Surviving the Holidays

I know, I know. This post should have been pre-holiday, but since I'd not had to "survive" the holidays as a bariatric patient, this will have to do. Perhaps I can re-post it next year in November. If I remember. Which isn't likely.

It wasn't too awfully hard. We had eight people for dinner and it was fun cooking for all of them. We had a delicious top round roast (marinated with night before with olive oil, rosemary, garlic, Greek seasoning and salt and seared the next morning before hopping into the crock pot) with potatoes and carrots, that versatile cole slaw salad with ramen noodles, mashed potatoes, melt-in-your mouth rolls by Sister Shubert, fruit salad, apple pie and pecan pie. I also made my famous strawberry soup and monkey bread for breakfast, along with Eggbeater omelets and grilled potatoes.

Here's what I ate:
Breakfast: one small bite of a yummy concoction Ron found in Midwest Living (toasted English muffin topped with organic peanut butter, very unorganic bacon, bananas and a sprinkle of cinnamon - sounds odd, but it's really tasty), one bite of a grilled potato (about 1/16 of a baby yukon gold), one fingerful of the strawberry soup (couldn't even be considered a sip), one small bite of monkey bread and an Eggbeater omelet with green onions, diced ham and mozzarella cheese.

Lunch: about two ounces of roast beef with gravy, one bite of mashed potatoes and gravy, three baby carrots, two forkfuls of the cole slaw salad, one bite of a roll with a teeny bit of butter on it and two slivers of apple with a 1/2 inch piece of crust.

It was all REALLY yummy and even those tiny bites of the "bad" stuff were enough to satisfy me. I gave most of the bad stuff away that day and threw what was left over away. We kept the roast and veggies and have been having wonderful meals of stew. The gravy was made with beef broth and flour so it's pretty lo-cal (I use a gravy separator to get rid of all the fat).

I have to admit that adding those few carbs got me to thinking what other ways I could sneak some into my meals, but I've taken the pledge to stay as carb-free as I can until it's legal (month five, which will be April). It's not easy, but it helps that I don't really get hungry at all. In between meal hunger pains would usually lead me to seek out carbs, but since that doesn't happen, it's not as bad as it could be.

Next time on The Egg and Eye . . . The Heartbreak of Dining Out

Going, Going . . . Not So Much

I'm a bit anxious about discussing this next subject, but this blog is supposed to be all about the challenges and rewards of gastric bypass surgery. So . . .

It's . . . constipation. It's caused by not eating enough fiber. Why don't I eat enough fiber? Because I can't. Most fiber is hard to digest and my baby stomach can't handle it. Eventually I'll be able to eat more fruits and veggies, but right now my diet is pretty much solid protein. And because I'm only eating about a quarter cup of food per meal there's just not a lot of stuff going in, which directly impacts how much comes out.

Not having had much trouble with this condition in the past obviously did not prepare me for this side effect at all. Holy, holy moley. The first few weeks were fine. Then I noticed it had been a couple of days since my colon had seen any action. So I brought out the Phillips Milk of Magnesia (PMOM). It is one of the oddest tasting remedies I've ever taken. It's not a taste or consistency issue. It's the slight aftertaste of tuna fish that kind of baffles me.

After my tuna-y dose at bedtime I awoke the next day with great anticipation. I'll spare you all the gory details but I felt like I was giving birth to a watermelon. Multiple false alarms. Lots of effort, little or no results. Constant pressure. Finally . . . early the next day - success! I felt like doing a little Macarena-esque dance in celebration of my accomplishment, but instead I just told everyone in my family. They were so pleased.

Since then, it's been hit and miss. Not nearly the horrible discomfort associated with the first time, but nonetheless one more thing I must monitor. It's extremely embarrassing how excited I get when I do my thing without the aid of PMOM. I'm like a three-year old: "Look what I did! Look what I did!" Ron has been very supportive and puts gold stars on my chart on the refrigerator. Ok, we really don't have a chart, but it might be a good idea seeing how my memory ain't what it used to be. Maybe I should get M&M's like Jon and Kate's sextuplets. Alas! No chocolate allowed. I guess gold stars it shall be.

The Grieving Process

As part of the qualifying process for my surgery I spent several hours with a psychologist examining the reasons behind the circumstances that led to my desire to have my stomach radically reshaped and my plumbing rewired. I also read a ton of books. Books about the actual surgery itself. Books by people who'd had the surgery. Cookbooks. Books about why people eat the way they do. I also slowly modified my diet to mimic what it would look like post-surgery (and lost 4o pounds). Cut out carbs. Soda. Sweets. Dr. Sabapathy (my psych) told me I was a model patient - in the top one percent (with regard to pre-surgery weight loss).

