The wake-up call

Why do we need them?  I don’t know about the rest of you, but it sort of pisses me off that I do.  I’ve been struggling for a couple of weeks now.  It all goes back to this new fill.  I have ½ cc more in me now than I did before, and in some respects I am tighter.  I definitely have a harder time eating in the morning.  But for the most part, it’s opened the world of food back up for me.  I hadn’t eaten any pasta, bread, or rice since surgery because that was a rule my doctor gave me; none of that for six months.  He says that those three things more than most others expand and that’s not a good idea while still getting used to your little stoma.  When the six month mark came, I had enough restriction that I was still afraid to try eating it. 

Then I got this fill and well slowly but surely I’ve been able to eat…. Anything.  Nothing is off limits.  And if I eat slowly enough, sometimes I can eat way more than I should be able to with no issues whatsoever.  Of course on other days I can’t get past bite two before I’m done, but that’s just the fickle nature of the band I think. 

I didn’t really eat a lot of pasta, bread, and rice before the surgery – it’s just not my thing.  But as I’ve been able to eat – really just capable – I’ve been seemingly experimenting non stop.  We just celebrated Christmas with my dad and step mom this weekend (yes, I know it’s February) and we ordered some pizza for the kids and some chicken pasta pesto for the grownups.  I fully expected to eat a few bites of the chicken and call it a day.  I wasn’t at all worried about it.  I knew Dad and Pat wouldn’t notice how little I was eating and if they did, an easy comment or even lie would placate them.

But then I had trouble telling the pieces of chicken and the penne apart – it was all the same sauce color and the same size-ish – and I had a few bites of pasta.  And guess what?  My stoma didn’t explode.  In fact, it went down with no problem at all.  When I had the chicken which was totally dry, that was a little dicey, but the pasta – no problem whatsoever.  So, of course I had more pasta.  Then, Brad and I took the left over pasta home with us – added more sauce because it was a little dry and I had more of it all weekend long.  Hell, I hadn’t had a bite of pasta in more than seven months – this was totally cool to me.

I had forgotten to do my weigh in on Friday, but had weighed myself last Wednesday which marked seven months since surgery and I was back in the right direction at 192.8.  Then the experimentation hit full swing.  OMG.  I can eat pasta.  That probably means I can eat sushi too – though I haven’t tried that one, maybe even ½ a sandwich.  Okay – really I have to back up.  I learned about the pasta over the weekend…. But the pizza.  I swear to god – honest to goodness pizza – that was on Thursday or Friday. 

Brad was away and there was a fundraising night for Jack’s school at a local pizza place.  I carefully reviewed their menu online from work and ordered a salad for me and some pizza for the boys.  Weeeellllll… I ate my salad – which I think must be a super band expanding food for me – and decided to take a bite of the pizza (which I also hadn’t had any of in seven months) and guess what.  I had no problem with it at all.  None.  I ended up eating 2 ½ pieces of pizza – and not any mamsy pamsy thin crust either – without even the tiniest comment from my band. (and of course this was after I ate the entire salad which I thought I’d only be eating a little bit of).  Holy shit, I had a whole salad and 2.5 pieces of pizza for dinner.  Are you kidding me?  How is that even possible?

Then we went onto the weekend where I had pasta – drenched in a creamy pesto sauce I might add.  Anyway – to the wakeup call.  Oh wait.  Have I been working out?  um… nope.  I even took Drazil’s challenge to workout the remaining – oh 6 or so days of January… I failed the first day.  I’d love to say it was all because I hurt my shoulder, but that would be a big fat lie.  There were probably a couple days in there where even the treadmill would have hurt my arm, but for the most part it was shear laziness.  I hate being lazy.

So to the wake-up call.  I have always weighed myself on Monday mornings – for many, many years.  Only since the band have I started making Friday’s my official weigh in day – but I still dutifully record my weight every Monday morning – of course it’s on a spreadsheet that goes back for years.  Well, my friends, I couldn’t do it.  I couldn’t make myself get on the scale on Monday morning.  I was too afraid of what the number might be.  Did you see what I ate?  Can you imagine?  But on Tuesday I had to do it.  I was afraid of continuing to not get on the scale – fearing that would start a big huge unstoppable slide back to where I started or worse.  (The other thing not getting on the scale is a sign of for me - is running away - like I do with blogging I think too - sometimes I only blog about the good stuff (band wise) and I really think that's unhealthy for me.  I need to just get it all out there - the good and the bad.  I just don't want to hide anymore.)

I got on the scale on Tuesday morning totally fearing I’d see a number that started with a 2 again.  And I did – but only for a second while it settled on its final number of HOLY SHIT 199.8.  OMG.  Seriously OMG.  So, I decided drastic measures were called for – something to whack my system back to where it needed to be.  I did liquids yesterday – I had plenty of protein – just all in liquid form.  Today I’m back to my normal if boring mostly protein food that I eat during the week.  I exercised yesterday and this morning.  I think the call (or weight, as it may be) woke me up sufficiently.  I don’t want to go back there.  Apparently it’s pretty easy to do – band or not.  Usually this current fill level doesn’t let me eat much – the pizza night was a total anomaly – but it does let me eat whatever the hell I want.  This is a good thing.  But it’s a very scary thing too.  We’ll see how it goes.