Weighty Matters

I flew to Boston on Friday for my younger nephew’s college graduation and lovely time with family.  Time has been short and Internet access slow, so I’m behind in blogging.  This is my second more major trip since surgery, meaning I’m really out of my element without easy access to the “tried and true”.  I have some observations, good and bad, about traveling.

Carbs are always more readily accessible than quality protein.  I still prepared, by packing some cheese, etc.  Unfortunately, I realize I still have the tendency to want the carbs and justify the want in my head, even when there is no logic to that choice.  I’ve had some successes and fails this weekend.  Success — not buying a Dunkin Donuts doughnut when I went for tea at the airport.  Success — realizing I could buy a meat and cheese pack that offered small portions on the plane.  Fail — also eating the pita chips that came in the pack.  Success – Enjoying a lovely stroll for several blocks on Friday afternoon.  Fail – That glass of wine that I really didn’t need but the hotel offered every afternoon.  Compounded that with a white sangria at dinner.  Not supposed to drink that much alcohol.  Success — eggs for breakfast.  Success — making healthy choices and not overeating at the post-convocation reception.  Success — Another lovely stroll yesterday afternoon.  Success/Fail — excellent dinner with good portion control last night, but was starving by the time we ordered entrees so I had a piece of bread.  However, turned down a cocktail.  Success — yogurt and fresh berries for breakfast this morning!   I guess when I look back at the whole weekend, I did more good than harm to my food plan so, overall I’ll rate this a plus weekend.  Besides that, emotionally it was terrific to be with my loved ones.

Emotionally, I have to say that I observed a very human development while I’ve been away.  Last night, at our celebratory dinner in a really good restaurant, I was temporarily overcome by a swamp of resentment.  I’d ordered a delicious rib eye done in a wine reduction.  It was absolutely delicious.  I was thoroughly pissed off that I couldn’t physically eat more of it.  I didn’t care so much about not eating more than a couple of the also tasty rosemary pomme frites, but damn it, I really, really wanted more of the meat!

The portion was huge and, even in my pre-surgery days I would have been hard pressed to consume the entire rib eye.   Last night, I would have hated wasting almost the entire thing.  Luckily, my 20-something year old nephews have good appetites.  I cut the portion in half at the beginning and portioned it out to them.  I hate slowly, chewing many times and savoring the flavors.  Aware that my mood relating to the limited capacity to eat was pissy at best, I made the conscious decision to just accept that this is the way it is for me now.  I could let it spoil the evening for me or I could put it away and enjoy myself.  That’s what I chose.  The acceptance eased the resentment and my mood improved.

I believe my nephew’s ultimate goal is to own and run his own restaurant.  I suggested last night that when he does that years from now, there will no doubt be many, many more people who have had bariatric surgery.  So, instead of relegating them to appetizers, which are not the full menu of choices, he should also offer “petite” plate versions of each of his entrees.  I think that’s a great idea.  I also think that someone should do a small bites cooking show on Food Network that focuses on wonderful flavors and textures in small amounts.  Instant hit!

Well, it’s almost time for me to leave for the airport.  One other observation that continues to please me, is how much easier it is for me physically to travel.  Hoofing around airports isn’t nearly as strenuous and uncomfortable.  I practically revel in my body’s fluidity and the new found comfort I have, even with a backpack on while pulling a suitcase!

I’m not a stupid woman.  Most would say, and I’ll admit if pressed, that I’m actually pretty smart.  This doesn’t mean that I don’t sometimes do stupid things.  Take this evening, for example.  My contractor friend is going to fix/patch my porch columns, and then repaint the columns, railing and porch floor.  I’m psyched.  This work is wayyyy overdo and I spend a lot of time on my porch, so I want it to look nice and be comfortable.  For many, many years, I’ve had a very old set of wicker furniture.  Not the kind you mostly see today which is wickeresque in some sort of plastic material over steel.  No, this is the old fashioned woven stuff.  The set is more than 40 years old.  I’d guess it’s closer to 60 years.  It was in our family home when my folks bought it in 1970.  At times, I’ve used it for living room furniture in my first few apartments and when I moved to the Keys over 10 years ago, it was the perfect set for my porch.