So it was a little disheartening when my experience fell short of all my preparation and expectations. I missed eating normal food. I missed COOKING normal food. For the first few weeks I was eating cottage cheese, deli turkey, string cheese . . . not a lot of prep involved. My biggest culinary feat was sauteing some green onions in Pam for my refried beans. I love the chopping, following recipes, adding a bit here and there to spice things up. I didn't realize how much I'd miss the act of getting ready to eat.

And, when I was finally able to branch out and try new things, the meal never lived up to my expectations. For a couple of weeks I dreamed about Thanksgiving. How I'd be able to eat some turkey with a tiny bit of gravy. It was a disaster. The first time I'd gotten nauseous. I had to leave the table and go lie down. Those tiny bites of turkey just didn't want to go down. I suspect I was eating too fast.

I've started cooking things I used to cook, but modifying the recipes to accommodate my small repertoire of allowed foods. When we have chicken quesadillas, I don't have the tortilla or corn. I just have the grilled chicken, some mozzarella cheese and a little salsa and low-fat sour cream. When I make pizza, I just scrape all the toppings off and leave the crust. It's about 80 percent satisfying, which I can live with.

I still grieve my the loss of my former relationship with food. But I'm doing my best to move on - forget the past and look toward the future. It may be a future without ooey gooey, calorie laden food, but it will be a future worth living for.

The First Meal

Day Seven post-0p is lovingly referred to as "Egg Day." That's because you get to eat an egg. Well, you get to eat one to two tablespoons of a scrambled egg. And after a solid week of chicken broth, protein shakes, water and jello, an egg seems like caviar (if you like that sort of thing).

I fantasized about my egg for days. I told everyone I knew I got to eat an egg on Monday. Yeah, I got plenty of strange looks. But I didn't care. Salvation was at hand!

I had been studying my nutrition handbook and I determined that Egg Beaters has more protein than a regular egg, and since I have to have between 60-70 grams of protein a day, I opted for the EB's. I measured out two tablespoons, sprayed a little butter flavored cooking spray in the pan, added a tiny pinch of salt and tried to keep from drooling.

It wasn't that great. My disappointment was immense. I got a little nauseated after a couple of bites and had to lie down (not an uncommon experience, I'm told). But, after 15 minutes or so I got up and managed to eat about half of it. Even though it was not the transcendent experience I had imagined, I soldiered through it and the next day got to eat another egg (a real one this time and SO much better) AND a couple tablespoons of cottage cheese.

Since then, it's been an interesting journey of trial and error. So far my favorite meal is refried beans with a little onion and mozzarella cheese. Each week I add more foods; next week I get to add peanut butter! On thinly sliced apples . . . better than pumpkin pie!

Side note: Have you ever stopped to count the number of food commercials on television? It's ridiculous. No wonder this country has unprecedented obesity.

Next time on The Egg and Eye . . . The Grieving Process

Home At Last

I arrived home on Wednesday and I think I just went straight to bed. The terms "hospital" and "rest" are really contradictory in nature. Every two hours someone was in to take my temperature, pulse and blood pressure. In between, I had these little foot socks that squeezed my feet every three seconds (to minimize blood clots), so I really never got any sleep the first night and only a few minutes here and there the second night. So I was ready for some good shuteye.

We had equipped the guest room to be my recovery base. Fan, cd player, pillows, blankets . . . everything I needed to make my stay comfortable. The first night I had to beep Ron with our phone intercom system at least three times to help me get in and out of bed. I won't lie to you . . . it was rough. We eventually figured out that I needed to be on the other side of the bed because it hurt less when I rolled over on my left side.

For the first three nights I would wake up in the middle of the night with an excruciating headache. I finally realized that my pillow was the culprit. I'm used to lying on my side when I sleep, so being on my back the whole time was wreaking havoc on my neck. Just a lot of trial and error. What hurts. What doesn't. I am now eight days post-op and haven't had to get Ron out of bed for the last three nights. And I've moved back upstairs into our bed. Little victories, but great strides. Onward and upward I go!

Next time on the Egg and Eye . . . The First Meal

I DID IT!

Sorry, but Cooking Great Meals will have to wait a few more posts. I HAD MY SURGERY! November 3, 2008. I don't even know where to begin. One week out and I have to say I'd do it all again in a heartbeat. Ok, I'd do MOST of it again in the heartbeat.

