug. My reward is knowing that, because I have chosen to be an open book with the online world, I have positively impacted others in ways I never imagined.

Though I have less “free time” than ever before, I am actually “freer” than I’ve ever been in my life, all because I am no longer ruled by “shoulds”, “colds”, “mights” and “musts.”

Thanks to all of you for your continued support, and let’s have fun in year 2!

Now, off to the elliptical!

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.

Epiphany: No WONDER I thought I was fat.

I had a strange little memory while working out on the elliptical this morning. In a flash, I was 8 years old again, and I was in the try-on room at Zody’s (an old store like Kmart). Of course, nothing was fitting, and my mom had to keep sending in bigger and bigger sizes until we found pants that would fit around my sizable rear. Unfortunately, finding something big enough for my “big butt” automatically meant that the waist would be miles too big, since there was no such thing as “spandex,” “elasticized waists” or “drawstrings” in the junior department. My mom would inevitably have to “take it in” and “take it up.”

I concluded that, because nothing fit, I MUST BE FAT.

Who could actually FIT these things...?

...or these?

Now, if you’ve been reading me for any period of time, you’ll know that I’ve lamented about the trauma/drama of not being able to wear the designer jeans of the day (the saddleback Dittos, sailor front Chemin de Fer, and stitched pocket Jordache), and I’ve mentioned that my thighs were too “extreme” for the cute shorts everyone wore (Dolphin and OP, mostly), but it occurred to me this morning that the fact that I couldn’t “FIT” into the über straight cut clothes didn’t make me FAT; it made me CURVY.

It’s a shame I didn’t make that connection back then, because I might have avoided a life of morbid obesity. Unfortunately, the words “curvy” and “pretty” weren’t celebrated on the pages of Teen Dream, 16 and Tiger Beat magazine. No, back in those days, the cover girls we envied were Cheryl Tiegs and Christie Brinkley: Gorgeous, tan, blonde, leggy bombshells who were NOT recognized for any curves below the waistline. And, of course, they were always photographed in bathing suits — another area where I couldn’t find anything that fit, because of the tremendous disparity between my “top” and my “bottom.” And, in case you’re wondering why I was looking to older models for reference, the younger ones CERTAINLY didn’t have curves (or weight problems), either. You had Tatum O’Neal, Kristy McNicol and Valerie Bertonelli (who, as we since learned, did battle her weight, but it never showed in her jeans, and no one ever talked about it!) Great choices for a curvy kid, right?

Essentially, because of the barrage of messages from the media – which was still recovering from the days of Twiggy, thank you very much, plus, a dearth of curvy role models (Sophia Loren? Marilyn Monroe? Where were you?), my conclusion that I was FAT was not unnatural or unexpected; it was just unfortunate.

Of course, now that I’m happily enjoying the Bariatric After Life™ and can easily fit into things “off-the-rack” it would be easy to say that I’ll never have self-doubt again. But, trust me, I still have trouble with things being small — only now, it’s UP TOP! (Juniors don’t have a C-Rack) I’m just saying

Fortunately, because of my therapy, constant self-analysis, self-correction, and emotional clarity, when something DOESN’T fit, I no longer conclude that there must be something wrong with ME. I now see that my body is as unique as I am, and the clothing I wear does not DEFINE me; it merely reflects my personality and zest for life.

How sad that it took nearly 40 years for that message to sink in, but how glorious that it didn’t take 40 more!

How about you? Was there a defining moment in your life that set the wheels for obesity in motion?

My Life as a “Before”

I get lots of requests for “before” pictures. Just about every day, someone will say, “You look great now, but what did you look like before?” And you know what? I am hard pressed to show them, save for a few really horrible shots. I’m sure there are more floating around out there…somewhere…if I didn’t burn them or tear them into a million pieces at the time. I just don’t know WHERE they are. This is a very sad reality for me because, today as I look back over the course of the past 2-1/2 years (exactly), I realize how hard it is to prove I even existed for all of those years before December 10, 2007.

The “after” me chides the “before” me for not taking at least ONE freaking “official” before picture the night before surgery. But the “before” me responds that she was too afraid of failing.

Again.

She was terrified that the “final official before” picture would turn out to be proof of yet another failure.

Those are really hard words to write, but they are true.

Even after shedding those 50 pounds before surgery — even then — I still believed I might fail at “surgery.” I was still mortified by what the camera saw; still in denial and disbelief at the person staring back at me from a puffy face with eyes buried beneath chubby cheeks, and a mouth hovering above a triple chin.

As much of an optimist as I am today, I must tell you that, even in the final moments before surgery, though I never let on, I was terrified it would be a wasted effort. I could never really see myself as an “after,” so why would I need a “before”?

I guess the reason I’m writing this is because I want to stress a few things:

1) If you have not yet had your surgery — TAKE A BEFORE PICTURE. Take lots of them. From all angles. Yes, even from the rear view. Be sure to smile — not because you are happy about the way you look, but because you are excited about the person you will become. If you have already had surgery, but are early in the process, take a ton MORE pictures. You’ll need them to prove your success to yourself. Trust me.

