Hello, Remember Me?

There is no doubt, these past few months rank very near the top of the Worst Times Ever for me.  What I had hoped would mark the beginning of a new era (a new me), resulted in a nightmare situation and extreme disappointment. 

Random as it may seem, this past Thursday was a really great day.  The first great day in a very long time.  My strength has pretty much returned, and I finally feel like "me" again.  I had almost forgotten what it felt like to be "me".  :-)

The week was not without its challenges, of course, and for sure there's never a dull moment at The 409.  A few weeks ago, we had made arrangements for a lady to come here and sit with the kids while Whitney works.  I'm at home, but I work all day, and can't care for the children.  On Saturday before she was due to report on Monday, she called and said she wouldn't be able to take the job.  This sent our plans into a tailspin.  Fortunately, I was able to revise my work schedule and take the second-shift hours.  And once again, GiGi to the rescue!  Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday, she came over at 2:00 each afternoon to watch the munchkins, and stayed until Whitney got home from work.  Always the life-saver, that GiGi!! 

But let me back up a few days. Last Friday Corey swallowed a penny.  I'm sure back in the olden days we all probably swallowed everything from marbles and pennies, to a fair amount of dirt, but nowadays they tell us that the penny can carrode and become rough, and cause internal damage.  Or, if it stays in there long enough, (not sure how long is "long enough"), copper poisoning could become an issue.  On Wednesday, the penny still hadn't made its way into a poopy diaper, so I took him down to RFC to get an x-ray.  Wouldn't you know it, it was "right there".... just waiting for the next poop to usher it back into the world.  Corey was beginning to show some signs of discomfort, and we were very anxious for that penny to come out.  It wasn't until Thursday evening that the well-traveled coin made its appearance  This, of course, meant multiple phone calls to relatives and interested parties, letting them know that the issue had passed.  (pun intended) 

Wednesday afternoon found Whitney in the emergency room with yet another episode of cardiac arrhythmia.  This time they brought in a cardiologist, and he diagnosed it as definite atrial fibrillation, a condition that plagues both my father and my brother.  Thankfully, she converted, and they let her come home with a prescription that will hopefully keep her heart in a normal rhythm. 

So after a harrowing Wednesday afternoon, having a great day on Thursday (made even better with the penny episode behind us), was appreciated even more.  Friday was a great day as well.  Chores in the a.m., birthday shopping for my niece in the afternoon.  This being the last weekend before school starts, there were fabulous clearance sales at the mall, and I was able to contribute nicely to Mary's back-to-school wardrobe, and found some great bargains for Corey and Leyland as well.  Saturday I worked on a couple of small projects outside, and even though it was terribly hot outside, I enjoyed the work, and the feeling of accomplishment when the projects were complete.  Peyton's birthday part was Saturday afternoon, and we enjoyed some Bennett family time, which is always a pleasure.  The evening found me home alone, enjoying some quiet time.  I should have been doing chores, but instead I relaxed a bit, caught up on Facebook, and updated my blogs.

The week has ended on a positive note, and for that I am grateful.  And can I just say, that it is so nice to be me again!!! 

A New Day

Sunday. The first day of a new week. A new week that has just GOT to be better than the past few!! I'm not much about whining, and I really hate it when my glass-half-full attitude turns to glass-half-empty-of-sour-rotten-disgusting-milk attitude. Thankfully that doesn't happen too terribly often. I inherited from my dad an optimism that, for me, sometimes belies reality... but if I have to be a little unrealistic at times, I'd far rather it be in the half-full sense rather than the half-empty one. Know what I mean? But now that I'm ready to leave this past week behind me... far, far behind me, let me take just a moment to reflect on what I have learned.

~Trust your instincts. Nobody knows your body the way you know it.. and when you know that something is amiss, you must investigate it. The dangerously frustrating thing is that some health care providers simply don't want to be bothered, and want to poo-poo it all away. "Take an aspirin and call me in the morning" kind of thing. Or "I'll call you back" and then the call never comes.

~Be proactive in my own care. During this entire ordeal, I have spent many hours waiting for return phone calls. Having worked for many years on the other end of the phone, I've tried to be very patient, pleasant, and understanding. I truly know how it works behind the scenes in physicians' offices. However, the time comes when you must INSIST on getting answers, and DEMAND that someone pay attention to you. I really don't like doing that (and it really should never be necessary), because I know what it's like dealing with a chronically whining patient who calls 20 times a day. I never want to be that way. It was either Whitney or DJ who kept reminding me that in a month these people won't remember me anyway, and to keep calling them. Haha.

