Poor, Sweet Emily

Spent the weekend at Susan's parent's lake house. I went ahead and took a cooler of fresh veggies and lean meats, just in case Marlene, Susan's mom, didn't have anything. Good thing too--she made pork ribs, corn on the cob and red potatoes for dinner. I even had to eat earlier than everyone else. They ate at 9 and my healthy foods don't last that long, so I asked for forgiveness and got to cooking. It worked out fine and I'm glad I planned ahead.

It seems that yesterday morning, something got ahold of my Emily. We thought she just had tired eyes. Uh...no. She had the swollen, puffy eye. I pulled the skin back and the white of her eye was not red, so I figured she'd been stung by a bee, wasp or scorpion. Going to bed last night, I gave the girl 2 Benadryl. We went to bed and I found that her ears were all puffy too! There were two large bumps on one ear and one on the other. That's when it all came together--something really got a hold of my girl. This is her last night. This morning she was a bit worse. Here's the picture from this morning. Isn't it so sad? Just not my girl's happy personality. Her sweet ears feel like really big stuffed tight raviolis.

That is just the saddest face I've ever seen. I'd never survive having my own children. My heart could not take it!

Anyway, Emily was miserable and was sleeping a lot, but not whining or itching. She wasn't herself. How could she be?

Around lunch time, I called the vet's office in Madisonville outside where my parent's live. He is an old school farm animal vet. Doesn't waste your time or money and loves the animals. I told him the story of what I'd done. Doctor said that I could try giving her one Benadryl every hour the rest of the day. If that didn't work, she'd need a cortizone shot.

Emily must have thought today is her birthday or something special. Every hour, I've wakened her to give her a piece of cheese. You think she'd begin to catch on that I'm druggin her since she's slept all day. By around 5, that happy eye began to look more round. Went to dinner with J.B. and when I got home, the swollen bump above her eye was much smaller. She even was acting perky. Those ears though are still big. It seems they're tender too. Perhaps because I've been checking them every 30 minutes since last night.

Emily had another peice of sleepy cheese about 30 minutes ago. She is sleeping sooooouuundly. I just hope that by tomorrow morning, she looks like this. Dear ol' thing!

Day 3--I'm going to need diapers, people.

Got groceries yesterday. Fresh veggies and good meats and cheeses I am allowed to eat. It's nice that the South Beach Diet allows me to cook--as opposed to fasting before surgery. I enjoy cooking new recipes, so have already tried two new ones. I love most foods, so it's not so hard now that I have things to prepare besides eggs and chicken breasts.

Last night, I had dinner with Cindy at Matito's. KILLER fish and veggies. Several choices of fresh fish on the menu even. I will be back there. I ordered my dinner without rice and the waitress (Cindy's previous student) asked me why. In my very open and honest fashion, I told her. Lo and behold a testimonial came down upon us! The waitress has an aunt who has had the surgery and a girlfriend who had it done. Her aunt is happy and looks so young. Not a wrinkle on her! So glad to know my wrinkles will disappear.

Reader, I aim to be brutally honest with you during this whole process. I've read many blogs of people going through the surgery and weight loss and always appreciate honesty. Sometimes honesty ain't pretty, but it's real. Let's get real, shall we? Here's the deal with these low carb diets. They give me diarrhea. Serious runs. I remember when Atkins was the rage. Everyone else was having the opposite problem. Not Sara P. I always got the runs. This South Beach program has thrown me for a serious loop. Last night after dinner, I was home watching Last Comic Standing. One man cracked me up so hard that I pooped my pants. WHOA. I laugh a lot. I can't live not knowing if poop is going to shoot out of me when someone cracks a good one! THEN (here's where I get scared) just moments ago, as I was sitting down to blog, I sneezed and...WHOA. It's like a toddler is living here. I have to do this program until the 16th. I'd like to think I'd have some control over my bodily functions until that time.

Day 1- Polly Want a Cracker, Damn it!

I started what will be termed "my new life" today. I've already determined it sucks wind, but I also know it will get better. It's all a mind game at this point. Breads, sugar and beer are dead to me. DEAD! I will not mourn them. They like to make me think they love me; however, they secretly hate me and live to make me fat. (this is what I've been playing in my head today) As many of you know, I've formally lived healthy lifestyles and enjoyed it. You just have to get your mind brainwashed to that side of thinking. It's not that it's hard to enjoy good foods--they're tasty. It's learning to hate the junk food that is so addictive. Get over that hump and you've got it made. If all those junkies I watch on Intervention can overcome crack cocaine, surely I can get past never having a hamburger bun again. (mmmmm, hamburger buns...) I can do this for the next 3 weeks, then the band is going to help me and life will be okey dokey. Right? RIGHT?! Just earlier, I was thinking that my other option is to be on that mattress begging for someone to bring me a grilled cheese sandwich or help me into my Rascal scooter. The fun of dating might be gone altogether if I were in that state. Hard to feel sexy while begging for a grilled cheese sandwich covered in baby powder. (I'm not sure why, but I would think that if I were stuck on a mattress and unable to move, I'd want lots of powder on me to feel better.)

