Six months ended today.

My day began auspiciously by discovering I had been "friended" by an old high school classmate on Facebook first thing this morning. I no sooner hit "confirm" than he IMed me and said, "Hey honey! You are so beautiful!" Let's just say that is never, ever a bad thing to hear from a charming gentleman--even if he is going by the well-lit, Photoshopped, cropped version of what you allow the world at large to view, and physically recalling you with your skin (and weight) of 20+ years past.

At 10 a.m., I had my six-month nutritionist appointment. In summary: in the last six months, I lost seven pounds. Without consistent exercise, that is not bad at all. (Interestingly, it was 2-1/2 pounds less than I weighed in on Wednesday; I think irritation makes me retain water.) I like my nutritionist. She is nice, knowledgeable, and she listens. (Why is that such a hunted-to-extinction quality in medical professionals?) My low-carb jail immediately prior to surgery will be 40g per day, not 30. (It's still less than the average coleus plant can live on and not bust a cap in a neighboring plant's ass, but whatever. It's only a couple of weeks. I asked how much my liver was really going to shrink, and she laughed and said they could definitely tell. I mumbled some Yosemite Sam phrases and moved on in the conversation.)

We chatted about various protein shakes and powders. I can do the baby food, but only the chicken and meat-based ones--the rest have too much sugar. She gave me some samples of Bariatric Advantage protein powders to test-drive and wrote down what I'd eaten in the last couple of days. She was very positive about my food journal, my consistent protein and fiber intake amounts, and the fact that I speak up and tell people, "it's hard for me to be around that food" (to coworkers) or "we can't have cookies in the house anymore" (to spouse).

She started to comment about my exercise routine not being up to par and then stopped herself, saying, "Oh, that's right! You have that foot thing!" Lo and behold, some single-spaced typed chart notes about "that foot thing" were in my file. I asked if the exercise physiologist had seen them, because he hadn't as of Wednesday, and she said she thought he would have gotten them because she was just cc'ed and he was the main recipient. I thanked her for sharing that with me--"one less doctor I have to bitch out today".

Coming out of the parking garage area under the building so I could cross the parking lot to the surgery center, a nice couple was down there with no less than four button-cute Charles King Cavalier spaniels. They were so cute, and so sweet! It was a wonderful random canine encounter that would have pleased any dog lover. I chatted with their people--the dogs were two pups, their mother, and an older, deaf one--the aunt, I think their person said--and I stroked all of their velvety ears, told them how pretty they were, and felt like I'd had some much-needed therapy after doing so. The effect animals can have is amazing.

I went over to the surgical center and handed my contact there the blessing letter and the-decade-of-BMI-charting letter from my primary care doctor. And now--I wait. Stick a fork in me, I am so DONE with that blankety-blanking food diary until the carb counting starts. I wrote, "I'm done with this bullshit until further notice" on today's page.

I stopped at Big Lots on the way home--my nutritionist thought she had heard they might have Muscle Milk--but they didn't. I did find some good low-carb broth and some baby cereal--I'm stocking up on that type of food for when the time comes, especially when it is at a good price. I looked over their jars of baby food, and it all looked positively vile. The "spaghetti dinner" had that orange-looking sauce. (Is it Chef Boyardee, or just botulism in bloom? You make the call.) They didn't have any meat-based baby food there at all. They did have some Jell-O sugar-free chocolate pudding mixes for a buck, and I bought several, knowing I can add protein powder to them post-op.

They have really good deals on DVD's at Big Lots. I bought a $3 one about Frida Kahlo's life called "The Ribbon That Ties the Bomb". For $6 each, I picked up "Blades of Glory", "The Queen", "The Darjeeling Limited", "The Pursuit of Happyness", "Into the Wild", "Stop-Loss", and "The Holiday". I loves me a good bargain.

Day 106

According to my painstaking record-keeping efforts in the food journal, Day 106 was today. I notice as time goes on and I get sicker and sicker of writing down everydamnthing I eat and its nutritional content, my writing gets sloppier and sloppier in the food journal. I can't wait to set it on fire and dance wildly around it with reckless abandon.

There are many handy websites where I get my nutritional info for the food journal; most major restaurant chains have nutrition information for their food online, and there are all kinds of nifty sites, like nutritiondata.com, where you can look up the nutritional content of just about anything--fruit, whatever. I had to laugh--tonight we had sloppy Joes, and I had to take apart the ingredients and log them all. When I looked up ground beef, the number of choices was insane. Knowing the lean percentage of the meat was far from enough--was the cow grass-fed? (Did its stall in the barn have north-south exposure? Did it poop rainbows?)

