All Over the Place

The image above pretty much sums up where I've been for the last few weeks.  I've had quite a lot of distractions at work and I've done some traveling so I've been beyond scatter-brained.

A friend sent me a sly little note telling me how much they were looking forward to my next blog update and I'm sure that's part of the reason I've been staying away.  No, not because I'm being urged to write or that people look forward to it, but that I find that I've fallen into the Blogger's Trap:  that place where you only write if there's something YOU think is interesting to say. 

I mean, honestly, how many times I can write about the following without you getting bored out of your mind or totally disgusted:

• Vomit - the verb and the noun
• Daily postings about losing weight (Look, I had gastric bypass, if I didn't lose weight then that would be news!)
• The everyday phenomena that occurs when you stumble upon something that reminds you that you are indeed smaller
• The strange things that start to happen to your body as you lose weight
• The fun of recovering from major abdominal surgery and life with weeping wounds and serious scars
• And of course, what bariatric surgery blog would be complete without the constant reminders of how absolutely amazing you look now that you've started to drop the weight.  I mean, how could they not have noticed what a pretty face I have, but... (Yeah, the chubbies in the room know precisely what I'm talking about here)

That's about summed up my life in the last six weeks since my surgery, but since some of you seem to be itching to know the details, I'll provide them.  Just don't say that I didn't warn you that it'd be graphic.  You have been duly warned.

I'll start with what I'm sure you all want to know most:  I've lost 27 pounds in the 6 weeks since my surgery.  Because I'm not exercising, it's slowed to about 2 pounds per week just based on my food intake.  I intend to exercise, but I continue to make excuses for why I'm not doing it.  Those excuses include:  I don't have the money for a gym; I hate working out to begin with; working out is torture; I look ridiculous in workout clothes; and my all-time favorite:  I know I have a free gym in my building, but I really want to take some sort of aerobics class and I don't want to do it alone.  Whine Whine Whine.  It's on my to-do list, okay?  Sue me.

I've had a few instances where I've vomited.  This is not because my surgeon is a dunce or because it's just What Gastric Bypass Patients Do.  It's entirely because there have been times where I simply haven't followed the rules.  One time it was because I ate too fast (because I didn't plan properly and was over-hungry).  Another time it's because I ate a piece of my anniversary cake despite the warnings to stay away from sweets.  Last night it was because although I knew better than to eat the breaded and fried mozzarella stick, I ate it anyway.  I've discovered that when they say not to eat fried foods, they mean it.  They also mean it when they tell you to stay away from bread.  And I've discovered - the hard way - that I can no longer tolerate sour foods like pickles.  I can only have olives in moderation before the gag reflex kicks in, and by moderation I mean like one or two.

Want to know what's fun (and a sure sign you're losing weight)?  Walking through the city and discovering that your underwear have completely fallen off your ass.  No, really.  Imagine you're just sitting at a baseball game and as soon as you get up to leave, you start to feel the creep of your underwear sliding off your ass and by the time you get home, they're around your knees and you're just grateful you chose to wear pants.  This has happened a few times in various scenarios and let me tell you, I've decided I need to buy some new ones.

Imagine trying on your favorite pair of shoes and having them flop off the back of your feet (despite not being flip flops) because bizarrely enough, your feet have shrunk or narrowed or something.  This is another current dilemma.  Although the fact that summer is almost over gives me a great excuse to buy some new Fall shoes.  No complaints there.  DSW, here I come!

How about your body doing things involuntarily that you didn't agree to?  I don't remember agreeing to belch like 50 times in a row or to get the hiccups whenever I eat or to get a runny nose when I'm right on the cusp of overeating.  I don't remember telling my uterus to kick into gear and get rid of the PCOS and get me back on a monthly schedule.  I don't remember what the acne was like during that TTOTM, but now I've got clear reminders all over my face.  It's like I'm back in high school.  Time to re-up the Proactive.

But what's really fun about being post-op is watching people try to figure it out.  I can't tell you how many "Aren't you hungry?"s I've gotten or "You look great!  Did you cut your hair?"s I've received.  And yes, yes, I did cut my hair but that's not the reason my face looks thinner, thank you very much.  It's not the reason I walk through the halls holding my pants up or why it looks like I have a whole new wardrobe (as clothes that haven't fit me in a year are starting to be too big).

I thought I'd be okay with being an open book about the why, but as it turns out, I find it incredibly awkward to tell a stranger that I really did enjoy the food, but I simply can't eat anymore.  Or why I bring a bento box filled with snacks that I have to eat every 2-3 hours.  Or why you may see me wear something once and a week later it's in my ever-growing donation pile because it's now too big.   Or why it looks like I'm playing with my food when I'm cutting it up into the tiniest little pieces.  Or why my necklaces all look too long now and my rings don't fit me right anymore.  Or why the smallest tasting menu you've ever seen was the perfect size for me.  Or why every new tendon I discover is like your first time playing with sparklers - scary and completely thrilling at the same time. 

Or why losing weight may actually be changing who I am.  And how utterly terrified I am of that being true.