potato chips

When my uncle passed away 16 months ago, my aunt put a pack of Marlboro reds in his coffin during the wake- to later be buried with him.

There were a lot of pictures and flowers and even a little stuffed rottweiler puppy in there too, but the thing that stood out the most was the little white and red box of cigarettes resting near his right hand.

Uncle had open heart surgery a good 15 years prior and even after that, and being told time and time again that he must quit smoking or he would die “soon”, he never could. In fact, the week before he passed away while in the hospital after suffering a stroke, he asked my father for a cigarette (my dad quit smoking 20 years ago).

The image of the pack of cigarettes in the coffin actually makes me smile. I know it probably shouldn’t because it really is what ultimately sent him to his grave, but he was just so darn stubborn about his smoking. And in the 40+ years I can recall with him in my life, I always remember him with a cigarette… specifically a Marlboro red. So I guess it was kind of fitting to see a pack next to him when saying goodbye.

***

Yesterday my dinner consisted of a “small” bag of Sour Cream and Onion JAYS potato chips. It wasn’t a family size bag, but it wasn’t one of those 25 cent bags either. I believe it had 3 servings of chips in the bag.

I’m 2.5 months out from having vertical sleeve gastrectomy weight loss surgery and my dinner last night was a fucking bag of potato chips.

I don’t feel guilty about this; I don’t particularly feel bad. I do feel a bit disappointed in myself, but I also know that today is a new day and I will move forward.

I’ve been reading the book EAT WHAT YOU LOVE LOVE WHAT YOU EAT and I want to be truly cognitive of why I’m eating, when I’m eating, how I’m eating, etc–hence this post.

I bought the chips on Sunday when I ran out to get a prescription. Because on Sunday I had a taste for salty, crunchy chips. But by the time I bought them, I wasn’t hungry so I didn’t eat them and just left them in the car.

Then yesterday, I thought about the fucking chips all day long because I had them–I knew they were there. So after I dropped my kid off to her evening activity and after I got some gas and walked around a bit, I found myself opening the bag of chips while on the way back to picking up my girl.

And sure as shit, I ended up stuffing down the entire bag by the time I parked the car to pick up my girl.

Was I hungry? Maybe a little.

Honestly though, I believe I ate the chips because I thought about them all day long, because I knew the chips were there. And I knew if I didn’t eat them, they’d be there until I either ate them or threw them away. And if I bought the bag in the first place, there was no way I’d throw it out.

So yeah, I ate the chips. All of them.

The “good” news is that I was stuffed after eating the chips. Stuffed. That’s the restriction from VSG, thank god almighty. (Pre-VSG, I would’ve acted like the chips were nothing and had a full meal of whatnot with my girl after her class was over. But I absolutely couldn’t do that last night. Thank god.)

So I ate the chips. And it’s not the first time I’ve had chips since surgery (but it’s definitely the first time I’ve had that much).

I’m not a perfect bariatric patient.

I’m not a perfect human being.

I have issues with food. Not even surgery can fix this about me.  Not yet at least. I’m working on it- that’s why I’m blogging my truth here.

Like I said yesterday, my reasons for WLS wasn’t to be be thin or “not” fat. My goal is to be healthy. And part of being healthy, in my opinion, has to do with my mental game.

So yeah, I ate the chips. All of them.

And now it’s time to move on and continue toward my goal of becoming healthy and eating healthily, and hopefully, when my time is up, there won’t be a bag of chips by my side in my coffin.

10+ weeks post-op

I went to dinner with a group of new friends over the weekend. We’re all moms whose children all went to the same school at one point or another. Not necessarily at the same time, but that’s our common denominator. It’s pretty cool, if you ask me. I’m not a people-y person whatsoever so going to dinner with a group of women (one of which I’ve known for about three years now and consider a dear friend) I’ve only known for about a year is very much out of my comfort zone, but it’s been quite enjoyable.

This was actually our second dinner out since my surgery, but the first time it (WLS) came up as a focal point during dinner.

Generally, being the non-people-y person that I am, I absolutely avoid having the conversation be all about me for too long. I’m just not comfortable with it. But Saturday was different. And in a good way.

There was five of us that evening and all but me and one other were of average size. And the one besides me who was a little fluffy, wasn’t morbidly obese like me.

They asked how I was feeling, how I was doing. They commented that I looked good and that they could see a difference in my face and appearance despite my comments of the scale not going down in about a month’s time.

“So what was it that really pushed you to get the surgery?” one spokesperson finally asked.

I smiled. I didn’t feel judged. I felt like they really wanted to know why I went the route I did, when I did. And it all boiled down to just needing a little extra help and not being ashamed to seek it out.

I told them how I’d lost 50-plus pounds three times in my adult life. I told them how I’d been overweight since puberty hit, how I got my first period at age 9 and how, by age 10, I was in a regular adult sized bra (never even knew about “training bras”). I told them how I went to a ton of schools (including 4 high schools) because my mom was constantly evading credit collectors. I told them how food became my best friend- sometimes my only friend.