My ankle is giving me a really bad time. It now pops when I move it at all, hurts all the time, and if I do something as simple as walk around a grocery store, I basically have to ice and elevate it afterward. I'm taking more ibuprofen than I would like. I'm probably going to have to bite the bullet and go have it X-rayed, but I've been waiting for this surgery to happen to see if weight loss would help it. We really cannot afford any additional medical bills. In terms of working out, I have been sticking to strength training and tai chi--better than nothing, I reckon.

Mr. Salted was on vacation the past two weeks--"use it or lose it"--so we've mostly been hanging out at home after our little bed and breakfast stay. We went and saw "Adventureland", which we both loved, especially me, I think. It was set in 1987, so it was our era, and the soundtrack was FANTASTIC. I downloaded it on Itunes and had most of the missing songs in my collection already. It made me wax nostalgic for my college-radio DJing days--my personal life wasn't at its peak back then, but the music was great! I (amazingly) avoided working for a carnival, but I had almost every other crappy job known to man. McDonalds, Godfather's Pizza, music store, pet store, convenience stores, movie theater, nanny, you name it. My favorite jobs were always work-study jobs in college; I got to work in several libraries, which I loved. I also enjoyed bookstore jobs and had a couple of those over the years. If the economy continues in this vein after I've had and recovered from this surgery, I may end up back in retail--God forbid. A bookstore is about the only retail job I can see myself doing.

I'm still looking into the whole Tech Writing Certificate thing, though I'm definitely more productive when Mr. Salted isn't home all day with me. I'd love to be in a room all day pushing paper, researching, writing, or what have you. I'd love to be writing. Writing writing writing. I'd love to be able to say: I write full-time; I'm a novelist; I'm a writer--and have it be true.

Tomorrow is Monday, so I need to get on my support group stuff, since it meets Tuesdays. The last round of exercises was extremely overwhelming for me, and I haven't wanted to look at it again since.

I also tried a few days without sugar, just using artificial sweeteners (sugar-free Jello, Crystal Light, etc.). It was not the most fun I've ever had, and I was jonesing the whole time. I finally broke down and had a few Ghirardelli squares. We are trying to finish up the food that is going to be eradicated--a lot of white pasta and the like. Mr. Salted has agreed not to have cookies in the house.

A serious question

I swore I wasn't going to fib in the food journal, but do they really need to know I had four piroulines instead of two?

Today is the last day of Food Journal, Week 1

I'm writing faithfully in my food journal, mumbling like Yosemite Sam as I go. Rackenfracken does this look like a cup? How many ounces? Merkenfergen don't forget the dressing. Does it say how many calories per serving on the package? Rackenfracken ah hate this.

(I never used to like Yosemite Sam as a kid, but grew to be rather fond of him and his cartoon foibles later in life. My former father-in-law and friend loves him and collects memorabilia with Sam's likeness. I'm a lifetime Looney Tunes fan, so references to the characters may pop up now and then. Mel Blanc was a genius. Horribly politically incorrect as they are now, many of those cartoons are true metaphors for life...particularly those starring Wile E. Coyote.)

I haven't exercised for a month or two. My recumbent stationery bike is sitting there in the living room, its seat scratched thoroughly and helpfully by the feline coinhabitants of my home. My Richard Simmons DVDs are dusty.

I did buy a tai chi workout DVD at Target yesterday. I've always wanted to try tai chi. My natural balance is famously bad. I thought it would be a good way to get back into the working out groove, and I'm pretty sure there is no yelling in tai chi. There's a nice nonthreatening middle-aged man in a tank top and yoga pants on the cover. No glitter. Nobody needs glitter first thing in the morning.

Why we eat?

According to psychologist Pavel Somov's book entitled "Eating the Moment" we eat for three reasons:

1. "to satisfy the need of the body,"
2. "to satisfy the need of the mind," and
3. "and out of habit when triggered by the environment."

Exercise 1--first 2 weeks

The following exercise from his book is meant to help you gain insight into why you eat.

1. After you ask yourself, "Why did I just eat?" keep a written log in a notebook.

Were you hungry? Did something in the environment trigger you to eat? Did you eat to cope, to address emotional needs?

If you ate out of hunger, write down "need based". If you ate because of stress, write down "ate to cope", and if you ate on a craving triggered by an environmental cue, write down "environment triggered". If several difference reasons coincide, try to determine the primary motive for eating.

Exercise 2--second 2 weeks

After completing the first exercise, move on to this one. Ask yourself before you eat "Why am I about to eat?" After you clarify to yourself the reason you are eating, then eat or don't eat. For right now, you make the conscious decision. Continue with this for as long as you feel as it is helpful.

****

So this is my assignment from the nutritionist for the first month.