Because I want this blog to be as informative as possible, the posts might get a little long and perhaps a bit too detail oriented. I'll try to keep the focus on things that will help other people in their journey, but come on . . . a blog is all about self-expression, so I'm sure a lot of ME will slip in.

The surgery itself was a breeze, probably because I slept through it. I think it took about an hour. At this point, I have to give kudos to Shawnee Mission Medical Center and their excellent team. From the minute I set foot in the doors to the second I left, EVERYONE was extremely gracious, proficient and efficient. All bariatric patients are housed on the same floor and all the nurses and clinical assistants have specifically requested and trained to work with overweight folks. My surgeon, Dr. Stanley Hoehn, and his PA, Tim Stallard are both incredible. Dr. Hoehn, although he's very young, has done three or four hundred of these procedures and looks alot like a younger version of Kevin McKidd (Vorenus in HBO's "Rome," also the main guy from "Journeyman" and most recently seen on Grey's Anatomy as Christina's new "love interest."). Tim was very patient with me as I grilled him on what it takes to be a PA (I'm convinced my son should be in that profession) and, as Dr. Hoehn's right hand man, is very knowledgeable and present during every surgery.

After surgery I vaguely remember being in recovery. I think I asked my nurse if she'd already voted (it was, after all, the day before the BIG election). Don't remember what she said. After what just seemed like just a few minutes I was taken to a PRIVATE ROOM! A HUGE luxury. My parents, husband and daughter came in to see me and hung out a little while. I don't remember too much about that first day, but I do remember vividly getting up for the first time. Didn't go so well. Ron (my husband) said every last drop of color left my face and I was VERY lightheaded and pretty much just sat right back down - but in a chair, not the bed, which I think was good for me. Made me attempt to be a little more lucid. Later on that night I did get up and took a spin around the wing with my clinical assistant, Sheril. She asked me every other minute how my head was.

I had laparascopic surgery - five little (none more than an inch and a quarter long) incisions all over my belly. As I would later find out, the one on the lower left is the worst - that's where they stick most of the instruments and where most of the work occurs. If I didn't have that incision - seriously, I'd really not know I had surgery. The others don't hurt a bit.

I also had a Jackson Pratt drain (it collects fluids from inside your tummy) and this little ball thing that was full of topical anesthesia and inserted close to the Mother Hole. And, of course, an I.V. Oh, and the dang catheter. A royal pain - not in the arse - but a little farther north.

All of those things made moving a little tricky, but the morphine drip allowed me to forget those annoyances for the most part. However, one wrong move a little to far in the wrong direction and I felt like I was being stabbed REALLY HARD!

I had to stay an extra night because I wasn't putting off enough urine. They finally gave me a little tiny dose of Lasik and the floodgates opened. And finally the catheter came out. Then they had to make sure I could produce urine on my own. "Gee," I thought. "I've been peeing my whole life - I should be really good at this." Not so much. It took a few hours for me to get the fluids going and by then it was well after 7pm so I threw in the towel. That's when the fun REALLY began.

This was election night. Right about the time Barack Obama was realizing he'd be the next president and no doubt thinking, "Holy crap! What have I done?" I was having my own holy crap experience and thinking "What have I done?" Raging diarrhea. Every half hour. Ron had gone home, so I had to get out of bed myself, drag that infernal I.V. pole to the bathroom and try to position my bum so that the pee would go in the catcher and the poo would go into the toilet. All while doped up on morphine. If I'd waited for the nurses to come in, I would have had more than FOUR accidents. That's right. One. Two. Three. Four. Two of them I tried to handle myself. The last time I had rung the nurse bell because my I.V. was beeping. Seconds before HE (yes, a male nurse - adding insult to injury) walked in the dam exploded. I apologized again and again and he just patted my arm and said "You'll get past this. You'll get past this." As he and the clinical assistant cleaned me and changed me like a baby, I was profoundly grateful that this kind man had somehow managed to give me back both dignity and hope in a very undignified and seemingly hopeless situation. Shane, I will NEVER forget your wonderful caring and generous spirit.

Next time on The Egg and Eye . . . Home at Last!

Revelations

I love it when I have those "ah ha" moments. Times when the proverbial light bulb blazes into brilliance and the glorious sunlight pours into that deep dark cavern that's supposed to house your brain, all the while you hear the angels singing, "Hallelujah."

