If you have had Lapband surgery, then you have heard of "PBing". Simply put, its throwing up. Well, not the throwing up you might be accustomed to, where you experience violent stomach spasms or contractions and then the expulsion of digested food while hovering over the porcelain god in a cold sweat. PB'ing is much less complicated and much less draining.
Pb'ing which stands for "productive burp" happens when you eat too fast,too much, or swallow too big of a bite of food. The food never reaches your stomach. It actually sits in your esophagus at the top of the band where it wont go through. So, now you have this lump of chewed up, undigested mass that wont go down. Dont even THINK about drinking anything with the false hope of helping the food go down. Its not gonna happen. As a matter of fact, it makes it worse.
I"ve made that mistake many times. What it actually does is add gunpowder to dynamite. The liquid you just drank is now sitting on top of the food that's sitting at the top of the band. What happens next? You feel really uncomfortable because this lump of food and water wont go down. You"ve made things worse with the friggin water. I forgot to tell you. You better not have gulped that water down to quickly either. Because in about 10 seconds, your ass better be at the toilet ready for the alien about to expel itself from your body at lightning spped.
If you dont drink anything, though, Its not that bad, really. I've found that all I have to do is open my mouth and out comes the offending matter. Now, Im not promoting this behavior, so relax. Its gonna happen, thats all Im saying. Im just preparing you. Try to avoid it by taking small bites, chewing till its mush, and wait 5 minutes between bites. Yeah, right.
I cant do that. First of all, I eat so fast, you would think it was my last meal right before going to the electric chair. I pb'ed constantly because even though I was "full", I wanted to eat more because it tasted so good. So, I was pb'ing to empty my band, so I could eat as much as I wanted. I would pb several times during the course of a meal.I would do this alone of course, so as not to draw attention to myself. Of course, I would feel so disgusted with myself for doing this.
Seriously, I was doing this on purpose for a long time and it ended up giving me heartburn after a while. I was taking Tums all day long. I just thought it was because I had Lapband surgery. It wasnt . It was because of me. So, Once I stopped, so did the heartburn. Go figure. I havent pb'd in 3 weeks. I feel like a junkie trying to get past the withdrawal stage. Can u believe this shit? I have an addiction to throwing up. Only me.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Friday, February 5, 2010
Are you there, God? Its me, Lisa.
I used to pray. Not anymore, though. I havent prayed since I lost my mother five years ago. I figured , whats the point? He didnt answer my prayers then, so why bother. I used to pray every night. I had a prayer routine. I prayed "in order", not of importance necessarily. When I was too tired to pray or forgot, I would have nightmares. I felt like I was being punished for not praying.
I prayed a lot as a kid. I prayed that my alcoholic father would stop drinking,I prayed for a bike, normal parents, a boyfriend, and I prayed that I would be thin. All of those prayers went unanswered.
I figured my prayers werent important enough to be answered, but that didnt stop me from doing it. He had to answer eventually, right? He hasnt yet.
I havent prayed in almost five years and I sleep like a baby. I guess it really didnt matter if I prayed or not, after all.
I prayed a lot as a kid. I prayed that my alcoholic father would stop drinking,I prayed for a bike, normal parents, a boyfriend, and I prayed that I would be thin. All of those prayers went unanswered.
I figured my prayers werent important enough to be answered, but that didnt stop me from doing it. He had to answer eventually, right? He hasnt yet.
I havent prayed in almost five years and I sleep like a baby. I guess it really didnt matter if I prayed or not, after all.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Sticks and Stones
Sticks and Stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me. Who wrote that shit? Stick and stones will hurt and then you heal and forget about it. But, words will last forever. They are like the cockroaches of memories for me. I remember every mean thing that someone said or did to me.
All those mean words are seared into my brain and they are as follows: fat fuck, fat shit, waste, blimp, hog, whale, etc. You get my drift. I dont only remember the words, but every sentence they were included in.