I also told them about losing 75 pounds in less than a year with a low carb diet (and how freaking HOT I had become) and exercise. I told them about being diagnosed with type 2 diabetes in 2014, and how I’d lost 60 pounds in less than a year by watching what I ate and exercising sometimes twice a day to avoid being put on medication for the diabetes.

I told them all of this not for them to feel sorry for me and not as an excuse for my morbid obesity, but because this was where I came from and this all led to my decision to get WLS. I just had enough with fighting obesity and just needed help getting healthy.

It’s not about being thin for me.

It’s not about Not being fat.

It’s about feeling good and alive and able and HEALTHY.

For once in my friggin life I want to be as healthy as possible… for myself and my sweet baby girl (who is 7).

And for once in my life, I feel like this is all truly doable…thanks to WLS.

2 months post-op

Yesterday marked 2 months since VSG and that should mean I’m still in the honeymoon phase of all of this life change. Sadly, I also have PMDD and am raging right now on the inside. I just need to bleed. Once I bleed, it will get better but until then, holy mother of all there is, I’m raging.

Stay away from me.

I mean it.

Up until about two days ago, my food intake has been absolutely spot on (since being cleared to eat all foods). I’ve been eating when I was hungry only. I’ve been eating real food. I’ve been avoiding Slider Foods. I’ve been feeling fucking good as a result.

But then two days ago when I realized I should’ve started bleeding five days ago and still hadn’t (no chance of pregnancy), when the cramping and irritability started to overcome … I started to comfort myself with food again. And here’s what I’ve learned: Slider foods are evil evil EVIL. Much like sugar. Cookies, chocolate, chips, low/no protein foods = EVIL. And they also make me feel like shit. Absolute shit. Yet, in the moment of inhalation, I can’t stop myself.

And then I’m left so bloated and uncomfortable and desperately needing to poop in addition to bleed, and my 7-year-old is asking if I’m going to have a baby because of how freaking bloated I’ve become.

So now I sit here having had two cups of coffee and 30 ounces of water and praying to have to use the bathroom, yet not having to. And hoping to see blood, but not seeing any. And wanting to slam my head into a brick wall over and over again, but not finding said wall.

And to think I take fucking Prozac (every day) to ease my rage when it gets this bad. Maybe it’s time to up the dosage.

 

8 weeks post op

eight freaking weeks, what?!??!

been reading a book called EAT WHAT YOU LOVE LOVE WHAT YOU EAT by Dr. Michele May. she has a website AM I HUNGRY? too. i’m finding it fascinating. and it’s been super helpful so far this week with my eating… whenever i think i’m hungry, i just ask myself if i really am and if i am, i eat; if i’m not, i don’t.

sounds simple, i know. I KNOW. but, it’s helped me eat only when i’ve been truly hungry this week.

for once, i feel like i’m in charge instead of just being in control… and i know my period is coming so being able to feel like this and eat like this during PMS is monumental.

***

things i’m loving this week: my nuwave air fryer and green giant broccoli tots, as well as this raw almond flour cookie dough bites that i make (1 cup almond flour, 2 tablespoon cookie butter ((or peanut butter)), 1 tablespoon applesauce, 2-3 tablespoon mini choc chips all mixed together and rolled into balls… next time i’ll add some Bipro unflavored protein powder for more added protein).

 

post op day 52

I’m approaching two months since VSG and I can honestly say that my life is pretty much back to normal as far as recovering from surgery and being used to having a much smaller stomach.

For the most part.

There are still moments when I look at food or think of food and get a bit sad that I can’t eat everything (I want or) I thought I could, but more than not, I’m truly digging eating such small portions. And I’m basically eating whatever, too: I’ve had rice, pasta, salad; I’ve had sweets, salts, sours. I’ve basically had it all and am finding that my pouch is pretty tolerant of everything.

From all that I’ve read, I’m absolutely counting my blessings on this one.

That said, the number on the scale isn’t moving much at all. I’m guessing that is because the scale is a motherfucker. Heh, in all seriousness (it IS a mofo but I digress), I’m guessing it’s because my calorie count is higher than most post-op bariatric patients. Especially this early out… I’m eating 1000 to 1200 calories every day. I just don’t have a problem getting anything in. In fact, there has been a day or two where I’ve approached (if not surpassed!!!) 1500 calories! And while that amount is NOT a lot for a normal adult, it IS a lot for a bariatric patient. At least as far as I can tell from all that I read online.

Here’s the thing about this: I’m totally OK with these numbers- both on the scale and those that I’m digesting.

Am I happy the scale isn’t moving and hasn’t moved in weeks? No. Am I going to harp on this ditty? Fuck no.

MY WORTH IS WAY MORE THAN A NUMBER ON A SCALE OR MY PANTS!

I’ll just continue to plan meals and focus on PROTEIN FIRST and trying to get more activity in my day and soon, I’m certain, I’ll be complaining that nothing fits anymore (it’ll all be too big of course).