Therapy-Part Deux (oh hell!)

A few minor issues first:
Living without diet Pepsi is a lil rough right now. I want it-BAD. And almost without thinking-I found myself standing in front of the fully loaded garage fridge staring at them. But so far my will has persevered. Resisting this temptation is no so much about the beverage itself as much as practicing the habit of "no"...which totally sucks, right???

This week I have a new goal: stop eating after 7:30 PM. Nothing good happens with PM munching. This one is a real nagging bitch to deal with. So I'm watching more trashy reality TV (really, no chore) and surfing the Internet (again)... and staying away from the kitchen. Cause I WANT TO MUNCH OUT!!! ...sigh...

OK-The Biggie:
From my first posting you learned that I got benched on my psyche eval-an aborted failure. This hard-ass therapist wants me to work on some issues in regards to emotional eating before I have surgery and tossed me to a new therapist. But in the meantime, the clock is ticking towards my deadline and the surgeon won't meet with me until I have the psyche eval-and my blood pressure is increasing as I write this. (BTW-I personally want to know if there is a bandit out there WITHOUT food issues. Please step forward and identify yourself. And turn to face the firing squad.) ANYHOO... So I met with new therapist-who I like-and went through my personal history-AGAIN. Explained my goals, needs, triggers, AGAIN. And of course-it's therapy-which means you're gonna feel like a wrung out wash cloth when its done with you. So maybe I'm whining (I reserve the right, dammit), but mucking through this barn is not gonna be fun. Necessary-probably-that I concede. But last night, guess what I dreamed about???? THERAPY! I was in therapy ALL FRIGGIN' NIGHT LONG!

God save the queen...

They Like Me!!!

To all you recent followers who have stopped by-THANK YOU!!! It's not easy being the new kid on the block. And as I read your blogs, I was sooooo envious of the camaraderie and rapport and support you give one another on this really difficult (shitty!) journey of weight loss. So thanks ya'll for opening the doors-girl clubs can be a lil tricky, ya know??? This is totally more excitin' than sorority rush!!! I feel like running around the blogosphere shouting, They like me! They like me! They like me! Cause the real truth is, I need ya'll a whole lot more than you need me...

Thank God the cavalry showed up! Cause this here battle is gonna be a long, grueling BITCH!!!

Small Victory

It was all I could do yesterday to walk away from the garage fridge where my stash of frosty cold bubbly diet Pepsi's were artfully arranged-ready to be consumed in a single, swift grab. Had someone gotten in my way-I would have smacked them down-without remorse. But I resisted. Turned my back. And walked away. A small victory. And really not one worth even mentioning. Not exactly a good vs evil moment... But it was about CONTROL. So my mantra this week is CONTROL YOURSELF. I'm putting on the proverbial brakes and purging THE LAST SUPPER binging. I really appreciated Southern Belle's comments (paraphrased): You will cook and eat again and even find joy in food and serving it to others...just differently and not so much... So stuffing myself (feelings) has to go. I CAN control myself. This morning I made the most simple and delicious Southern sandwich known to mankind: thick tomato slices on an onion roll with purple onion and light mayo and cracked pepper. The kind of sandwich that runs down your arms and you wanna lick the juice off your elbows. And as the last bite went down, I instantly wanted another... But not today... because maybe, maybe...this time...I'll beat this monster...for good.

Facing Fears

Part of the process of getting ready for this surgery is learning from others who have had this surgery. I have posted 5 fabulous bandit blogs on my list that I am currently reading that have been insightful and fun and helpful. All of these ladies have amazing stories and authentic voices. I am looking forward to learning from all of these women and following in their footsteps. Thanks for sharing, ladies!!!

Hubby recently confessed one of his fears regarding the surgery-considering how steadfastly supportive he's been-I was surprised. Here it is: that I will stop cooking and that he and the boys will be on their own! And honestly-I can't even predict how I will handle that. Currently, I love being in charge of feeding my family. I enjoy the process of planning, shopping, preparing, and serving the food (hate clean up!). And my youngest son loves my cooking!!! His compliments are so important to me... So, we'll see...