Let me explain where the mattress image comes from. It has two roots in my brain. The first one is from seeing The World's Fattest Man at some fair--could've been state, not sure. I was young. One of my siblings was with me, and we walked up to a glass window to see a ginormous man who could only have his privates covered in towels and was laying on a mattress on the floor. It was gross. I was embarassed for him and for all of us staring at him. Homeboy was big, but I think that dude that Richard Simmons helped was bigger. This was before his day, or he could've had the job and homeboy would've been out of work.

The second root of the mattress thought comes from something my mother experienced. While going through EMT training, she was doing her internship thing with the College Station/Bryan ambulance dudes. They get a call and go out to find this disgusting fat man laying on a mattress on the floor with all kinds of filth and stench about him and the mattress. I think they had to get a tarp to get him out of there. She was grossed out and told me the details which were FOUL. So you see, I am terrified to be one of those people.

Until this afternoon, I did not have a copy of The Southbeach Diet, but Courtney told me what I could/could not have. I have to do Phase 1 of it for the next 3 weeks. Got to get my liver sexy, you understand. What I have eaten today is only eggs and chicken breast meat. Tomorrow, I'll go to the store to get more variety and fresh vegetables because I love it. I LOVE LEAN MEAT AND FRESH VEGETABLES.

Back Up the Bus!

I need to get something clear with you, dear reader. I am not having my stomach stapled and my intestines rerouted. No, no and no. I am having a band put around the top of my stomach. That's it. Day surgery, no stitches just butterfly bandages. I was visiting Julie for a few days in Oklahoma and all this time she had been thinking I was having the big dangerous one. Friends, this surgery I am having requires me to actually diet and exercise. It will take time and effort on my part. It will demand that I be the bad ass girl I am. (I like that term, it covers so much more than genius. You could be a genius and suck at lots of things in life, but a bad ass is different. I want a bad ass tshirt and a vanity plate on my car. I guess I could be a genius-bad ass, but that sounds a bit conceited. I digress.)

The following pictures were taken by my long suffering mother on my blackberry. They are a bit blurry, but you'll get the idea of what my stomach will be like. You'll see the band and the port. The port is where, after a month, they will, each month, inject saline into the band. This will squeeze the band tighter and tighter around my stomach allowing me to eat less and less. ALLELUIA! ALLELUIA! ALEEEEEEELUIAAAAAAAA! (I so wish I could insert sound bites into your reading--I feel podcasts in my future, or perhaps a vlog. God bless technology) Anyway, here are the pictures.

Moving and Men

Daddy doesn't want me to leave this weekend as I had planned. I was considering staying longer until I looked again at the calender. I've only 2 1/2 weeks until I move! It's giddy-up time. Not only the move, but I have to get back to get started living like a healthy person. Susan couldn't find her copy of SouthBeach diet. If anyone has hers or their own, would you let me borrow it, please? I don't want to spend 20$ on something I need for two weeks of my life. Let me know.

In case you don't know, I have had a HUGE crush on Robert Downey Jr. since Weird Science. That is a long time. We went and saw Iron Man tonight. It really was a good movie and I look forward to the second one. Here's the thing though, I could not take my eyes off of Robert. Seriously. I liked him dirty, bloody and hurt, dressed up, sleepy, mad, happy, cocky, gentle--all of it. It's those eyes of his. It didn't matter what else was happening in the movie, I was locked on him. Is anybody else feeling me on this? I swear he has not changed since the 80's and the drug abuse only gave his face character. The other one who really gets me is Dwayne Johnson aka The Rock. Sweet Mother of All That is Muscles and Manly! He is beautiful. And when he smiles I die. Kelly Ripa's husband was on the list too, but then I found out he is a Lilliputian. That's not a weird religion, but means he is very widdle.

Good Scoops Today!

I'm at my parent's house this week. The thing about hanging with older, retired people is that they don't do much. I'm all for that. My father and I hung out today. He was telling me that my Mimi, his mother (the one I take after so very strongly), was an independent woman for her day. I knew this, but was listening because I love Mimi stories. Through listening, I discover Mimi was married not twice as I always thought, but 3 times! I told Daddy that we really are alike--Mimi didn't put up with a man she didn't like hanging around either.

The first time Mimi married she was 14. When I get to heaven, Mimi and I are discussing this immediately. I need details and she'll tell them to me. Daddy doesn't know the story, but knows she was married then. You know that kills me to not know the details. Daddy and I both know the story of how it ended. Mimi was a whistler--she whistled as she went along walking. Everyone knew when she was coming because she whistled. One day she didn't feel like whistling, she came up to the house and walked on in. Caught her husband in bed with another woman. Mimi told me that story when I was maybe 8-9 years old! Good stuff.

Mimi's next husband, Mr. Slade, was the exciting one that I'd always confused with being her first, but I was mistaken. She had this second husband! He was the moonshiner and party boy. She told Daddy that she loved Popi, my father's dad and Mimi's 3rd husband, but the passion was with this Slade character. Mimi once told me that the sheriff came over to their house with a squad looking for moonshine. Mimi sat her butt down on the stash and covered it up with her skirts. The police looked all over the house in every corner, but they never once asked Mimi to move. She knew the sheriff knew what was under her, but didn't ask because he liked her. I love that story!

