Hitting My Limit

Got an 11th hour call from the sleep clinic that they had a last minute cancellation and were able to fit me in tonight.

Of course this is at a different facility than where I know where to go.

Of course this means I haven't shampooed my hair (it's a bit oily).

Of course this means I now need to rush home to pack an overnight bag.

Of course this means I will be too tired to make the trip to Jersey as I promised my mother for her birthday.

Remind me again, why am I jumping through all these hoops?

Oy.

Another hot soak of a bath is in my future (to get the electrode boogery goo out of my hair and scalp).

Hope I remember to pack tampons and remember to leave the husband's housekey where he can find it.

Up at 5:48 a.m. On A Day Off? Heresy I Say!

Granted I took yesterday and today off from work to tend to some doctor's visits. Hell, I was *this close* to going for the second phase sleep study (the one before I get my CPAP), but didn't. I think God thought to him/her/itself, "Hey, she had her mammogram on the first day, the worst day, of her period... let's cut her some slack."

Turns out the admitting department was closed for the day by 4:45 when the sleep study gal called. It wasn't meant to be. So the earliest they could get me in was March 21st, which according to my calculations is Good Friday.

Now back to the titty squish...

And by "titty squish," I mean, the procedure where they squashed my girls to what felt like 1/8 of an inch in density, to the point where I saw stars and thought lightning bolts were about to shoot out of my nipples. Normally I say the squishing isn't as bad as the tugging, and by "tugging," I mean, "a sensation which could only be duplicated if I were suspended, full body weight, by meat hooks piercing my nipples."


I am certain that if men had to endure this torture on their testes, you better-betcher-bippy there would be some other less sadistic way (perchance a lovely ultrasound, MRI, or pectoral CAT scan), which would no doubt be more effective.

So here I am... in agony of a different sort. I woke up at 5:00 a.m. with a full-on menstrual breach, necessitating a garment change (and will require bed linen change). Turned on my most-recent Pema Chodron CD ("Don't Bite The Hook"), and I tried using my back massager on my belly, which helped temporarily, until I stopped. Then I heated my heating pad and popped some Bayer. And now I'm contemplating taking a hot shower, just to exhaust all possible ways I could get the pain to abate.

But much in the way that after I let the four letter expletives fly yesterday and blurted out, post-mammo with tears in my eyes from the pain, "At least I have breasts with which to SENSE this pain," I am now going the existential route again by saying, "At least I have a uterus by which to sense this pain."

PS: Did you know

Four Dunkin Donuts glazed munchkins contain 300 calories, YET...

YET, a large (12 ounce) container of Wendy's chili contains 330 calories (not including saltines).

Oy

I didn't do as bad with dinner last night as one might assume, since I did not blog about it. I was just too lazy, not guilt ridden.

Aunt Flow rolled into town today, just in time for my mamogram. This should be fun.

Sleep Study: Results Are In

Just got off the blower w/the ReproEndoGuy, who got the results from my sleep study. I was surprised and impressed that he got the results so soon--I thought it would be another two weeks.

I had 100+ episodes of hypoxia during my sleep; yet despite this, it's not considered severe. "Moderate."

Tomorrow I call to find out how to go about getting my CPAP (sis can get it for me for whatever my insurance costs--thanktheeightpoundbabyjesus for employee discounts).

Will be off tomorrow to tend to the annual "titty squish." Taking the rest of the day off to regroup afterwards.

1500 Calories a Day: Day Two, The "Mulligan"

[Didn't post yesterday's evening--it went to hell quickly. So for today, I'm utilizing some "golf-speak": MULLIGAN, which is literally a "do-over." I didn't think I'd have problems right from day one, however, I'm not looking at it as a set back--what was I set back from? I just started keeping this food diary. Eventually I'll get used to the fact I have to calculate everything.]

Rise time:
7:05 a.m. (without alarm clock)

Weight:
272

Morning exercise:
None

8:00 a.m. Mood:
Fatigued, yet focused


Breakfast, 510 (estimated):

9:30 Bacon, egg and cheese on whole wheat toast w/a splort of ketchup
(finished consuming roughly 10:15 a.m.)