2) Be gentle with yourself; you’re the only “you” you’ve got.

3) If you have had your surgery, but have not yet gotten to the point where you love what you see in the mirror (or in the camera’s lens), forgive yourself for all that happened before and believe in all of the good things to come.

4) If you have reached your “happily ever after,” and are so darned smitten with yourself that you can’t even pass a security camera without smiling, waving and looking for the monitor, celebrate the gift of this surgery, but never forget where you came from.

5) Remember your “before” self, but love the “after” self enough to never go back.

Today, 2-1/2 years after bariatric surgery changed my life, I am thankful for good health, great joy, tremendous love and amazing beauty. I suppose I don’t need a lot of “before” pictures to remember the dark years, so I’ll stop beating myself up and just enjoy the very happiest Bariatric After Life™ possible.

I hope you will do the same.

Fantasizing, Romanticizing, Giganticizing

Last night, I climbed into bed and my brain immediately switched into “overdrive.” Now, I realize that this is not a good place to be when I should be sleeping, but, next to the shower, it is where I do some of my very best thinking.

So, here’s where this posting all began: The word “romanticizing” popped into my head, because this is what I have been guilt of doing lately. You see, I have been wrestling with a few extra pounds (a reality which does not make me happy, but does give me something to work on!) Anyway, the more I thought about those pounds, the more i realized that there are a host of “IZING” words that could quickly consume and overwhelm my successful Bariatric After Life™– if I let them.

Let me explain:

As a pre- and early post-op, I would spend my days FANTASIZING about what I would look like when I lost the weight. I spent a bunch of time poring over “Before and Afters,” marveling at the monumental differences people experienced; wondering if I would ever reach that same goal, and if I did, what I would look like. Essentially, I was living in fantasyland every free moment I had.

Don’t get me wrong, fantasizing is not a bad thing, as long as it is based in some sort of reality, and involves a solid plan for achieving it. I think i was pretty realistic in my planning, because my original goal was very generous and, ultimately, more-than achievable.

Well, as a post-op, I blew past my original goal, to the tune of about 40 pounds, and found myself in a scrawny, skinny, meatless body with jutting bones, sunken eyes and cheeks. At the time, I KNEW that I was too thin and KNEW that my body would rebound to a healthier weight. But, somewhere inside, I was having this battle between what I KNEW was healthy, and what I actually LOOKED like.

As I remove my rose-tinted glasses and look back at myself with honest eyes, I can assure you that MexiKen did not love the way my little body looked — I had lost all of my curves, had no butt, and couldn’t fit grown-up people clothes. I looked silly in my baggy things and was constantly lamenting that I couldn’t wear some of the pretty clothes I was finding on the racks. Size 4’s weren’t just too big – they LITERALLY slid down to my ankles. It really was not pretty.

But, over time, I regained a little weight, those size 4’s began to fit properly, and I started “filling out.” Eventually, I settled in at a comfortable size 6 — a good place for my 5′8″ frame. I had a little butt and a few curves and no one complained that I was too skinny (or too fat). I looked healthy and felt great. Except that I kept going and overshot my “ideal” by about 8-10 pounds. Now, this is unacceptable, because I find myself outside of my new comfort zone, where things don’t quite fit as comfortably anymore.

It occurs to me, that what I have been doing is ROMANTICIZING my previous underweight status. I have been whispering sweet nothings into my brain, convincing myself that being a size 2 was wonderful, because nothing was ever tight or binding, and whatever I tried on always fit. Of course, I know this is NOT true, but this is how romanticizing works. You forget the realities, hardships, disappointments and struggles, and recast them as happy, glowing, glorious times.

Fortunately, I have not allowed myself to marinate in that kind of stinking thinking, because it is not only counterproductive — it is a LIE.

But, where do I go if I can’t romanticize or fantasize? Well, if you’re unhealthy, and fighting a few extra pounds, you can quickly begin to GIGANTICIZE. This is what happens when you start to tell yourself that you are a “big, fat loser.” You begin to exaggerate the reality of your body and what the scale is reporting, and start obsessing over weight regain. When giganticizing happens, you panic and your fat head runs the show. After all, you gained 5 or 10 pounds and now you are GIGANTIC.

Clearly, you can see the downside of this thinking, because it is neither productive nor empowering.

But, if you aren’t careful, giganticizing quickly turns to MINIMIZING. As in, “I *only* have 5 or 10 extra pounds. I’ve lost 150 or 160, and I’m fine with this weight regain. It’s not a big deal, and I’m sure I can lose it, if I want to.” In other words, you can quickly MINIMIZE the scope of the problem by using old criteria as your gage. “I used to weigh 316 pounds; I’m nowhere NEAR that now, so why is this a problem?”

Well, that brings me to the 4th “izing” word: RATIONALIZING. If you allow yourself to move into rationalizing, you are on a slippery slope to inevitable weight regain. Why? Because rationalizing goes hand-in-hand with apathy and denial. When you rationalize, you are actually telling yourself RATIONAL LIES.

So, what is the solution to this destructive “izing“?