Currently my greatest fear is losing my relationship with food. Both privately and publicly. Because I am an emotional eater, food soothes my boredom, frustration, anxiety...you name it. Food is also my joy-the way I interact with friends-my reward. And because I am grappling with the notion of losing this "best friend,"
every meal has become The Last Supper-as if I were a condemned man at dawn! So yes, the eating is out of control-a voracious monster on the march. But not for long... I am saying my good-byes to soda this week. Monday will be another baby step and I will add another good-bye to the list... Will keep you posted.

Overall I am feeling empowered and resolved. Maybe This Time...!!!

The Nutritionist

So I met with Vicki the Nutritionist last night. I was determined to keep my mouth shut and keep my answers to a bare minimum. After the psyche eval debacle-I had had my fill of over sharing. Well-meeting Vicki the Nutritionist put those worries to rest. How shall I put this nicely??? She's a real whackadoodle-and I mean that in the most positive way possible. Talk about an over sharer! I couldn't get a word in edgewise. I answered 3 questions-and she did all the rest of the talking. Trust me-that was FINE with me. Here's some hi-lites from our consult:

Vicki the Nutritionist: "I am sooooo excited you're here!....I had bariatric surgery too!....my friend did hers in Texas....and I decided to go to North Carolina...my daughter is looking for a job this summer...my first husband was a selfish SOB...my boyfriend is a chef...I had the tummy tuck after seeing myself in the mirror making love and "doing the dog" (her words, swear!) with my boyfriend and my belly was swinging...my stools were odorous the first 6 months!... and now I wear full support panty hose because of all my loose skin on my legs (and she lifts her dress way up for me to see)...and I just can't wait to see you again after your surgery!

Whew! A whirlwind of whackadoodle! I actually laughed out loud at her-several times. And she didn't even mind or take it personally. Honestly-she was a breath of fresh air. I KNOW how to eat and what I should/not eat. And I confessed that I was really dreading discussing dieting-again. Just talking to a real person who has had this experience was worth the $100 fee. I mean before I left she had given me her fav website and her fav weight loss book and her email address. What could be more helpful than that??? And the image of her "doing the dog" with the chef boyfriend-priceless!!!

Goal:
I am dropping carbonated sodas from my diet. And I LOVE them... Diet Pepsi has been my best pal these many years... not going to be easy. And honestly-I'm really jones-ing right now. Moving forward-one sip at a time.

Unknown

I am reclined in my beach chair, toes shoved into warm sand, relishing the breeze on my face and body when hubby finally spots THE ONE. He's been on girl watch since we've arrived. "That's what you're gonna look like a year after your surgery." And with total assurance and calm acceptance, he believes this. He has total faith in me. He actually thinks I can do this whole lapband surgery thing. And I study mystery woman under cover of my dark shades. Yes-she is lovely. With a sturdy, toned, athletic build that is pleasing, healthy, and real-not all sharp hip bones and rib cage and knock knees. Maybe I did look like that in another lifetime-hubby assures me I did. But I don't remember. Because I have always felt fat. Since before kindergarten. Even as I look back at pictures now, I realize my body image has always been skewed by the voices in the my head. But here's the deal: NOW, I really am fat. And unhealthy. And I am as far from an ideal, healthy weight as I have ever been. But curiously, as I study mystery woman, I feel...nothing. No envy, no excitement, no sharp longing or desire. Because that deep, resonant voice that lives within my core whispers: not a chance! you don't deserve that. you know you're just gonna fuck it up eventually... Now THAT is TRUTH. I always fuck it up eventually. So looking into the future and using mystery woman as my "mirror," ... well mirrors are a bitch. As a matter of fact I haven't really looked into a mirror in...how long??? I am a pro at putting on make up and dressing in the dark. Because mirrors will hurt you. And mock you. Mirror-Mirror on the wall, who's the fattest of them all???

As these fleeting thoughts scurry across my subconscious, I squeeze hubby's hand. And I am grateful. Because his faith and love sustain me. My own have failed me long, long ago. But I continue to trudge down this path. Skeptical... unsure...afraid... but resolved to the unknown. Maybe this time...

