1o DAyS iN

Our gorgeous wee girl turned 5 yesterday and started school today!

Time doesn't just fly...it morphs! One minute they pop out of your interior and next they are wearing a uniform and carrying their own bag into the school grounds. 

I don't remotely feel sad, I feel stoked and proud and relieved. 

My other babies are in day-care and I have the day to myself; albeit car-less (it's in at the mechanics). 

I'm enjoying my freedom with a café breakfast (I can't really eat) and a fizzy drink I'm regretting buying. 

I'm 10 days into my new life and there's been some highs and lows. I'm finding it good that I don't really feel hungry most of the time, but when I do...it's torture. I simply can't eat more than about 4-5 teaspoons now. I have pushed all the limits and yesterday I experienced my first 'dumping syndrome' which although mild was a bit awkward to hide as I was out, with the three kids on my own. 

I have not stuck to the fluids only rule for one month, neither have I stuck to the no fruit for 4. I haven't had any concerns with either of those decisions - yet, but I have accidently over eaten a mouthful too much and regretted it as soon as it hits my downsized stomach pouch and can't fit in there. So it sits up top waiting to get in, which can only happen if something passes through quickly...which it never does. I did think I could have vomited had I not been out in public, but fighting that urge, I just sat and waited for room to be made available and then I vowed I'd never be that stupid again. I was. Hours later. 

I guess it's force of habit. I'm used to eating whatever I want in whatever quantities I want. I simply can't do that anymore. 

I am a pretty quick learner, but I think this will take a few more mistakes before I truly get the hang of it. I'm determined not to vomit though. Not classy. 

I will say this, it is amazing what you can survive on (practically nothing) when you are eating correct proportions - and I don't even feel bad for it. Quite the opposite. I have more energy, feel more alert and my plantar fasciitis in my R) foot has just about faded (due to the 9kg drop in weight in 10 days!). I feel fantastic. 

I've got a long way to go but I've taken the biggest step and working hard everyday to make this work for me. It's my one shot at correcting a life of high BMI, high blood pressure, heart disease, diabetes, high cholesterol etc etc. 

I'll do an updated photo when I get the chance. Most people have noticed the weight loss and for that reason I'm glad I told everyone about the surgery...otherwise what was my excuse going to be...??I've just got a really good dose of worms! Ha! Not classy!  

bAriaTRic SurGEry - 9 DAys tO go

Honestly though...Let's be frank.

At nearly 42 years of age, moderate binge drinking, some drug experimentation in my early days, employment history on par with Egyptian slave labour and expelling two living beings from my abdomen and one from my vagina; let's just say I'm no spring chicken.

I'm currently 92kg give or take and a real "short arse" to put it lightly. My BMI states I'm morbidly obese and although I don't usually take BMI's too seriously - for this one time in my life I am.

Struggling to lose any weight at all, even after 10 months of what I would consider 'serious boot-camp training' with a personal trainer, I actually managed to put weight on! Of course it was all muscle Hahaaa - yeah right! No it was just plain fat from eating too much. The more training I did and the less progress I saw the more I comfort ate. It was getting to the point that my husband started paying attention to not only my mid-line but also my eating habits. Up until then he hadn't paid any attention to anything I was doing for a decade at least. I felt under the spotlight and being accused of sabotaging my own efforts, which in the end was exactly what I was doing. I began to hide food; let's be frank, I began to hide junk food (mostly chocolate bullets to be exact). 

Hiding food does nothing for your self esteem let me tell you. 

I would do a work out and sweat my size 22 arse off (obviously not literally because then this blog post wouldn't be happening), and on my way home I would conveniently scoff my sad face with chocolate bullets or crunchie bars (because NZ doesn't stock Violet Crumbles; I know right?! that's enough to make you comfort eat right there) and I would have an hours drive home to beat myself up about it and continue to finish off the packet or packets. 

Vicious cycle and self abuse all rolled into one. 

So three months ago my partner in crime of nearly two decades suggested I look into weight-loss surgery. 

I had never thought about weight-loss surgery up until then, mostly because I was still in denial about how big I was and what constituted as big enough for being eligible for that sort of life-changing surgery.

Apprehensively and with zero expectations, I booked in for the consultation with the Wellington Weight-Loss Surgery team - nurse, dietitian, psychologist, and surgeon, and soon realised that not only was I eligible but that I had some serious trending towards bad food habits that weren't going to get better on their own without serious intervention and that my health was already very compromised due to family hereditary traits, heart disease, high cholesterol and borderline diabetes.  

After 8 hours of assessment I was determined to get the surgery done and I felt positive it would save us money in the long run health wise. 

I was initially pencilled in for mid February and I said "Whoa calm the fuck down surgeon man" and he kindly then pencilled me in for 1st of March! Ha! 

So this is it. I'm on my two week pre-op diet and I have a week to go before I am wheeled into that theatre room one more time, however this time privately (which in my opinion is taking a step backwards in the health department, but that's for another time and blog) and with Justin by my side. To be fair he was always by my side with all three of our babies but less than keeping his cool because he had a progeny to worry about instead of just me. Turns out when it's just me there's a lot less to flap about. And besides our wills are in order and he gets everything I own including our three children - sucker! But this time really by my side - he gets to stay at the hospital as well. Wow, private patients really live it up. Hope the meals are up to Justin's standards.
In my liver's one chance at revenge on me, I am currently chowing down on a broccoli and cheese cup-o-bariatric-soup and it's as horrific as I can imagine a cheese dick sandwich zapped in a blender might be. Apparently this is what my liver prefers me to eat; well fuck you liver! You suck.
Here goes nothing, except my fat...I'll let you know how surgery goes.

Here's a before shot for those "special" people who read this far - it just paid off - your welcome! Don't ever ask for another photo of me again. This is it. Frame it, attach it as your screen saver, send it to your grandma, whatever you like, because this chocolate bullet hiding dugong is saying goodbye to high BMI forever.
See you on the other side of the surgeons blade.
Cherry