What did I do?

Oh my God! What did I do? Was I crazy? I actually did it. I had Lap Band Surgery. I had a band placed around my stomach so my food intake can be restricted. Doesn’t sound that bad, right? Wrong. Not only does it restrict my food intake, but I wont be able to eat my favorites foods ever again? What the hell was I thinking?

No more pizza, fried shrimp, cheeseburgers, French fries, grilled cheese sandwiches, or ice cream? Not even small portions once in a while? Not recommended I was told. That wasn’t exactly telling me I could never have that stuff again, right? Welcome to the world of healthy foods. Blech!

As I lay there in recovery, these thoughts whirled through my head and made me more nauseous than the anesthesia. I felt such regret for doing this and fear for what I had to look forward to. That fear was having to live my life never enjoying food again and always feeling deprived. I felt so angry with myself for not having the willpower to do this on my own, for giving in to the desperation I had felt when nothing was working for me anymore. I felt like someone just informed me that my best friend had been banned from speaking to me again. I was now on my own and had to find comfort elsewhere, other than in the arms of food. What a weak fat bastard I had become.

Food has always been a source of comfort for me. I grew up in an Italian American family with an Alcoholic father and a mother who tried to overcompensate for that by bringing home “goodies” to make us feel better. She worked in a pastry shop and would bring home cakes and cookies and Italian ices. She made fattening foods, nothing healthy. Everything had sauces, gravies, bread, and potatoes. We never had fresh vegetables growing up. Just canned corn, peas & carrots, and string beans. But, we loved her food and enjoyed those goodies.

I was now an emotional eater. Thanks Ma. I ate when I was happy, sad, bored, tired, full, walking, sitting, watching tv, working. Hell, I even ate while I was on the toilet. No Shit. I cant remember what being hungry is like anymore, because I ate so much all the time. I never gave myself a chance to be hungry. The funny thing is that I get full really fast, but just keep shoveling it in because it tasted good. My sister, the skinny bitch, would actually have to tell me to put the fork down because she could see that I looked absolutely stuffed that I couldn’t breathe anymore. She was right. I was stuffed. But there’s something about getting that last piece of food in that was so satisfying to me. It would annoy the crap outta me to leave an unfinished hamburger or hot dog on my plate. Im a freak, though. I had to have a little of everything on my fork. I dont eat my food separately. Oh, no. A little bite of my burger, some French fries and cole slaw on my fork. I had to have a taste of everything together and had to make sure that I would end up with an equal amount of everything down to last bite of food.


If you took the last bite of food off my plate, I would be pissed. I later learned from my wonderful therapist, Pat, that its called “longing”.

I’ve been longing my whole friggin life. I’ve longed for a happy childhood, a non-alcoholic father, an assertive mother, thin thighs, a prince on a white horse, a better job, nice house. We all have some type of longing, right? Right now I have longing for Ham, Fontina Cheese, and bacon on a Panini, hot and gooey. Oh my god, I have to stop this. I’m gonna drive myself crazy. Oh, and a pickle would be good with that.

Am I NOT supposed to be hungry?, I ask the nutritionist. Because, I am. I thought that I would not feel hungry, that I would not have the desire to eat. I had been home one day and I was feeling very hungry. She says, Oh, that’s just “head hunger”, if you were really hungry, you would feel dizzy, weak, and lightheaded. Bullshit! This is real hunger, stomach growling hunger, hunger pang hunger. The kind of hunger that comes from drinking one miserable shake a day. Yeah, sure. I can have clear broth, tea, sugar-free drinks. Big deal. I don’t know about you, but that liquid crap doesn’t satisfy my hunger. A big mac and fries does that. Pat tells me that fullness and satiety are two different things. Whatever. A big mac and fries would make me full AND satisfied.

Satiety is something that escapes me when I think about food. I mean, I’m satisfied when I’m full. But satiety is not fullness. Satiety with food is about eating until you are comfortable and your hunger is gone. I’m not satisfied when I feel so full that I could throw up. In fact, I’m disgusted. I guess I’m satisfied that I’m so full that I’m disgusted with myself. Sure, I can get full on steamed chicken and vegetables, but I wouldn’t be satisfied.

The food network is all I’ve been watching since I came home. I cant seem to get enough of it. Watching these cooking shows is almost like a punishment for me, a kind of torture that I am imposing on myself for being so self-indulgent all these years. This feeling of deprivation makes me so angry for going through with this surgery. I cant believe that I actually thought that this is something I could do. Me? I’m a foodie. I have had this love affair with food for so long, it seems odd not to have it in my life, on my terms. Its not up to me anymore. It up to the Band. The band is with me. Forever. Maybe. Well, it is removable. Ok, I’m not gonna remove it. But the hope is that I will one day be able to control my eating on my own, to one day be able to stop at “one”. Yeah, sure. I have to call Pat.