Ten years of Florida Keys atmosphere with heat, sun and salt water takes a toll on pretty much everything.  The set has served me well, but its collapsing and falling apart.  Time to put away the nostalgia, bid it a fond farewell, and replace it all with something new, sturdy and comfortable.

I should have asked for help from friends to move the furniture off of my porch prior to the work beginning later this week.  Shoulda-Coulda, but didn’t.  No big deal.  The contractor said he’d remove the two biggest pieces.  I knew I could handle the chairs.  That was my task for earlier this evening.  I thought I was saving steps and strain when I decided to sort of toss the chairs over the low railing into the side yard instead of carrying it down a couple of steps, out through the gate and around the house.  Everything went fine with the first chair.  Then I picked up the second and didn’t quite heave it with enough strength.  Instead of clearing neatly tumbling over the railing to the ground, the chair hit an outside faucet, snapping the plastic water pipe.  The faucet and hose hit the ground and water gushed from the broken pipe.

Chanting a litany of curse words and berating myself for my stupidity, I ran into the house to grab the tool I needed to turn off the water at the street.  I then quickly called a plumber and lucked out when they answered the phone and promised to send someone out right away.   When the guy arrived and asked what the problem was, I answered, “The problem is I’m a lazy idiot who knocked off an outside faucet.”

Luckily, it turned out to be an easy repair.  The problem’s fixed and water service is restored.

At least that problem’s fixed.  There’s still the matter of how I instinctively spoke in less than glowing terms to myself.  That’s something that definitely needs some repair.  The fact is that the idea might not have been the brightest, but if I’d executed it properly, dumping the chairs over the railing would have been a time and strain saver.  My problem was in execution.  I made a dumb mistake, but making an error doesn’t mean that I am stupid.  I’m not an idiot.

Rationally, logically, I know all of this and can definitely differentiate between the two things.  It puzzles me that I sometimes still fall back on some sort of “believing I’m not good enough” reflex and beat up on myself.   Believing I’m Not Good Enough is one way to spell binge and the shaky self-esteem was a big part of my overeating disorder.

I’ve come a long way from the worst days, but apparently I still have work to do.  I don’t think it’s a coincidence that, even though I had a delicious, adequate dinner, I’ve felt hungry all night.  It’s definitely not physical hunger, but pangs of the emotional variety.

Keeping it in perspective, I don’t want to blow this evening’s situation out of proportion and make it have more of an impact on me than appropriate.  I think it’s healthy to look at it calmly.  Doing so, I think it’s fair to attribute my reaction to the stress of the moment.  Now that I’m writing about it and working through the process, I can pretty much laugh at it, give myself an affectionate head smack, and remind myself not to take it so hard the next time I do something that doesn’t quite work out as planned.

It’s important to separate the action from the person — whether that person is someone else or me.  Self-awareness will be a helpful tool.  Instead of treating myself poorly or speaking badly to myself, I’m going to work on treating myself with respect, compassion, and love.  I can give myself a motivating kick in the butt when necessary, but I’m not allowed to call myself disrespectful names.

How I talk to myself can tear me down, but done with positive intent, it can also support the journey to healing.

At work over the last couple of years, we’ve been working with an amazing coach.  This woman has worked at the United Nations, mediated in the Middle East between two completely opposite religious sects, written books and done other impressive things too numerous to mention.  In one of our earliest sessions, she explained how every day before she gets out of bed she chooses her attitude.  That resonated with me.

Every day, pretty much every action we take is preceded by choice.  Sometimes we choose appropriately, but lots of times – not so much.  Sometimes we let reaction jump ahead of whatever we might have done if we’d taken time to think about our choices and then acted.  I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately.  As a compulsive overeater, I have a long history of acting without conscious thought when it comes to food.  I’ll obliterate my ability to correctly choose, act too fast.   I can’t count the number of times that I’ve eaten something and had it all the way down in my stomach before it even registered that I wasn’t hungry, didn’t particularly want the food, and had hardly realized that I’d eaten it in the first place.

