Filler Up

I went to see my lapband doctor last week and he feels, “That my laband is at full capacity and there is no need to fill it.” Did you happen to catch the FULL CAPACITY part? I thought we could keep filling these things up until the cows came home; apparently not so much.

He told me that if he overfills the band it could cause compilations like corrosion, which would mean removal. Sold! I am fine. Don’t touch it; leave it alone. Giddy up; I am leaving. He still insisted on “checking” to see how much was saline was actually in my band. Didn’t I tell you not to touch it? I am just guessing here- the reason that he didn’t honour my request is because, I don’t have a medical degree or a white coat so he won. Out came the needle and he checked the saline; everything was where it was suppose to be. Boy was I relieved. (I was kind of hoping for him to say, “Oh my! I was wrong you DO need a slight fill. Oh man do I feel foolish.”

After getting my bandage I stood up and said, “I guess we are done here. Thank you for everything. Thank you for saving my life.”

My doctor raised his eyebrows and said, “I will see you in six months.”

Now the picture was coming into focus: NO MORE FILLS! OMG! OMG! I asked him, “Am I done losing weight without the help of the band?” (How could he answer that? But I was grasping at straws here.)

He replied, “You have done very well with the band. You lost 76 pounds, (I rock!) and that is very good. (Ahem, he meant to say fabulous.) You will probably lose more, but it will be harder. (I hate hard that is why I got the band!) After time your pouch does stretch, so it will hold more food, and you may get hungrier sooner. (How come he is only telling me this now?) Bur the good news is; it will be harder to gain weight. (He must not read my blog. Thank goodness he doesn’t read my blog, or I might have some ‘splaining to do.)

Am I sad? No not at all. I have some secrets that my doctor does not know.

First: For the last six months I have been living on “slider” foods.
Two: I have been drinking while I eat. (Tisk-tisk.)
Three: I have parked myself in the bakery, and ate whatever I felt like.
Four: I do not eat three meals a day.
Five: I don’t eat slowly.
Six: I put sauce on most food to help it go down easy, because I am too lazy to actually chew.
Seven: I have not been exercising religiously.

I know my band is ACTUALLY able to work if I let it do its job. I know that I would not be hungry between meals if I followed my plan. I know my pouch has not gotten bigger because I am not able to pig out. If you looked up “model lapband patient” in the dictionary you would not see my picture. But the weird thing is; I still managed to get down to 173 pounds. I know! I can’t figure it out either. Can you imagine what I would get to if I actually did what I was supposed to do? (I don’t know if I believe his scale because my scale still says 180, and my pants are still giving me oh-so-sexy muffin top.)

I don’t like it when someone like my doctor tells me that I did excellent, and I know that I half-assed it. I owe it to myself to do what I came here to do, which is live like a person who has a band. After all isn’t that what I signed up for? I want to see how many more pounds I can lose if I really try. You mean actually work with my band? What a novel thought! My doctor is going to poop his pants when he sees me in six months. (We won’t tell him I finally started working with my band.)

I am VERY proud of my accomplishments. I am really proud. As of this moment I am overweight compared to morbidly obese. Can you believe it? HA! My doctor was so proud of me that he took pictures of me to put on a website. Before and after photos! I must be smokin’ hot- let me check…yes I just looked in the mirror and I am indeed hot. Imagine it- I am going to be on the internet! I have a confession- It makes happier to be part of this blog than to be anywhere else on the internet.

On a side note- David often catches me checking myself out in the mirror. I feel like I did when I was a thirteen in my bedroom dancing and singing into my hairbrush to Madonna’s Like a Virgin, and my mom would walk in and catch my afternoon performance. Eek! “I wasn’t doing anything. Hey don’t you knock?” Mirror, mirror on the wall…