Apple Juice, 80
Coffee w/H&H, 40

Medications:

Quinapril 20 mg
Spironolactone 25 mg
Tricor 145 mg

Supplements:

Metamucil drink, 20

Spirulina, 3000 mg
Ginko Biloba, 60 mg (which also has 100 mg dicalcium phosphate)
Evening Primrose Oil, 500 mg
Omega-3 Fatty Acids, 1100 mg Fish oil/500 mg Total EPA & DHA
B12/Folic Acid/B6 sublingual tab: B6=2mg; B12=1000mcg; Folic Acid- 800 mcg (Tablet also contains 2 mg Stevia Extract)
Multi-Betic Vitamin, 2 tablets (containing, among other things, 100 mg of Alpha Lipoic Acid)

12:24 p.m. Mood:
lert with a sense of improving wellbeing..


Packed Lunch & Snack, 395 :

Campbell's Chicken Sausage Gumbo, 280
Jello, 10
Banana, 100 (average)
Anjou pear, 80 (average)
DelMonte Fruit Cup, 25

Coffee w/H&H, 40 (oy!)

6 p.m. Before leaving work...

Supplements:

Metamucil drink, 20

Spirulina, 3000 mg
Ginko Biloba, 60 mg (which also has 100 mg dicalcium phosphate)
Evening Primrose Oil, 500 mg
Omega-3 Fatty Acids, 1100 mg Fish oil/500 mg Total EPA & DHA

DINNER:

Planning on eating some steak which has been marinating in wasabaki, stir fried with some veggies, red bell pepper and sesame seeds. Will measure and calculate calories before cooking.

DESSERT:
Sugar free pudding.


Strategy for tomorrow:
Plan to graze; pack portable proteins; pack a big salad w/salad "spritzer" and some chunked chicken.

1500 Calories: Day One

Rise time:
7:45 a.m.

Weight:
Forgot to weigh in before breakfast

Morning exercise:
None

8:00 a.m. Mood: Fatigued, yet focused


Breakfast, 280:

Cheerios, 100
Milk, 110
Hard boiled egg, 70

Coffee w/H&H, 40

Medications:

Quinapril 20 mg
Spironolactone 25 mg
Tricor 145 mg

Supplements:

Spirulina, 3000 mg
Ginko Biloba, 60 mg (which also has 100 mg dicalcium phosphate)
Evening Primrose Oil, 500 mg
Omega-3 Fatty Acids, 1100 mg Fish oil/500 mg Total EPA & DHA
B12/Folic Acid/B6 sublingual tab: B6=2mg; B12=1000mcg; Folic Acid- 800 mcg (Tablet also contains 2 mg Stevia Extract)
Multi-Betic Vitamin, 2 tablets (containing, among other things, 100 mg of Alpha Lipoic Acid)

11:25 a.m. Mood: Alert.

11:30 a.m. Pear nectar, 6 oz, 70 calories

Packed Lunch & Snack, 395 :

Campbells Chicken Sausage Gumbo, 280
Good grief, my first stumble--shrimp lo mein, caloric intake: I wouldn't even venture a guess
Jello, 10
Anjou pear, 80 (average)


DelMonte Fruit Cup, 25 did not eat
Yerba Mate w/H&H, 40 (oy!)

1 packet of oatmeal, 140

Metamucil drink, 20

Regarding That "Pesky" Fifth Stage of Grief

I am not "accepting" it. It being the lapband as my last resort. Getting upset over the post-op diet and regimen was a wake up call for me. Something has to be done. I don't see the doc again until May.

I bought a bunch of those reduced calorie entrees, and plan on bringing them or soup for lunch. Fresh fruit. Cottage cheese. Hell, all of this beats the ever-living-fuck out of no food, or worse, being relegated to types of foodstuffs I find repugnant.

Granted I have a shitload to lose. But I figure 70 should be my end goal at this point. But I'll settle for those first ten pounds.

I'm going to eventually "re-no" my den and turn it into something "else" as I do have an orbital trainer and a recumbent bike here at home.

Perhaps I'm delusional to think I can slay this dragon myself.

Tomorrow a.m., I will start journaling everything. Yep. This means I'll be weighing in every day. I don't give a shit if they (whomever "they" are) say you shouldn't; however, I know myself better than anyone else, and know that facing my gravitational reality head on, and grabbing that bull by the balls is the only way for me to even presume to get a handle on my situation. Hopefully by being obsessive about it, I hope I don't fall into the same patterns I did 25 years ago--but one would presume I'd be older and wiser besides being considerably more corpulent.

I'll be blogging my weight, mood, exercise, and food intake. I don't expect it to be pretty. And perhaps in May, if I've made considerable loss before the doctor's visit, I'll share with him my blog url so he can see what I've been up to.