I was at a club one night in the early 80's. Mind you, Ive always had a pretty face. I happen to pass a cute guy in the crowd and bumped into him by accident. I apologized and he looked at my face, smiled, looked down at the rest of me and said, "Oh, forget that." I felt like shit the rest of the night and kept that comment with me since. Another time, years before, I was about 14 years old and hanging out with our crowd and as all of us girls walked passed the boys, they whistled at us or so I thought. After they whistled, the made it clear that it wasnt meant for me by saying, " Not you, Lisa."
How dare I think that whistle included me? What was I thinking, anyway? Why would someone whistle at my 14 year old fat ass? Im 45 now and I can see that day as if it were yesterday. And, if I think about it too long, it can still make me cry.
Kids are so cruel. But, dont kid yourself, adults can be also. I was walking in a mall and a song was playing from Hall and Oates, "Youre kiss in on my Lips". I walked passed a couple of guys who as I walked by sang the lyrics as "My kiss is on your hips". I cant get a fuckin break. Isnt anyone taught about sensitivity anymore? I was always nice to the freaks. Why wasnt anyone nice to me? Now, I have become a hardass. It doesnt pay to be nice. People will shit on you if you let them. Nowadays, I'll shove those stick and stones up your ass and I have become a master at throwing words what will send you home crying and then to your therapist. Am I a little bitter? You bet your ass I am.
All those mean words are seared into my brain and they are as follows: fat fuck, fat shit, waste, blimp, hog, whale, etc. You get my drift. I dont only remember the words, but every sentence they were included in.
I was at a club one night in the early 80's. Mind you, Ive always had a pretty face. I happen to pass a cute guy in the crowd and bumped into him by accident. I apologized and he looked at my face, smiled, looked down at the rest of me and said, "Oh, forget that." I felt like shit the rest of the night and kept that comment with me since. Another time, years before, I was about 14 years old and hanging out with our crowd and as all of us girls walked passed the boys, they whistled at us or so I thought. After they whistled, the made it clear that it wasnt meant for me by saying, " Not you, Lisa."
How dare I think that whistle included me? What was I thinking, anyway? Why would someone whistle at my 14 year old fat ass? Im 45 now and I can see that day as if it were yesterday. And, if I think about it too long, it can still make me cry.
Kids are so cruel. But, dont kid yourself, adults can be also. I was walking in a mall and a song was playing from Hall and Oates, "Youre kiss in on my Lips". I walked passed a couple of guys who as I walked by sang the lyrics as "My kiss is on your hips". I cant get a fuckin break. Isnt anyone taught about sensitivity anymore? I was always nice to the freaks. Why wasnt anyone nice to me? Now, I have become a hardass. It doesnt pay to be nice. People will shit on you if you let them. Nowadays, I'll shove those stick and stones up your ass and I have become a master at throwing words what will send you home crying and then to your therapist. Am I a little bitter? You bet your ass I am.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Let The Healing Begin
My scars are almost gone and now I am able to exercise. Oh, Joy! That means I actually have to get off my fat ass and do some kind of physical activity. Do I hafta exercise? The dotor says it is imperative. Who uses that word anymore, anyway? What happened to the word "required" or "mandatory"? Imperative? Its emperative that you take small bites, its imperative you chew slowly, its imperative you wait 5 minutes between bites, and its imperative that you exercise. Its imperative that you kiss my big ass!
We all know that 30 minutes of exercise daily is important,right? But, for some reason, it seems to be of Uber-importance for us Lapbanders. Why is that? I know why. Do I hafta tell you? Because we pretty much lose weight so quickly in the beginning, our skin cant keep up. So, excercise will help tone as we lose. Therefore, we wont be as saggy. Yeah, right? Tell that to my inner thighs and boobs.
Listen, I have great genes and good skin elasticity. But all the exercise in the world isnt gonna lift my boobs up any higher. Which, by the way, are keeping warm under my laptop. This is why I wont wear miniskirts anymore. My nipples will show. My thighs are another story. I've always hated them. You see, I was lucky enough to get the bottom-heavy gene from both sides. I call it "double whammy DNA". I think a lot of you know what Im sayin, right? Can I get a Hallalujah on that one?