I did something like this before in therapy many years ago. It was a little different, as I was to write down how I felt on a numbered scale (1-5 or 1-10, I think) when I ate; it wasn't important what I was eating, but why. It was actually helpful. I was still having some issues with bulimia at the time. I did learn a lot about my own triggers and patterns and ultimately at least become conscious of why I ate, which was the whole point. I was definitely an emotional eater. To this day, when I get angry and feel trapped and pushed to the brink of stress, I want some chocolate. Half a regular-size candy bar is plenty.

The writing down everything I ingest is driving me nuts. How many bottles of water did I have today? And I'm supposed to write down my exercise. I consider cleaning the entire house exercise--it takes all day, and it wipes me out. And I don't care what anyone else says, a big solo Costco trip is exercise, too. That store can be full of frighteningly fertile people with a well-developed sense of entitlement--many of them unpleasant--and that could make anyone need a nap afterward.

Nutritional Assessment

Today I had a "nutritional assessment". I talked about what I eat every day and my entire history with food while a thin woman took notes about it. (In all fairness, I liked her--she was nice, easy to talk to and very helpful.) It was actually kind of exhausting. (Did you have to clean your plate? Was food used as a reward? Do you have religious restrictions? When you say you have a bowl of cereal, how big is the bowl? What kind of milk? And so on.)

There were these pieces of crazy, wobbly rubber food everywhere--some of it looked frighteningly real, while some of it resembled cat vomit. I've been to a nutritionist once before, and this one did the same thing as the other one--picked up pieces of the rubber food for emphasis while she spoke.

I was reminded of this movie I rented years ago called "Eating". It came out in the late 1980s or early 1990s; I believe it was a Canadian film. One of the characters in the movie was filming a documentary about women and their relationships to food for her thesis. The "mockumentary" parts of the movie were what made the movie good, in my opinion--women talking about what their specific comfort foods were, among other things. Fiction or nonfiction, much of it was incredibly personal. Even though it was a scripted film, it felt very intimate. I checked a few years ago, but was unable to find it on DVD.

I have watched that movie with different female friends two or three separate times, and it always provoked conversations that were every bit as interesting as those included in the film (which was probably the whole point). I think everyone's relationship to food is incredibly personal (how could it not be?) but I don't know if it's as fraught with conflict for men as it is for women. I suppose it could be argued that the issue transcends gender and just depend on the individual, but a lot of women like to eat when they get together--happy, sad, or otherwise. One of my female friends and I used to have what we called chocolate parties--everything we brought had to have chocolate in it somewhere. Another of my friends--who is an amazing cook and loves food--asked me, "Who will I eat with [after you have surgery]?"

"Me," I answered. "I can still have a couple of bites." (I can also inhale...deeply.)

I didn't learn much about nutrition growing up. I know a lot of people didn't, particularly if they are my age or older. As a friend of mine in his 60s put it, "It just wasn't done [then]." Nutrition is truly a luxury item when you are worried about being able to afford food to eat at all.

I have a vague recollection of a food pyramid being addressed in school at some point. I also remember, as a child, ferociously coveting the picture of the breakfast pictured on the side of many cereal boxes of the day. The photos included the cereal in question, but also juice, toast, AND eggs, if I remember correctly. It was a veritable fiesta of cholesterol and sugar and more food than I could imagine having to choose from at one time, then or now.

I have a couple of assignments to do before I see the nutritionist again next month. I have to write about my relationship to food in quite some detail. I also have to keep a food and exercise journal for the next six months and probably the indefinitely foreseeable future. It includes what vitamins I take, how much water I drink, and what exercise I do every day. The nutritionist told me that the main concern of insurance is to track my weight over the six-month period, ensure I show up for appointments, that sort of thing, but they say they require this journal as well.

None of these specialists can tell anyone what surgery to have, but they can make recommendations. The one I saw today also recommended gastric bypass for me, due to my sweet tooth and several other factors. She thought stomach sleeve gastrectomy might be even better, but insurance isn't covering it yet because it is still considered experimental.

Truthfully, I'm already annoyed by the food journal, and this is DAY ONE. I'm writing down how many calories is in the food if I know it, and a lot of the amounts are still branded into my brain from my eating disorder days. I really, really, REALLY hate being told what to do when it comes to diet and exercise, for obvious reasons. "Chafe against" would probably be more accurate. (This is why, in part, I believe this surgery will work for me. If I eat the food and the food makes me sick, I have enough respect for my body to listen to what it's telling me to do and do it. After all, I live in there. Listening to someone tell me what they think I should do, when they have no concept of what it truly means to live in there, on the other hand...)

The drill sergeant approach to weight loss absolutely does not, will not, cannot fly with me, and I was open about that with the nutritionist. I don't think humiliation motivates most human beings to do anything but self-destruct and/or rebel, and I think the medical profession is just beginning to figure this out.