Mimi met Popi at the beach. There was a whole gang of people and they all ran into the water, but Popi stayed back. Mimi stayed back as well so they met, dated, fell in love and married. They had my father as an only child. After Popi died, I remember Mimi crying one night while I was staying with her at her house. She told me he was the best man she ever knew and I guess she chose "good" over "passionate". I remember he got down on his knees at his bed to pray each night. I imagine he'd done so his whole life.

My Liver is Sexy

I'm going to tell you right now that I am nearly 300 pounds. There it is. And if I weren't nearly 300 pounds, today would have made me change my mind. I spent the day like a wealthy old person. I was at the Dr's all day and spent $565.00 on all the fun I had. I was in Denton at 9:00 for an appointment with my general practitioner, Dr. Kozura. I'm on two medicines that are in capsule form. Capsules no worky with lap band so had to get them switched or dump in applesauce to eat. Found out the funky spots on my leg are not cancer, but sun spots. How that happened to my ivory skin, I am not certain.

From Denton, headed to Frisco to get Susan and head to surgeons office. I was in his office 5 hours. FIVE fun filled hours people. I hope my joy is coming across. It was about an hour with the surgeon. Here's the deal, because I knew the surgery is coming, I have been drinking beer and eating lots of bread. I've gained 11 pounds since March. Not shocking to me but seemed to be a big deal with the weight loss surgeon. It's as if it's his life's work or something. So okay, I have to lose 11 pounds before the surgery so that he knows my liver will be soft and he can lift it out of the way to get to my stomach. Apparently, there are health issues with being obese. A sexy, stiff liver is one of them. If I've not lost the weight on the day of the surgery, he won't do it. Picky thing, but it's his world and if he doesn't think he is man enough to handle lifting a stiff liver, I guess I'll help him along with that.

Waiting two weeks to get my liver soft would put the surgery near the move date. Dr. Fox, the surgeon, says I can't even push anything heavy for two weeks after surgery. So--after a couple of discussions, we set the surgery for the 16th of July. That will give me a week to settle a bit into the apartment and two weeks to heal and adjust before going back to work. I have to wait for the surgery center to phone before I know if they'll accept partial payment for my copay. I have around $2,000. and it will be around $3,000. according to the insurance girl in the office. Please say a prayer about that for me. Oh, just pray for me in general, would you please?

I saw the nutritionist next. My stomach will be the size of a small lemon. We talked for an hour about what eating is going to be like and what puking is going to be like. Oh I will puke as I'm learning to eat--gonna happen. It's not normal puke according to the nutritionist. It's slime. Your body is coating the food caught in your esophagus with slime so it will move. The slime won't even get through so lots of slime, then the piece of food will pop out. Sexy, huh? The rest of what she said is boring, food stuff. The basics are, after a weird newborn's diet for the first few weeks, 7 bites of food for a meal. 3 bites protein, 3 bites vegetable and 1 bite carbohydrates. Then, I will be full. AMAZING! This is why this is the tool for me to be able to diet. I'll be full at a reasonable amount. It will take a couple of months to get to the perfect band fill (with saline) for me to be perfectly satisfied with that amount. They call that "the sweet spot". You know good and well, that in my silly brain, I thought, "Oh, I've got your sweet spot," but I was too busy wondering why the nutritionist was so fat to say it.

Next is the psychologist. My appointment with him begins with a 300 questions test followed by a 250 question test. Question like, "The whole world is against me," or "I hear voices telling me to do bad things," or "Sex has gotten me into trouble." So I lied a little. Sometimes it's okay to lie. After the tests I met with the Dr. I liked him. Not enough to continue to pay him $300 an hour to talk with him, but he is likable. He informed me that they have now found that people who are on Prozac or Lexapro for a period over two years gain 20 pounds a year for every year they're on it past the first two years. After the great depression of 1998, I was told that I would probably have to be on a light dosage for the rest of my life. This Dr. said he'd have told his patients the same thing back then, because they didn't realize. Can you believe that? He and I discussed what had happened when I tried to stop it one summer. No biggie, just a dream one night of a suicide attempt where only my mother was protesting. When Mom heard that, she said it was time to go back on medicine. The Dr. yesterday said we have to ween me very slowly off the medicine and he doesn't want to do that now because of all the issues going on with the surgery.

As you can imagine, I was whipped last night. I was left with doubts, regrets, fear, exhaustion and wanting my mother to hug me. This lap band is not a magic cure at all. It's going to be a great deal of work for me, but the other option is to be a fat chick. I'd resigned myself to being a fat chick even though I really don't want to be one. It's just there seemed to be no other choice. It's either diet pills and running two miles a day (both of which kept me crazy) or be a fat chick. Might as well be a confident, happy one if you're going to be stuck being one. It's getting to the point now though where I can see myself naked on a mattress begging someone to bring me a grilled cheese sandwich. I don't want that, so let's do this. Let's pinch down my stomach where I can't eat like a normal person so that I can be happy again. Don't worry, a lot of this is PMS.