I hate that feeling of not being in control of my choices.  Hate it, while at the time time it feels like losing control is in and of itself another choice.  I mentioned yesterday that it’s felt like I’ve floundered a lot in recent weeks.  I was determined to get back on track today.

Not following my food plan or falling back into old compulsive behaviors are not choices that I wish to make.  Today before I got out of bed, I revisited the lessons from our coach.  I told myself that I chose to have a solid, good, productive day and to follow my food plan.  This mentally and emotionally set me up for success and I rode it through all day long.  I stuck to my food plan, even though I walked out of the house and forgot the yogurt I’d planned to eat for lunch.  Luckily, a good friend at work had just purchased a bunch of sliced turkey breast and offered me some.   So, I made the choice to adjust and eat healthy, instead of using it as an excuse to run to the lunch cart and buy something that would have taken me too far off my day’s path.

It’s 10:34 p.m.  I stayed on my food plan all day with the emphasis on protein, low on carbs and fat.  I also got in plenty of fluids.  It’s always a great reinforcement to me when staying on point physically improves and boosts me mentally and emotionally.  A day like today can power me through.

I have a lot of tomorrows ahead of me.  I can let them slide and be mediocre, or I can choose to make them as great as possible.

Guess which I plan to choose?

I’m up in Connecticut for my cousin’s memorial service.  This afternoon, I visited with my aunt and my younger cousin’s family.  I last saw them in December when my uncle passed away.  They all knew that I’d be having weight loss surgery the following month.

We’re Italian.  To some extent, this means that we are genetically and culturally programmed to focus a lot of our attention on meals and eating.  Any plans to visit involve the hostess to think about what to buy, fix and serve for a meal.  Whether people only eat a little or plan to eat a lot there just has to be food around, with a strong concern that the people being served will want it, eat it and like it.

I’m the same way. When I make plans with friends for them to come over, I then immediately start thinking about what to serve or, at least, what to arrange.  Sometimes I cook and other times we mutually decide beforehand that we’ll order in, but there will be wine and there will be food.

I know this.  I embrace it.  I am comfortable with this practice.

That said, I also know my aunt and that, while she might hear me say, “Don’t fuss.  I really don’t need anything other than some protein — meat, cheese, heck, a couple slices of deli ham and I’m good to go”, she’ll still fuss.  Fussing is in her nature. 🙂  I called her yesterday, just to touch base.  Yes, in the phone conversation she asked what I could eat.  I told her not to go to any trouble and that I knew I’d be able to snack on anything she happened to have in the house.

When I got there this afternoon, after about ten minutes of visiting, she asked if I was hungry and explained that she’d taken some chicken breast, lightly cooked it in the pan and had that ready.  Did I want it over salad?  Would that be enough?  If not, she also had some cheese and some low-sodium ham.  I assured her that the chicken would be perfect and that I’d have some salad after if I had room.

After an hour or so of chatting, we  started to gather for a meal.  She brought out her chicken, all concerned about whether it would indeed be okay and would I like it.  In all of my life, I don’t think there’s ever been anything that she’s made for a meal that I haven’t eaten and enjoyed.  So, the uncertainty surprised me.  I thought about it while I sliced off a couple small pieces of chicken and slowly ate.

While I ate, I realized that this whole experience of having me in for a meal now isn’t the same as it was all the previous times and years of my life.  She’s watched me eat hearty meals for over 50 years.  I don’t think she’s ever eaten with a weight loss surgery patient before and she’s certainly never seen me eat so little — except maybe that time when I was a kid and had a 103 degree fever.  

I think that it was more a question of whether what she offered would be the good choice for me rather than whether the food itself would taste good.  Further, I believe until she experienced sharing a meal with me now in my new normal, she couldn’t know for sure.  Once she saw that I was absolutely happy and satisfied with the small portion of chicken and then the spoonful of salad, she relaxed.  Now it isn’t a new experience anymore and I’m positive she’ll be less nervous the next time.

