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.