My thighs have always lived in a world of their own. My bottom half was always bigger than the top. They never cooperated with the rest of me. Jeans were a nightmare to buy, because once I found a pair to get passed my thighs, they would gap at my waist. Then I discovered Lycra/Spandex. But with that discovery, came delusion. I could fit into a smaller size than I actually was. And, let me tell you, I could squeeze this ass into a size 16, even though I was clearly 1 size 20 or bigger.
It was a curse and a blessing in one. You see, If I was in a car, you couldnt see me from the waist down and I looked like a moderately thin person. But, one I stepped out of the car......POW!!!!! My secret was out. But, even that was shortlived, because once I ballooned up to 280, being smaller on top wasnt helping anymore. I just looked big all over.
I hated my thighs and still do. My mother had these thighs and every time I look at them, I am reminded of her. When we looked at her old pictures, she would say, "I was always 118-120". Ma,are you kidding me? You mean 118-120 in one thigh, right? No, let me stop. She wasnt fat as a young woman, just a little bottom-heavy. She was like the "J-lo" of her time.
Pat had me write a list of things that I liked about my legs and I had a really hard time with that. The only thing I liked about them was that they gave me the ability to walk. Thats it. I had nothin else.
We all know that 30 minutes of exercise daily is important,right? But, for some reason, it seems to be of Uber-importance for us Lapbanders. Why is that? I know why. Do I hafta tell you? Because we pretty much lose weight so quickly in the beginning, our skin cant keep up. So, excercise will help tone as we lose. Therefore, we wont be as saggy. Yeah, right? Tell that to my inner thighs and boobs.
Listen, I have great genes and good skin elasticity. But all the exercise in the world isnt gonna lift my boobs up any higher. Which, by the way, are keeping warm under my laptop. This is why I wont wear miniskirts anymore. My nipples will show. My thighs are another story. I've always hated them. You see, I was lucky enough to get the bottom-heavy gene from both sides. I call it "double whammy DNA". I think a lot of you know what Im sayin, right? Can I get a Hallalujah on that one?
My thighs have always lived in a world of their own. My bottom half was always bigger than the top. They never cooperated with the rest of me. Jeans were a nightmare to buy, because once I found a pair to get passed my thighs, they would gap at my waist. Then I discovered Lycra/Spandex. But with that discovery, came delusion. I could fit into a smaller size than I actually was. And, let me tell you, I could squeeze this ass into a size 16, even though I was clearly 1 size 20 or bigger.
It was a curse and a blessing in one. You see, If I was in a car, you couldnt see me from the waist down and I looked like a moderately thin person. But, one I stepped out of the car......POW!!!!! My secret was out. But, even that was shortlived, because once I ballooned up to 280, being smaller on top wasnt helping anymore. I just looked big all over.
I hated my thighs and still do. My mother had these thighs and every time I look at them, I am reminded of her. When we looked at her old pictures, she would say, "I was always 118-120". Ma,are you kidding me? You mean 118-120 in one thigh, right? No, let me stop. She wasnt fat as a young woman, just a little bottom-heavy. She was like the "J-lo" of her time.
Pat had me write a list of things that I liked about my legs and I had a really hard time with that. The only thing I liked about them was that they gave me the ability to walk. Thats it. I had nothin else.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Arrest Me
Sometimes I wish that I hadnt told anyone about my surgery. I feel like everything I eat is being scrutinized. Its like people around me think its their job to be the food police and make sure that I dont break the laws of the LapBand. They think they're helpingme, but what they are doing is really annoying the shit out of me.
My sister is the "Chief of Police". She has always watched me gorge myself until she literally had to take my dish and fork into custody. I actually welcomed the intervention. I wanted someone to recognize that I was crying out to be stopped. I wanted someone else to take control over this addiction, because I was beyond help.