~Do the best you can do with what you have. My entire week was focused on the fact that I had a postop problem.. and how best to address it. I saw three different doctors within four days.. one in the ER, one at a walk-in clinic, and finally the surgeon on call for my out-of-town surgeon. My sweet mama was playing taxi mom, carting me all over town, while often being the recipient of my snappy attitude. By this time I'm dealing with a big ol' case of frustration, and a little bit of self-pity, thinking that nobody (providers) really care, and do these people really know what they are talking about??? But, the best I could do is whatever they told me to do. Late Friday night and yesterday morning I was feeling pretty low, and quite fearful that I was getting worse. After a nap yesterday afternoon, I was delightfully surprised to see that the wound looked significantly better, and the soreness had ramped down a notch or two. Finally!!

~The saga is not over. Once the band was removed, the esophageal spasm/swallowing/vomiting issues were gone. However, over the past few days, I have had episodes (at least once daily) of the same spasmodic symptoms that lead to all kinds of unpleasantness. This has me pretty bummed. At the time of band removal, I threatened to "slit my wrists" if this symptom didn't go away. Of course, I was joking, but.... I really need for this symptom to go away. Perhaps it is meant to be the thorn in my side, but I am sure praying that with time it will leave never to return. It is a horrible feeling!!

~I really do have more strength than I ever gave myself credit for. Hopefully I am not a boastful person, but I am giving myself credit where credit is due this time. Throughout the entire process, even immediately after the initial surgery, it has been a hard row to hoe, and I worked very diligently to do the right things, to keep the very best attitude, even in the hardest of times. I look at other people who go through trials and challenges far greater and tragic than anything I've ever experienced, and I just say WOW. People who suffer and survive, overcome, and flourish should be our true heroes in this world, not somebody in an athletic jersey or holding an Oscar.  It is true.. God will never lead you where His grace will not keep you. And though at times I tend to try to carry the world on my shoulders instead of letting God shower His mercy and grace on me and let HIM carry it, He is always there, ready to bear the load, and restore me. Thank you God, for your blessings.

~Sometimes you just gotta let it go. Blessings can sometimes be found in the most unusual places or circumstances. My dear friend Danette called yesterday afternoon to discuss business, and during the conversation I pretty much lost my composure and bawled like a baby, trying to tell her what was going on. Such a sweet, kind, and compassionate woman. I'm sure my babbling between sobs didn't make much sense to her, but the details didn't matter at the moment, and she was such a blessing to me at the moment I needed it. I must have continued bawling for another 10-15 minutes after we hung up. My sweet daughter hugged on me, rubbed my shoulders for a bit, then went straight to my bathroom, got my bottle of Zoloft and said "Take it. NOW." So I did. It was a cathartic moment, though, and I felt better after the dam burst. Sometimes you just gotta let it go. There's no reward, except maybe a stomach full of ulcers, high blood pressure, etc., for keeping it all bottled up inside. So, to my dear friend Danette, thank you for being in the right place at just the right moment. Close enough to me to love me through it, distant enough not to advise me or try to "fix" it. Just to listen. Exactly what I needed.

~Friends and family. Absolutely the best blessing on earth.  This is not a new lesson, it's one I have known all my life.  But it has been undeniably reinforced throughout this journey!!

I have no clue what this week will hold. I'm sure there are more frustrating moments ahead with phone calls (or maybe lack thereof), more sitting in waiting rooms and missing work. Aaargh. Hopefully, though, the uphill portion of the battle is behind me and soon this will all be just a blip on the radar of a life that is truly blessed.