I had one of those moments a couple of weeks ago. I've gotten into the habit of making French toast on Saturday mornings. I know, I know . . . not an "on plan" meal, but it's better than a number four with cheese and an extra hash brown from Mickey D's. And, I'm still pre-op, so I allow myself a few liberties.

Anyway, as I sat down to enjoy my breakfast, I carefully eyed the pieces of French toast before me. I found one that looked like The Best and scooted it over to the side. For as long as I can remember, I've been saving The Best for last in nearly every meal I eat. It may be The Best piece of something, The Best item on the plate, The Best looking thing. I remember being amazed when I read about this trait in "Mindless Eating," by Brian Wansink. His research has found that firstborns are more likely to save The Best for last, while lastborns generally eat The Best first (mainly because they're not sure The Best will be around that long, especially if they come from a large family.) I asked my husband (a lastborn) what he did and he confirmed the findings.

Then I realized that in order to get to The Best, I eat everything else first. Everything. Even if I'm full, I feel like I have to plow through it all before I can have The Best. So, as I prepare for this surgery, I'm trying to re-orient my brain to eat The Best first and stop when I'm not hungry anymore (not full - there's a difference).

Another revelation I had occurred when I was eating a Baby Cakes cupcake (again, pre-pre-op). Baby Cakes cupcakes are without a doubt the best cupcakes I've ever eaten. Wait. Never mind. They're not that great. I don't want to be accused of leading anyone into temptation. However, I did happen to have a couple of these cupcakes left over from a birthday party and I sat down one night to enjoy one. It was a day or two old and had been sitting out on our kitchen counter, slowly drying out. It wasn't that great. The icing was kind of crusty and the cake was crumbly. But I ate every last crumbly crumb. I was really mad at myself afterwards. The revelation? If it's not excellent food, don't put it in your mouth. Period. We have a magnet on our fridge that says "Life is too short to drink bad wine." I think life is too short to eat bad food. Especially when we weight-loss surgery folks get such small portions. Make every bite count. There's no reason why we can't eat really delicious food and food that our families can eat alongside us.

Next time on The Egg and Eye . . . Cooking Great Meals

The Waiting Game and Dr. Roulette

It was a long six-month process from the time I attended the informational seminar and my surgery date. This is important: you need to be your own advocate. I hand-delivered all my files to the KC Bariatric Center office. I documented every call I made regarding my weight loss surgery. I knew it was a long process and I knew that I had to have my surgery before the end of the year, so I was determined to keep pushing things along.

I got the call from my doctor's office on August 6 saying that all my documentation was in order and that the letter of medical necessity was being mailed to my insurance company the next day. You know how you remember exactly where you were when significant life events occur? Well, I was sitting in my son's car, waiting for my husband to get finished turning in the U-Haul we'd rented to move Tyler into his first college apartment.

I knew that insurance companies could take more than a month to issue their findings, so I prepared for a long wait. On Saturday, August 23, I got the mail and noticed a letter from our insurance company addressed to my husband. Since I normally handle our insurance stuff, I opened it up. It was THE LETTER. The second paragraph began, "Based on the information reviewed, we are pleased to inform you that coverage is available."

I think I re-read that sentence a dozen times. Tears filled my eyes and I couldn't speak. I handed it to my husband and he said, "Awesome. Way to go!"

You cannot begin to imagine the overwhelming sense of hope I felt at that moment. Accompanied by a huge dose of humbleness, as I realized how many people don't get this opportunity for one reason or another. To me, this was the biggest hurdle (so far) I'd crossed. I knew there would be plenty of other obstacles in my path on this journey, but at least now I knew the surgery would happen.

I made the appointment for my initial consultation with my surgeon and appointments with a cardiologist and pulmonologist and continued to meet regularly with the psychologist. I also met with a dietitian. So many doctors! However, I appreciate the thoroughness of this program, especially the psychological aspect. My theory is that overweight people aren't overweight because they're always hungry. There are most often deeper issues that need to be addressed and it's been a good, eye-opening experience for me.

Ok, gotta run. My yummy lunch of cottage cheese, hard boiled egg, deli turkey and lowfat yogurt is screaming my name.

Next on The Egg and Eye . . . Revelations

Reaching the Breaking Point ... Again and Again

Three years after our daughter was born, my weight wasn't horrific, but that changed drastically when I quit smoking. I gained probably 50 pounds and eventually tried Weight Watchers and was mildly successful . . . for awhile. By the time I was 29 and pregnant with our second child my weight was a serious issue. So serious that my doctor put me on Weight Watchers (again) during my pregnancy. I actually lost 18 pounds and delivered a healthy 7-pound, 9-ounce boy.