I will be too.  Each time I travel or go somewhere out of my normal environment, I learn more.  I might not be able to 100% always control my eating environment, but more and more I’m learning that I can meet my nutritional needs and goals no matter where I go.  Understanding this about my life and myself relieves a stress that I didn’t know I carried.

I guess it shouldn’t be a surprise that things change pretty quickly when you do something relatively drastic like have 70% of your stomach removed.

Yeah, Mary.  You think? 🙂

There really wasn’t much “easing into” aspect to the new way of eating, even though it seemed like a lengthy transition process.  Yes, I did a week of clear liquids, then four weeks of full liquids, and a week of mushy and soft food before I started on solids.  I’ve sort of slowly integrated individual foods over the last months.  However, the essential change from being able to eat large quantities of food at one meal to only eating really small portions happened immediately.

Still, it sometimes surprises me.  Last night after Tai Chi, friends and I went to this popular little pub that’s known for their pizza and for the fact that the walls and ceiling are covered with dollar bills that guests staple to the wood.  I love pizza and particularly the hot, fresh, thick crust variety served at this pub.  In the past, I could easily have eaten three slices from a large pie, chased down with a couple of beers or sodas.

I was really looking forward to the treat.  I ordered an 8″ personal pizza for one.  It arrived in front of me and looked absolutely huge.  Granted, it had a thick helping of yummy melted cheese, but even then, it still looked, to my eyes, like it could feed a family of four.  That’s the change that I’ve already seen in how I now perceive portion size.

Logically, it was probably the equivalent of two slices from a full-size pizza, but to me . . . Wow.  I took a quarter of the pie and then cut it in half.  I admit that I ate all of the cheese topping but then only picked at the crust from one of the smaller slices.  That was it.  I was completely satisfied.

Another quick change has been the rapid reduction of my blood sugar.  I haven’t taken meds since the surgery but my morning numbers are terrific, even going into the low-to-mid 90s some mornings.  While I hoped that this would resolve, I truly didn’t expect the change to happen this soon.

A change for which I’m very grateful is the one in my attitude.  I was truly afraid that I’d go through the surgery and then resent the unreversable change, so it’s been a blessing so far that I’ve embraced the lifestyle alterations I’ve made so far and continue to make new ones.  I think it was my biggest fear that I’d regret doing this and then be pissy and miserable about it for the rest of my life.  Even worse, I feared that I would choose to push the limits of my new stomach size and try to stretch things out.  Did I say feared?  To be completely honest, it’s much deeper.   I’m still on the brink of terrified that I’ll eventually sabotage myself and return to the old ways.

The road to success takes me past a neverending series of choices and options.  There’s the big choice — success or failure.  Believe me, that’s a choice I have to make every day.  Then, as each day progresses, I have to decide to stick to the food plan and narrow it down to the individual food items for each of the six times that I eat each day.  Add in daily decisions on exercise.  This is a journey with a lot of thought and steps.  No coasting!

The bottom line is that I like the changes that I’m seeing in myself and that I’m feeling in my mindset and emotions.  These are all positively reinforcing and that makes it easier for me to continue picking the right choices.

I’m starting to notice some differences in the foods I like and don’t like or that no longer seem to like me.  I’m not eating a humongous variety of food items yet, so it’s a little hit or miss, but when I actually notice that a taste preference has changed, I remember.

A week or so ago, I made those gnudis — like the inside of a spinach and ricotta ravioli without the pocket of pasta.  Prior to making that dish, I’d never sauteed spinach.  I’m not a big fan of it raw in salads or sauteed with dinner.   Usually, I just like like it in a couple of preparations where, quite frankly, the spinach really doesn’t taste like spinach.  Take spinach and artichoke dip for example where there’s no one overriding flavor, but a blend of the veggies with the sour cream and mayo, accented by parmesan cheese.  I love spanikopita — Greek spinach and feta cheese pie — but, honestly, the spinach really serves as something green to separate the layers of buttery filo pastry, right?   Between the pastry and the sharp, yummy feta, who can taste the spinach?