Everyone wants to "police" everything you eat once you've told them that you've started some kind of weight loss plan or if they see you losing weight. They feel its their job to keep you on track and out of trouble. They want to point out that you shouldnt be eating this or that, and you should be exercising more. Shut up! When, exactly did these people become such experts in diet, nutrition, and exercise? Especially, since their fat asses arent in tiptop shape either. I guarantee you that I have 100 times more knowledge on the subject than all of them together. Im the one who's had experience with this "perpetrator" my whole life and I know exactly what I'm dealing with, not them. Im no rookie .
My sister is the "Chief of Police". She has always watched me gorge myself until she literally had to take my dish and fork into custody. I actually welcomed the intervention. I wanted someone to recognize that I was crying out to be stopped. I wanted someone else to take control over this addiction, because I was beyond help.
Everyone wants to "police" everything you eat once you've told them that you've started some kind of weight loss plan or if they see you losing weight. They feel its their job to keep you on track and out of trouble. They want to point out that you shouldnt be eating this or that, and you should be exercising more. Shut up! When, exactly did these people become such experts in diet, nutrition, and exercise? Especially, since their fat asses arent in tiptop shape either. I guarantee you that I have 100 times more knowledge on the subject than all of them together. Im the one who's had experience with this "perpetrator" my whole life and I know exactly what I'm dealing with, not them. Im no rookie .
Saturday, January 16, 2010
The Office
Back to work. Oh what fun! I went back to work about a week or so after my surgery. Everyone knows that I had Lapband surgery and everyone has questions. I answer them, proud, like I just came home from the Army. They wanted to know how the surgery was, how long it lasted, how did I feel when I woke up, what did they give me to eat or drink, can I feel the band inside me, how much did I lose, etc. The attention I got was nice. I felt important. Then, I had to start losing weight.
I wondered whether I should have told my co-workers about it. I felt like all eyes were on me, waiting for the weight to come off . Maybe they were waiting for me to fail. Maybe will, who knows. But you can bet ur ass that I’ll go down trying.
I wondered whether I should have told my co-workers about it. I felt like all eyes were on me, waiting for the weight to come off . Maybe they were waiting for me to fail. Maybe will, who knows. But you can bet ur ass that I’ll go down trying.
Cooking
So, here it is the middle of the week and I’m so bored sitting here all day. I decided to cook for my husband, since he hasn’t really eaten anything home-cooked. I felt bad for him and felt worse for me. Cooking for him was very therapeutic for me. It kept me from going insane from not eating. And, I didn’t just make him any old thing. No, I had to make gourmet meals, like Chicken Cacciatore, Lasagna, and Potato and Egg Fritatta. It was enough to just chop vegetables, beat eggs, and make sauce. I couldn’t eat it, but I can handle the food and create these masterpieces for someone else to enjoy. And, he did.
I couldn’t enjoy it, so why punish him? Looking back now, I should have poisoned the prick. I’ll get to that later. Cooking for someone other then myself gave me back some power, so to speak. I felt back in control again. Control over my food and what I do with it. Sounds weird, right? Even though I couldn’t eat that kind of food, no one can stop me from smelling it, touching it, preparing it. It was almost like I was being defiant while cooking. This band is not going to keep ME from food! I will not let it dictate what I do with my food. I had waged a war against food, daring it to cross me.
I must admit. I have been tasting as I am preparing. How else would I know if its seasoned properly? But, it wasn’t the same as eating it. So, no matter how I cooked food, smelled food, touched food, or prepared food, it was winning this war. It was still controlling me and it pissed me off.
I couldn’t enjoy it, so why punish him? Looking back now, I should have poisoned the prick. I’ll get to that later. Cooking for someone other then myself gave me back some power, so to speak. I felt back in control again. Control over my food and what I do with it. Sounds weird, right? Even though I couldn’t eat that kind of food, no one can stop me from smelling it, touching it, preparing it. It was almost like I was being defiant while cooking. This band is not going to keep ME from food! I will not let it dictate what I do with my food. I had waged a war against food, daring it to cross me.
I must admit. I have been tasting as I am preparing. How else would I know if its seasoned properly? But, it wasn’t the same as eating it. So, no matter how I cooked food, smelled food, touched food, or prepared food, it was winning this war. It was still controlling me and it pissed me off.
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