Fast forward ten years. Weight still an issue. Still unresolved. Then I read a great book by Gwen Shamblin called "The Weigh Down Diet." It incorporates a lot of biblical principles and it really, really worked for me. Its method is simple: don't eat unless you're hungry and then don't overeat. So that's what I did. And exercised my fanny off. I walked about three miles a day and spent about 30 minutes a day on a stationary bike. And I peeled off 85 pounds. But, like all the other times before, the weight started creeping back on and kept coming and coming and coming. I'm not sure what my highest weight was then, but I'm guessing it was around 260.

Three years ago we planned a 25th anniversary trip to Italy and I managed to knock off 40 pounds (and only gained five during our three-week stay, which I thought was pretty good with all that fabulous Italian food we ate). But, once we returned there was no real motivation for me to continue my plan, so I quit. Pretty soon I was back to eating McDonald's every day for breakfast and ignoring the gym membership we had.

Seeing that picture I described in my first post might have been the straw that broke the camel's back, but the reality of my dire situation truly set in during our vacation to Colorado this summer. By that time, I had already begun the process of qualifying for the surgery, so I knew there was a possibility that things would be different. Now, however, I realized it was a necessity if I wanted to have a fulfilling life. It always takes a day or two to adjust to the change in altitude (breathing is not so easy up there), but I never felt like I could get enough air during the whole trip. I couldn't do the things I wanted to do and I felt like I'd really put a damper on our vacation. I was more eager than ever to make this change and make is permanent. For life. Yeah, I want to be a lifer.

Next time on The Egg and I . . . The Waiting Game and Dr. Roulette

How I Got To This Point

In a nutshell, I ate too much.

But, of course, there's much more to the story. I was chubby as a kid. My dad was a circuit preacher (meaning he preached at small country churches, sometimes three each Sunday!) and each week a member of the congregation would have us over for a BIG Sunday dinner. Several kinds of meat, homemade mashed potatoes and gravy and always a yummy dessert. And I attended a lot of church suppers, which meant lots and lots and lots of good old-fashioned heavy, calorie-laden dishes - macaroni and cheese, potatoes au gratin, creamy salads, rich casseroles and an array of pies and cakes that would make Little Debbie jealous.

I wasn't a particularly active kid. Maybe it was because of the extra pounds I carried (or maybe because I'm just kind of a laid back person). During the summers when most kids were out running around the neighborhood, I much preferred hiding out in our cool basement watching awful B movies (Attack of the 30 Foot Woman and Zombies from Hell) or reading Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys mysteries. There weren't a lot of organized sports in those days . . . practically nothing for girls, which was okay by me. The one thing I would venture outside for was the ice cream truck, which made daily trips through our neighborhood. For a nickel, you could get a cold, frosty fudgebar or a sticky double popsicle. My childhood was a combination of "The Wonder Years and "My Girl." Innocent, safe, stress-free, idyllic.

In sixth grade, we moved to "the city" and sometime between seventh and eighth grade something miraculous happened. It's called p-u-b-e-r-t-y. I got taller. I got thin. And I stayed thin all through high school. I don't remember ever watching what I ate or being self-conscious about my weight. I really don't even know what I weighed, but I'm guessing it was between 120-125. I was no more active in those years than in my younger years, but I really didn't have any weight-related problems until the summer before my senior year in college.

It was 1980. My dad was running for statewide office and a sorority sister and I hit the road that summer, traveling five or six days out of the week. We'd travel to small towns all across Missouri, hitting the local radio stations, newspapers and town squares, handing out literature, making speeches and giving interviews. And we ate out three times a day. I can't even begin to calculate how many Blue Plate Specials I ate that summer. And it was mostly open-faced roast beef sandwiches with piles of meat and to-die-for mashed potatoes and gravy. I piled on about 20 pounds that summer. I think that was the beginning of the ongoing cycle of gaining/losing weight that would eventually dominate my adult years.

Next on The Egg and Eye . . . When It Got Really Bad

Getting Started . . . and the Blue Cards

The seminar I attended for the Bariatric Center of Kansas City was looonnnnnggg (three hours) BUT very informative. It starts off with a session on finances and insurance, which was really very helpful. Nola Bienhoff, the program coordinator, is an insurance company guru and pretty much knows which insurance companies cover bariatric surgery and which ones don't (and she'll tell you if she doesn't know, too). However, it's a really good idea for you to find out whether the type of surgery you're interested in is covered BEFORE you go to the seminar. And it might take some digging. I was able to find what I was looking for in the humongous book we got from our insurance company, but it's worth a phone call to them as well to confirm it.

