Making progress

My port incision looks much better now (though it's very itchy - I think I may be allergic to the surgical adhesive). The site is still swollen, as you can see in this photo. The fine red line below the incision is from my scratching - bad girl, Jean!

Port repair - day 4

A lot of the swelling has gone down, but I look like I've been beaten with a baseball bat. I'm 99.99% sure I didn't look like this after my original band surgery. I think I would've remembered that.
I guess I have less adipose (fatty) tissue to cushion the blows now, and clearly Dr. Weaver encountered a struggle when trying to extricate my port from its tilted position and fight it into the correct and obedient position. And as we say in the south, she's just a tiny little thang!

Survived my port repair

I survived my port repair surgery. My belly is not a pretty sight at the moment...not just because of the incision but because it's grotesquely distended, especially on the right side (port side). I only feel pain at the incision site when I exert myself physically (rolling over in bed, for example), but the pain from the intestinal gas is continuous. I have 2 GasX strips left and a whole bottle of Percocet. I'll have see if I can persuade my husband to do a rescue run to Walgreens tomorrow for more GasX.

The dogs have been pretty good about not jumping on me, but this afternoon Jinx greeted me happily and put his front paws right on top of my incision. That was not a good moment.

I'm so glad it's done! I go back to see my surgeon again in a month. Let's all keep our fingers crossed that I can get a fill then.

Good news about my AGB book!

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!

The magic of exercise

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.

Strong?

When you're still fairly new at the whole WLS thing, scale and non-scale victories pop up all over the place. It's very gratifying and it keeps you going when otherwise the business of losing weight seems endless and dreary.

I reached my goal weight at 12 months post-op, and the victory list has been shrinking ever since. Not because I've experienced failure, but because the entire landscape of my life has changed. At this point in my WLS journey, my social circle includes more people who never knew me when I was obese than those who did know me then. Most of them don't even know I had WLS. The subject doesn't come up - why would it? They look at me and see this trim (if short) lady whose eating and exercise habits are conspicuously healthy but otherwise not remarkable. They ask me if I have grandchildren, or where I got my hair cut, but very few of them question my eating (I told a curious coworker that I eat this way because I'm diabetic, which is the absolute if not the complete truth). They're more curious about my Yankee accent than my body weight. So after 30 years of hoping no one would notice how fat I was, I'm now tempted to shout, "Can't you see? I'm NOT FAT!"

Sometimes my fat world and my thin world collide. The guy who works the front desk at my health club used to work at the same local company as I did, pre-WLS. One day this shared history came up in conversation - I can't recall exactly how, but Randy said something about that company, and I said, "Oh, I used to work there, too. I was one of the product managers, working for (boss's name)." And Randy looked at me in astonishment and said, "You're THAT Jean McMillan?"

A new fitness center recently opened in this area, closer to my home and with a more attractive class offering than the other place, so I've been trying out those classes. This morning there were about 8 of us in the low impact aerobics class. Good class, good instructor, pleasant company. After class, one of the other students (whose age I guesstimate at about 40) came up to me and said, "You did really good in class!"I thanked her. She went on to say, "Did you used to be athletic?" I almost laughed. Used to be? You mean, before I got so old? I controlled myself and said instead, "I took a lot of dance classes when I was younger."She said, "I can tell! You're so good! And you're really STRONG!"

Then I did laugh. "Well, the strong part is a recent development."

To be praised for being strong was a great NSV. I've been a weakling all my life, even in my skinny periods. Being strong is almost as good as being skinny. Not quite...but almost.

Obesity Denial

I think I've mentioned before that when I was obese, I had no idea of how big I really was. When I looked at my reflection in the mirror, I literally could not see anything from my chin down. I was suffering from obesity denial.

Some 60 pounds before I reached my highest weight, a Taiwanese business associate asked me, So when will your baby be born?" I told him stiffly, "I am not pregnant!" I was indignant. How could he possibly think I was pregnant?

A month later, my husband took this photo of me holding our new puppy, Bessy Lou. Looking at it now, I can see exactly why Mr. Chen thought I was pregnant. Like, six or seven months pregnant!