Last fall, I gave my band book manuscript to a great bariatric surgeon to read, correct, edit, and comment on. Of course, he had a very full schedule already, so it's taken some time for him and one of his staff members to get through the manuscript. But last week we had a telephone consult in which he gave me answers to some questions, a few clarifications, and a big thumbs up to the book. He promised to write a foreword for the book, and said, "It's a very nice piece of work."
I'm so flattered by his endorsement, I can hardly contain myself. I'm working on the final revisions now, then will start work on the index (tedious but necessary) and hope to publish the book by May 2010. Hurray!
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
My day started off badly this morning. I didn't sleep well last night (due to fibromyalgia pain and a bad cold), and when I don't sleep well, I cannot handle even the tiniest task or challenge. For some reason I felt fat today, even though I weighed 1.4 lbs less this morning than I did yesterday morning. Somehow my inner vision of Fat Jean got projected into my mirror (I sure would like to know how to do that kind of magic). Our paper-loving dog stole my "to do" list off the kitchen table (we're wondering if Jinx has a vitamin/mineral deficiency, or some kind of weird eating disorder) and ate it. I screamed at him and caused our neurotic dog Meg to do her panicked-pee-on-the-rug thing at the sound of Psycho Grammy's voice. When I got dressed, I put my shirt on backwards (further reinforcing the poor self-image). My socks (too big, from fat days, but too good to throw out) kept getting wadded up inside my sneakers. I got out to my car only to realize I'd left my water bottle sitting on the kitchen table (just begging for attention from our plastic-loving dog, Berry). As I drove to the fitness studio, I slowed down for a 30 mph zone where I have twice been caught in speed traps (almost lost my license) and created a parade of angry motorists behind me. And so on, and so on.
None of those were disasters of cosmic proportion, but they felt that way. Until about 5 minutes into my body toning class. I guess the endorphins started firing then, because I found myself smiling even through the hardest moves. When I walked out the door after class, I was no longer Psycho Grammy. I'm not saying I was (or ever will be) completely sane, but I was much, much better than I had been when I fell out of bed this morning. All thanks to the magic of exercise.
If I could put that magic in a bottle and sell it, I'd be a multimillionaire. Unfortunately, the only way you can obtain it is to do it yourself.