I'm more upset about the post-op than I am of the surgery itself, and that speaks VOLUMES.

This Shit Makes Me Angry

So like an idiot, I Googled, "life after lap band," and found a site which had this information:

If you are a regular coffee, tea, or soda drinker you should be aware that no caffeine is permitted for the first three months after surgery. Carbonated beverages; both diet and regular may cause gas, bloating, and an increase in stomach size due to the carbonation and are not recommended at any time for Lap-Band patients.

The second phase of the Lap-Band diet consists of 5 to 6 weeks of a modified full liquid diet; the key component of this phase is consuming two ounces of a protein shake every hour for ten to twelve hours a day with two ounces of other liquids such as soup*, baby food, or sugar-free gelatin three times a day.

During the second six weeks following Lap-Band surgery patients may eat food that is shredded in a food processor prior to eating. The basic foods on the Lap-Band diet include meats or other forms of protein, vegetables, and salads. The Lap-Band diet does not include most bread, potatoes and other starchy vegetables. The length of these phases may be altered according a patient’s personal weight and weight loss goals – my first phase is five weeks, followed by a two week second phase.

*I'm sure by "soup" they don't mean wonton or tom yum goong, but some watery disgusting deviation of the "soup" definition. I might as well be consuming a slurry of raw sewage. Yes. I'm serious.

All of this is enough for me to cry out, "What's the point? What am I doing this for?" [See the fourth stage of grief below.]

Seriously. The surgery doesn't scare me half as much as the "after," the "food prison" I'll be in. Pretty much everything that's off limits after the surgery is pretty much my staple foods--then to compound it, no caffeine? No steak? Nuts? Spicy foods (this includes cinnamon). No seriously... please... open up one of my veins right now and let's get this pitifully slow death over with. The suspense and mind-fucking are too much for this fatty to take.

They say there are five stages of grief:

1. Denial: The initial stage: "It can't be happening." [ED: Been in this stage for several years at this point, foolishly trying any drug my doctor has suggested, and even half-hearted attempts at any "diet" after my two year dalliance with Atkins]
   
2. Anger: "Why me? It's not fair." [ED: Check! been there! I'm FURIOUS about the food situation, both RIGHT NOW, and the hypothetical post-lap band surgery! FUCKING FURIOUS I TELL YA!]
   
3. Bargaining: "Just let me live to see my children graduate." [ED: This is currently where I am right now. In the meantime (since I see the doc on May, two months away), I have been considering going on Jenny Craig or doing those dreadful Lean Cuisine entrees, just so I can say I've exhausted everything I could have humanly done.]
   
4. Depression: "I'm so sad, why bother with anything?" [ED: Oh yes. I am here, too. Life isn't worth living if I can't eat my beloved Thai food. Yes. I'm serious.]
   
5. Acceptance: "It's going to be OK."

I noticed there are a few books over at Amazon devoted to the topic of life after lap band... perhaps I should get one (one that's written by a doctor), and see what the book says. I'm just sick with this. JUST SICK.

In the meantime? In the meantime... Every meal I have right now? I approach it with the mindset of a criminal on death row, eleventh hour, no possibility of a pardon from the governor.

Into The Breach Once More...

Sleep study. Tonight.

Overnight bag packed (but not packed enough, e.g. shampoo and shower items, since I would be home after breakfast). Should have brought along shower stuff. The "goo" they use to affix the electrodes to my skull looks like paste style toothpaste, but the texture is like those boogery adhesive dots you see on pill bottles or other items to affix directions to products.

Snowy rainy miserable night. Off to Burger King I go, to get a burger and a bucket of diet coke before the sleep study. Big mistake... I weighed in five pounds more than I did at the ReproEndoGuy's office.

After going to admitting, I sat and crocheted with my monster sized U hook, and a hat appeared out of nowhwere, eliciting comments from some 20-somethings seated not far from me (they were there in support of their mother who was also in for the study... and who was also crocheting). Little did we know, we'd be sharing an adjoining bathroom. And there she sat, crocheting with what I suspect was a D sized hook or smaller. Crocheting a fun fur sweater for her Chihuaua who got loose from a travel tote. My fellow crocheter and her family sat and had an impromptu pizza party there in the lobby as we sat and waited.

The rooms in the sleep study were clean and made me think of beds in a maternity ward. They had stylish headboards to give the room a "hotel" type feel; however, by hotel-type, I mean very very cheap, basic hotels. But hey, the bedding and the bathroom was clean, and there was a serviceable t.v., what more could I need for an overnight stay?