I actually thought about skipping the spinach in the gnudi recipe, but at the store decided I’d go for the authenticity.  I dreaded buying a bunch of mature spinach and going through the whole multiple rinsing process.  Then my attention was caught by a container of organic baby spinach leaves.  “Washed 3 X” proclaimed the label.  “Oooooh,” I thought.  “Organic and clean, with no help from me!”

I brought home the package whie the olive oil heated, cautiously sampled the smallest leaf.  It was delicious.  I ate another and, suddenly, couldn’t wait to taste the sauteed variety.  I used it in the gnudi and have now made sauteed spinach two more times as a side dish with dinner.  Cooked baby spinach is a new favorite food.

In the past, I’ve loved butter like Paula Dean loves butter — although I used a lot less of it than she.  Still, I’d slather it on bread, waffles, French toast or pancakes.  I’d melt it to pour over popcorn or corn on the cob.  Butter in mashed potatoes, butter on steamed veggies, butter in the pan when cooking just about anything.  Did you see the movie Julie and Julia?  In it,  Meryl Streep as Julia Child smells a sizzling pan of fried fish, inhales and proclaims in awestruck adoration, “Buttterr.”  I could definitely identify.

Not so much these days.  It’s not that I’ve grown to dislike butter, but I’m just not head over heels for it the way that I used to be.  Granted, I haven’t had popcorn or corn on the cob yet, but I don’t have the compulsion to slice off a healthy pat and spackle it onto a hunk of bread.  Sometimes, the butter tastes off to me — but it isn’t the butter that’s bad.  My taste buds have changed.  I’m sure of it.

This is not a bad thing.  I’m sure my arteries are quite happy with the turn of events.  I’m also not as big a fan of bread anymore when, believe me, I could have lived on it — the better baked, the, well, better.   Mentally, I still think I want it.  Even though I’ve cut way back on carbs, my mind sometimes tells me that I’d like a break from the morning protein shake so I slip a slice of bread into the toaster.  When it pops, I apply some peanut butter and no-sugar-added jam, happily anticipating the treat.  A few bites into it and I’m scraping the peanut butter onto one half of the slice and then onto a quarter.  Yes, I still love the PB&J, but I’m content to split the rest of the toast between my two dogs.

I usually pack lunch but yesterday forgot.  I thought it would be a real treat to have half of a grilled ham and cheese sandwich.  I figured eating the smaller portion would be okay since I don’t indulge in this very often.  (Yesterday was actually the first time since my surgery.)  I ate slowly, focusing on the filling before the bread.  Unfortunately, I could barely finish even half before my stomach started to ache.  I thought that, perhaps, the stress of the last week was contributing to my less than stellar stomach.  The ick feeling stayed with me for the rest of the day.  However, I was still sure it was a reaction to circumstances and I anticipated all would be well when I heated up the remaining half for today’s lunch.  Sadly, I experienced the same reaction.  This leads me to believe that this is a meal that I need to cross off my list because it no longer agrees with me.

For the most part, it’s interesting to experience the changes in my likes and dislikes.  I’m not mourning the loss of sandwich bread from my life if, indeed, that’s what’s happening.  There are plenty of other foods that I still enjoy and that are better choices for me anyway.  I’d be much more sad if I no longer liked chocolate or steak.  I’m waiting for the night when I have dinner with friends and someone orders a really fresh, locally-caught piece of fish.  All of my life, I’ve hated the taste of fish, even shellfish.  Logically, I know it’s a healthy protein source and it would be great if I could learn to like it.

Maybe, like spinach, that will be one of the things I now enjoy.  We’ll have to see.  If it happens, I’ll report back!

**Edited to add:  I forgot that I’m also not drinking hot black tea the way that I used to.  I’ve never been a coffee drinker, but I used to always start my day with a hot cup of tea and usually had one or two additional cups throughout the day.  Now it’s no longer part of my daily routine.  Sometimes I stop for a cup, but most of the time it isn’t even on my radar.  Weird!