The path to getting approved by your insurance company and the program is neither short nor easy. You have to get your medical records from EVERY doctor you've seen in the last five years. I was lucky because I'd only been to one doctor. It still took me several attempts before all the necessary records were collected. Because I was determined to push this process along as fast as I could, I personally obtained my medical records from my doctor and hand delivered them to the Bariatric Center. Generally they're mailed, but it can sometimes take a long time, especially if you have to get records from several doctors. If you can manage it, I think the hand delivery system is beneficial, if for no other reason than to give you peace of mind that the office has them. Nola told us that their office communicated with blue postcards . . . they send one every time they receive records or if they need other information. I cannot tell you how excited I was when I got my first blue postcard in the mail. I felt like Steve Martin in "The Jerk" when he first saw his name in the phone book . . . "The new phone books are here, the new phone books are here . . . I'm a somebody!" I knew I was on their radar and that things were progressing. Then the waiting began. More on that in future a future post.

After the insurance, finances and "how the program works" schpiels were over, Dr. Hitchcock took the stage and gave a rather technical and indepth look into both surgeries. He mentioned more than once that bariatric surgery is only a tool, not a cure for morbid obesity (it's not just obesity . . . it's morbid obesity . . . that word gives me the shivers!). By following the rules and putting in a good amount of exercise the tool will be more successful. If you don't follow the rules . . . well, the outcome is not so rosy.

I especially liked Hitchcock's graphic illustrations of what can happen if the rules aren't followed. If you drink soda, for instance, it basically comes back out your nose, mimicking the horse fountain on the Plaza. And, if you try and sneak a tiny little DQ cone, it will probably come back to visit you via an exit far from the site it entered your body . . . before you get home and without you having any control over it. So vivid. So compelling. So, so gross.

I was very interested in how the Center deals with the psychological aspects of morbid obesity. Because, if we're honest, we don't always eat just because we're hungry. There are usually deeper psychological factors that have played a part in our lives and I think it's really important to come to some sort of reconciliation with all of that stuff. For us, food is not just sustenance. It's comfort, it's release, it's reward, it's celebration . . . it's, well . . . sometimes it's everything. The psych guy, Dr. Sabapathy (I love saying his name!), gave a brief overview of why it's important to be psychologically ready for the surgery, which answered a lot of my questions and concerns.

There was a fairly lengthy Q&A period, followed by testimonies of former and current patients, both of which were informative and illuminating. By all accounts, the success stories far outweigh (no pun intended, heh heh) the failures, although there are people who are not successful in maintaining their weight loss. The biggest lesson I learned that night was that this was a significant - really significant - lifestyle change and it would take continued commitment for the rest of my life. Was I ready to take that on?

Yeah. I was. I am.

Next on The Egg and Eye . . . How I Got To This Point

The Camel's Back

As I think back on what brought me to the decision to have bariatric surgery I realize it wasn't just that proverbial one straw that finally made that back give way. It was actually about 280 pounds of individual straws that did it. And when it went, it really went.

If I were forced to put a finger on exactly when it happened I'd have to say it was a reunion of my father's former colleagues that did it. Or, more specifically, the pictures I saw of the event. I was like, "Who IS that really large woman with the tent dress and gray hair?" Yeah, it was me.

We don't have a lot of full length mirrors in our house - come to think of it we don't have a single one. And I've not been inside a clothing store for several years, thanks to the explosion of internet shopping. Plus, it's one thing to see yourself in the mirror. It's an entirely different matter when you see yourself next to someone. For me, it was very much like putting a raisin next to a watermelon.

I'd been to a seminar a couple of years before and, because I'm basically a stubborn old cuss, I figured I could just power through it myself and lose the weight. I'd done it before. Lots of times. Once I even lost 85 pounds just by only eating when I was hungry, not overeating and exercising my fanny off. So I did it again. And lost 40 pounds. Then I hit a plateau large enough to cover all of North America and then some. After lots and lots of contemplation, discussions with my husband and a resolved heart I registered online for a seminar at the Bariatric Seminar of Kansas City. And on May 27, 2008, I began this journey into wellness, into wholeness, into . . . life.

Next on The Egg and Eye . . . Getting Started