My sleep technician (I'll call him this, though I'm not sure what his official title was) was a great guy. Agreeable personality, and we talked about all manner of things for the roughly 30-60 minutes it took for him to affix the electrodes to my body. He came in roughly around 10:30 as I normally don't go to bed that early, and I was able to get some crochet and some t.v. viewing in.

Here's a pic of the hat I made in about an hour or so waiting before my sleep study commenced.

Worked with the U hook in Lion Brand "Thick and Quick" in colors lemongrass and plum. Basic hat structure, worked in double crochets, w/the band being half doubles.

It's effing huge. I hope it'll shrink a bit in some hot water and a trip in the dryer.

Back to the sleep study...

The study was all diagnostic, which means they did not hook me up to a CPAP breathing machine. I suppose that would be something for a future study. Perhaps.

The bed was firm, much firmer than I am accustomed. I laid there in the dark with the warm glow of the t.v. on for atmosphere, but once the sleep tech started talking to me and asking me to respond in certain ways, I figured I'd turn the tube off. This was a huge mistake.

As if sleeping tethered to a bunch of wires/having a canula under my nose to monitor respiration/a clamp thing on my finger to monitor blood pressure/and straps across my chest and belly securing a God-knows-what-device were not enough to keep me awake... I should have kept it on, as I would wake up several times due to the steam heat/radiators clanking in the middle of the night.

At 5:30 a.m., I woke up hearing someone on an intercom call my name, and run me through the same paces as he did before I went to sleep: "Keep your eyes open. Bite down. Close your eyes. Look up. Look Down. Look left. Look Right. Cough. Make a snoring noise. Move your legs slowly. Twenty minutes or so later, he flipped the lights on, instructed me to sit up so he could take off the electrodes. The first electrode to go was the one on my right leg, which he ripped off in one sadistic yank--and yes, I yelped out--LOUDLY.
"So tell me what you dreamed about," he said. I told him I couldn't remember anything, and why did he ask. And he replied that for the last hour I was in a deep dream state and had a lot of REM.

He played things close to the vest and wouldn't tell me what he thought or saw or whatever, and told me my ReproEndoGuy will get his report in about two weeks; however, when I stopped
breathing it wasn't due to obstruction. So at the very least I don't have obstructed sleep apnea.

Whatever that means.

Sleep Study

Things are moving at their own pace. At times fast, as in the case of scheduling my sleep study to address my apnea (which also is part of the whole process included in the lapband process). I go in for my sleep study tomorrow night. The next appointment available would be at the end of March--and to be honest, I've gone long enough without feeling refreshed; and long enough without sleeping with my husband as a result of the snoring.

The rest of the lapband thing? Other than doing "my research" on the topic, I'm in a holding pattern until May when I return to see the ReproEndoGuy.

The Results: Monday

Well, it's now technically 12:02 a.m. TUESDAY. Couldn't wait for my Monday to be over!

Went to NYC to see the ReproEndoGuy. Besides being told that I'd be taking my life in my hands if I were to get pregnant (assuming I could even GET pregnant at this weight and assortment of malaises), I was informed that my fatty liver syndrome is not improving, and I am in the danger zone (yet not officially diagnosed with) for N.A.S.H. Switched me off my Quinaretic, to be put on Quinapril with a Spironolactone chaser. I go back in May and we're going to be discussing bariatric surgery, possibly the lap band to hopefully prevent the FLS and NASH as well as go into full-on diabetes ...

And again...

There I sat, in the exam room... in NYC... ALONE. No husband there for moral support. I just love the anonyminity that NYC affords. I walked about 20 yards from the doctor's office and broke down in convulsive sobs, hiding myself behind a pillar at the Presbyterian church whilst on the cell phone w/the husband... who was totally marginalizing my pain... the pain of being told from a professional I won't have children of my own flesh & blood... as well as all the health risk/life endangered themed talk.

Almost too much to choke back, isn't it?

Isn't That Con-veeeeeeeeeeeeen-ient?

Monday is a holiday.

As such, I try to schedule my appointments w/the specialist on state holidays that his office happens to be open--to lessen my pissed-offed-ness about wasting a perfectly good sick day to take care of attending the appointments.

The husband found out today that Monday is a holiday. I suggested he come into the city with me, considering how many times he's asked me, after the fact, questions about my office visit, and about my health et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.

