Ok, I had something happen that I'd heard about, and believed, but had never had it happen to me before-something I ate a couple of days ago, returned, and got stuck firmly in my stoma (the small hole made by the lap band). I mean stuck, well and good-nothing goes in, nothing comes out and yes it hurt. After producing slimey saliva (called sliming) for a couple of hours, walking around, heating pad, I was able to give a mighty heave and dislodge the offending particle.
Of course, I looked to see what had caused the issue-and there was a piece of bacon from a few days ago. (I don't eat bacon even close to every day, so I knew when the last time I had eaten bacon was). My friend Sue had the same thing happen wth a mushroom once. LIttle bastard just hung out in her digestive tract and waited for its chance.
It doesn't happen often, and I've finally gotten the chewing of the food properly down, but apparently I had a slip up. It was weird cause I've been trouble free for some time, but chewing rules still apply and apparently not all karma is instant.
I know I've lost 91 pounds and I am pretty sure I've dropped a few since I last weighed-I think I'll weigh next week and see. There is a lot of work still to be done (headwise) and that is something I never addressed before-I just lost weight and then tried to forget I was ever heavy. I've got a loose, but close (if that makes sense) support group of women who are in varying stages of weight loss, and we are all very open and honest about the head parts of it-because we all believe it's the head that messed us up in the beginning.
I am pretty diligent in looking out for surgical anorexia/bulemic behaviors/attitudes. Give a fat girl a tool to lose weight, and some don't know when to stop. The press tends to blame the surgeons, and I don't-not really. It's all a choice we make. I know as things heat up in the WLS market, bariatric surgeons and plastic surgeons are teaming up, and that makes me a little uncomfortable-because they are selling the magazine image instead of health.
I was gung ho on plastics-that's one of the reason's why I was banded in Mexico, to save enough money to ice the cake so to speak. Now, I'm really not. And funny as it may seem, it's not the money or the frivolity of it-it's the pain factor. A lower body lift (the holy grail of all plastics) plus boob job means 6 weeks of sitting still and feeling like shit while you do it. Now, I could write for 6 weeks and that would be great-but who would work my dogs, take care of my snakes, carry Oliver around and do his bidding? I could hire someone to live in and take care of me-and that would suck too. And for what-a picture worthy tummy?
I think it would be different if I had medical issues that could be addressed. I have friends who do, and I understand the need. But I just don't need it. What is that saying? "A body isn't something to treat like a treasure, instead you should barrel through life, skid sideways into the grave and say "woooo, what a ride!"