Here are 5 little steps to replace BAD “izing” words with GOOD “izing” words!

Step 1: RECOGNIZE
Realize that you have a problem; that things aren’t going the way you want them to go, and you need to DO something before it is too late.

Step 2: VISUALIZE
Make some decisions about your recovery. What do you WANT the rest of your life to look like? What do you feel is a good and realistic weight for you to maintain? How will your body look and feel? Formulate that vision, then make that your goal.

STEP 3: LEGITIMIZE
Is your vision reasonable, achievable, and maintainable? Is it LEGITIMATE? If it is, then cement that vision in your mind; make it tangible, real and worthy and don’t let ANYONE or anything distract you from accomplishing it. Make it your driving force.

STEP 4: EMPHASIZE
Opposite of minimizing, in this step, you begin EMPHASIZING the legitimate vision you have created for yourself. You must make it a priority. Here, you are saying, “This is my goal and I will accept no less. All of my thoughts and actions must reinforce this vision to ensure it becomes and remains my reality.”

STEP 5: EXERCISE
No, I don’t just mean going to the gym or taking regular walks (although that is a part of it.) There’s more to this step than that. Here, you must EXERCISE good choices, healthy lifestyle habits, and positive thinking, in order to achieve and maintain your vision. This step is the most important of ALL of the steps, because it involves both mental AND physical exercise. It is a DOING word that involves meaningful and positive ACTIONS.

Do you find yourself “izing“? Perhaps you are guilty of Catastrophizing (a word I didn’t use above, but might be true?) — Perhaps you are blowing your situation so far out of proportion, you feel that you have no hope.

Well, there is ALWAYS HOPE — I know this, because I am a living, breathing, walking miracle, and people who are given the gift of a second chance at life have no right to be HOPELESS.

Here’s the bottom line: You can choose to FANTASIZE, ROMANTICIZE, GIGANTICIZE, MINIMIZE and RATIONALIZE until you find yourself regaining weight and losing control, OR, you can follow the 5 easy steps, and REGAIN CONTROL of your Bariatric After Life™.

Start MAXIMIZING your potential. Don’t MARGINALIZE your healthy life. Get started, get focused, and take charge of what matters most.

I know I DID.

No to the Food. Yes to the Feelings.

This afternoon, I was eyeing a box of Sweet Tarts (you know, those silly conversational candy hearts we used to eat on Valentine’s Day?) Why (do you ask) was I ogling a box of candy in the first place? Well, it’s a print job we did, and it is sitting on my sample shelf. (In other words, I didn’t go BUY IT!)

Now, you know the adage: “Old habits die hard…” but, THIS TIME, since returning from the OH Conference this past weekend, I am 100% recommitted to THINKING instead of ACTING. What does that mean? Well, rather than just grabbing for it (out of habit), I THOUGHT about it.

Boy, was I surprised by the thoughts that came to mind:

• Would this make me feel better?
• Would this make me feel better about myself?
• Would this make me FEEL?

No kidding. Just like that. Bam!

In the past, I ate to FEEL BETTER (which, of course, we all know never happened). So ultimately, I would feel BAD about myself, (all because I was avoiding the very act of FEELING…whatever that feeling was…lack of control, depression, sadness, happiness, frustration, stress, boredom.) So, it was a useless cycle of eat-and-feel-bad, eat-and-feel-bad.

Today, in the Bariatric After Life™, instead of just mindlessly EATING, I asked myself that series of questions and the answers were surprisingly simple: No, no, and no. Upon further analysis, I realized that I wanted to eat a box of candies, because I was bored. There’s no other reason. I mean, right now, I’m under a full head of steam. There is so much I want to do, but I can’t do any of it here at the office. The net result is boredom (or at least that what it morphed into.) In the past, whenever boredom happened, I would reach out for something junky to eat. This time, while the motivation was no different, the response sure was.

Fortunately, this time, I was present enough in my thinking to confidently, purposefully, and quite happily say: NO to the Sweet Tarts and YES to the feelings. Yes, I understood that I was bored and frustrated, but how would eating that candy have made me feel in my clothes? Would eating it have magically made me feel better? Of course not! It never did before, so why would it now? You know the definition of insanity, right? Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different outcome.

Well, I FEEL that I made an amazing decision today. I FEEL really good about myself. I FEEL that I can repeat this exercise over and over again…until it becomes habit — and that doesn’t make me insane at all!

• Do you still struggle with the mistaken belief that food will make you feel better?
• Do you struggle with how you feel after you make a poor food choice, then begin to feel bad about yourself?
• Do you FEEL the feelings, or do you self-medicate to numb yourself?

Obviously, these are deep questions with no simple answers — save one: NO.

At least…that seems to be the best and easiest answer to me. So, next time you find yourself in a similar situation, PLAN to deliver that answer with bold, confident gusto:

Will eating this thing make me feel better? NO!
Will eating this thing make me feel better about myself? NO!
Will eating this thing help me to FEEL the feelings? NO!

I don’t know about you, but saying “No” never felt so great.

How do you FEEL about this?