Of course he balked at the idea of him going into the city on a perfectly good day off. Of course! Which then just proves he pesters me about my weight and health etc just as LIP SERVICE, not out of actual concern. How is this not harrassment?

So on Monday, off I'll go, ALONE, to the doctor's appointment. Me and my defective pancreas and secondarily defective ovaries are left on our own. Alone. Like so many family functions I've attended... ALONE. Like I feel every night when I go to bed in my room and he goes in his--because MY snoring disrupts his sleep. Hell, my snoring disrupts my own sleep--leaving me in the morning feeling washed out, physically and emotionally depressed, and fancying simply not being "here" anymore. Not necessarily suicidal thoughts; however, if I were to die in my sleep, it wouldn't be a horrible thing.

Like last night, on the train ride home from the city. I got us tix to see MamaMia. Something I thought he'd appreciate (due to the catchy tunes). He sucked my joy right out of me, and when the joy was gone, I do believe some other things got sucked out too.

I sat on the train next to him, trying to keep it together. Trying not to cry. The tears started to trickle when I thought about how very alone I feel. And granted folks have other folks around them to deceive themselves into thinking they truly are not alone, and for some this works. For me, I just feel even more alone, even more vacant, even more... nonexistent.

And the reality for me is, if I am unable to have a child of my own (which I don't have a huge-ass burning compulsion for), there is a very real possibility that in my golden years, should I attain them, will no doubt be spent ALONE.

There are words on the tip of my tongue, begging to leap off, and yet, I bite my tongue. Pragmatism wins over emotionalism & egoism. And yet, he is oblivious or indifferent to my vulnerability to have my "head turned."

Planning to Cleanse the Emotional Palate

Every time I visit the specialist, I try to plan an entire day around it, as if the visit itself were secondary. I do this to assuage any unpleasantness that might arise from the visit, despite the doctor (and his staff) being so pleasant to see.

But let's face eit, I pay $200-$250 for each of these visits, which end up being nothing more than a counselling session, perusal of my lab results, tweakage of my medication, with me usually feeling like a collossal failure that I haven't lost weight... or that I haven't "gotten over' being depressed.

Be that as it may, it's beginning to be a bit of a challenge for me to think of museums to visit. I usually try to go someplace nice for lunch, hit a museum, and do some shopping.

So far, in the course of me visiting this specialist, I have visited the following museums:

The Met
The Guggenheim
The Jewish Museum
The Asia Museum
Museum of Art & Design
MoMA
The Whitney

Which leaves (within a reasonable walking distance--and then some):

The Fricke (Not open on Mondays, when the majority of my appointments are)
Goethe House (Not open on Mondays)
The Morgan
Carnegie Hall/Rose Museum

Though it looks like for the 18th, my choice would be either The Morgan, or The Museum of the City of New York.

I'll then head to MarieBelle for some tea, and then Vermicelli for lunch... though not necessarily in that order.


The Dahesh

Let's See If I Can Shit Out Ten Pounds

One week, exactly, to go before the visit with the specialist.

Mood: Dread

February 18th is the next time I see the specialist.

This past Thursday, I called out sick from work, nursing a "migraine hang over," and decided that I put it off long enough, with "IT" being the 24 hour urine collection, trapping all urine for a 24 hour period, it's difficult to do this without being at home the entire time, anchored to the bright orange jug.

So I dropped it off on Friday, and I also got my blood drawn for my "three month" check up.

I weighed myself this week too, something I normally avoid like a raging case of bleeding hemmorhoids infested with ravenous fire ants. Needless to say, I wasn't pleased with that reading.

Despite doing things in moderation, my body and I are having a gravitational tug of war, and I'm a bit weary from my standpoint.

I'm keeping up with my supplements and medications as best as I can, hydration, chiropractic visits for my back and neck, walking a bit, and contemplating starting a yoga class that commences in a week or so. All good distractions, but I am resigned to the fact that my body, specifically, my pancreas, will do what it is WONT to do.

Feeling a bit dreadful and fatalistic being resigned to this little organ that is probably no bigger than my fist having such a strangle hold over my life.

And no, I haven't gone back on Atkins. I'm eating my raw carrots every other day and eating some breadstuffs, as I'm still resistant to the whole "meat and salad" regimen of low carbing it.

Between the sudden onset greasy explosivity I experienced with the Xenical, and then the subsequent sensation of my mind turning to a 50/50 mix of helium and dog shit from the Topamax... I am giving up.