Process

I guess what's so frustrating about my failed/aborted psych eval (previous posting) is the additional hoops that I am going to have to jump over the next 3 months in order to meet my October lapband surgery deadline. Every insurance carrier's criteria is different for being approved for this procedure. But ALL companies have arduous requirements. Getting approved to have this surgery is no cake walk. And honestly-there are enough stop-gaps in the process that those who are not serious or committed won't make it.

Here are the requirements of my particular insurance carrier:
medical records from previous 2-5 yrs documenting medical history
6 month's of consecutive doctor visits to record weight loss efforts
letter from your dr. stating medical necessity
medical questionnaire/surgery seminar/insurance consultation
blood work/labs
psyche eval
dietitian eval
surgery eval

As you can see there is a lot of paperwork, phone calling, and multiple monthly appts that you MUST keep. A missed appt-and your 6 months starts all over. And of course-unexpected road blocks are going to occur (lost paperwork, misdirected faxes, extra therapy sessions!).

So the postponed psych eval kinda clogs the chain of command of events that need to play out (ie: the surgeon will not see me until the psych eval is complete). And I DID have a pity party about it. But hubby gave me a good talking to, a steady shoulder to cry/whine on and then took me on a shopping spree (new dress, bras, perfume)!

My biggest goal right now is just to allow the process to unfold, to trust in God's plan that doors will open (and close) when I am ready and that...maybe this time...I'll lose the weight for good!

Bottom line: You're gonna need a patient, level headed partner to help you through this.

Psych Eval

So I went for my psych eval yesterday ready to check this task off my to-do list in preparation for my October (fingers crossed!) lapband surgery. Although I had a nagging feeling that I needed to be mentally prepared, I pushed those compulsive, controlling thoughts aside. Note to self: No worries! You've got this in the bag! So I showered and primped. Don't want to look like a basket case, right? And put on a cute, assertive outfit and leisurely arrived at my destination feeling peacefully prepared to expose the wonders of my psyche to a complete stranger who, of course, would be completely charmed by my engaging personality. And I have to say-she was. I even made her laugh-twice! Who knew talking about failed, miserable weight loss attempts could be so....stimulating??? I was feeling very Kathy Griffith about the whole thing. Really. And this therapist's office was so warm and inviting and her compassion so steady and sustaining. She GOT me. And I told her EVERYTHING: falling apart at 40, my yr long depression, the implosion and near destruction of my marriage, my earliest memories of emotional eating, my epiphanies about food addiction, my life long battle of feeling like a fat failure, my subversive attempts at weight loss that bordered on the nearly illegal, as well as my chronic self loathing fueled by shameful binge eating episodes of epic proportions. I must say-my eloquence even surprised me. This was soooooo easy! Fun, even. I should have tried this years ago!

When I finally glide to an elegant ending of my tumultuous weight loss story, she compassionaltely looks me in the eye and says, "You are so articulate and insightful! You have a clear understanding of your issues, and you are what we therapists call the PERFECT PATIENT (I am all but glowingly levitating at this lavish praise-which I have EARNED). She continues: You were MEANT for therapy. Not everyone has what it takes to do this kind of work. You however, are a PERFECT candidate! And I have 100% assurance that with some time and sessions you can make this surgery a success. So we're going to cancel this evaluation, send you to another therapist (rejection!), and I'll see what we can do for you in another few months (ie: if you get your shit together)." Do NOT pass GO, and do NOT collect $200. You're grounded, baby.

Like a dumbfounded mouth-breather I sit there in shock. My tight deadline for getting my paperwork done in time for my October surgery is ka-put. And I am frantic to get this show on the road. I am SICK of being a perpetual fat ass! I stumble over my shocked dismay to ask a few stilted questions. My nerves are fraying in front of her. My panic mounts. I nearly plead with her: Please, please please! Just sign the damn papers!!! I'll do anything you want, lady. Don't be such a hard ass. I mean give me an F'in break, k??? I NEED this surgery because I DO have serious issues! What the F did you expect...!?! And I barely manage to listen to her instructions, gather my purse, and straighten my perspiration soaked dress and exit with some of my dignity intact-and a false smile plastered to my face. Within the beat of a few seconds, I have been politely dismissed and shipped off-an aborted psych eval failure. A total fucked-up head case that will require intensive work.

I could have told her that over the phone...