There's No Place Like Home

The ruby slippers fit perfectly, and though it was a bit more involved than clicking them three times and repeating "There's no place like home" to complete my journey, I have indeed found home again, both literally and physically.  My band was removed late Wednesday afternoon, and I am now back home recovering nicely.  Due to the late hour of surgery, I did spend one night in the hospital, and most of the next day, before going to mom's for a couple of nights.  I have the best mom and dad, and they have been with me through every mile of this journey!  I returned to my house on Saturday, and now there's nothing to do but wait for the postop pain to go away.  Not my favorite part.  But I can tell you with great joy and thankfulness that my nasty esophageal symptoms were immediately  corrected!!  Woo Hoo!!!  I am still taking it slow with introducing solid food, but so far only one or two bites have been even remotely reminiscent of the problems I had endured for weeks.  It is fabulous to take regular-sized drinks of water rather than microscopic sips.  Most of all it is wonderful to attempt to swallow something, solid OR liquid, without the excruciating spasms that had been plagueing me, and without multiple episodes of vomiting that had begun occurring at the end of the journey.  Of course now I turn my concerns to maintaining the weight loss already attained, as well as continuing the process for another 40 or so pounds to reach my goal.  Hopefully it will be easy for me to remember the Road Through Hell that I have recently traveled, and that will inspire me to work even more diligently not to gain back even ONE pound, and to continue the send the numbers downward on the scale.  I am thankful to be back home in my own cozy bed (though pampering at mom and dad's is nice too!), but I am mostly thankful for my tummy to be back "home".... i.e. functioning in the fashion that God meant for it to function.  There really is no place like home.  Thanks for your thoughts and prayers, and for those of you who were subjected to my whining, my tears of disappointment, and who encouraged me to fight the good fight... you are all my heroes, and mean more to me than you will ever know.  CathyB

4th of July Cuties

Since the 4th fell on a Sunday, and I work on Sundays, I wasn't able to follow the children around with my camera all day to capture the cuteness factor.  I got only a couple of shots in their little red, white, and blue outfits.  A little later in the day, I got a few photos of them in the pool.  Not our typical celebration, but it was a good day nonetheless.  Hope everyone had a safe and happy holiday.  Remember, freedom never was, nor will it ever be free. 

Corey loved playing in the pool!

Leyland.... Not so much

Corey: Havin a Ball!

Leyland:  Havin a Hissy Fit!

More pictures of Corey lovin the water

Independence!!

Time has slipped away from me today, and I didn't get my Independence Day blog post written.  I'm going to hijack my post from this date in 2008.  The message never grows old, and I simply can't let this day go by without recognizing its significance.

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Independence! (Originally posted 07-04-08)

October 11, 2001. The one-month anniversary of one of the darkest days in American history found me boarding a plane, heading to the very airport from which those ill-fated planes originated. I was traveling as a chaperone with a group of 10th grade AP US History students to Boston. Though plans had been made far in advance, because of the uncertainty of air travel, we were not sure we would get to make the trip. Fortunately, we were allowed to fly, and so began one of my favorite trips ever.

Now each year when July 4th comes around, I have a new understanding and appreciation for the holiday. It's way more than fireworks, picnics, and a day off work. So much more. While I expected the trip to Boston to be a nice adventure, I had no idea what was in store for me, and how it would forever change my view of independence. Our tour guide (a descendant of John Pitcairn) was a fascinating man with a passion for Revolutionary War history, and he made it come alive. I am grateful to have walked the very ground where it all happened. It made it real. I went inside the church where Robert Newman hung the two lanterns that signaled to Paul Revere that the British were coming. I saw the window where he escaped arrest, the window that has been blackened out to commemorate his heroic act. One late afternoon I sat in a grassy field in Lexington and listened to our guide describe the small, but significant exchange of gunshots that happened on the very ground where I was sitting. In Concord, I walked across the Old North Bridge, site of "The Shot Heard Round The World". I touched the monuments that give tribute to the men who died there. Though I didn't climb its 294 steps, I visited the monument at Bunker Hill, the site of the bloodiest battle of the war. The American soldiers were short on ammunition, and the British soldiers so many, that General Prescott ordered his men- "Don't fire until you see the whites of their eyes!" in order to make sure that every bullet counted.  I visited the graves of many brave men who were instrumental in our early history- Paul Revere, Samuel Adams, Peter Faneuil, and John Hancock. I saw the building from which the Declaration of Independence was first read to the public. Wow.

The trip was fascinating, and I asked more questions than the students. Admittedly, history was a subject that I loathed while in school, and I remember very little of what I dutifully memorized in order to pass a test. Here in Boston it came alive to me, and much to my embarrassment, several times I found myself overcome with emotion at the enormity of the sacrifice that our forefathers (and mothers) endured to secure our independence. I have often seen and heard the remark that freedom is not free. It never has been. It never will be.

Happy Birthday, America! Thank you, soldiers of the Revolutionary War. Thank you, men and women throughout the history of our country who see to it that our Star-Spangled Banner Yet Waves, Ore The Land Of The Free And The Home Of The Brave!

Friends In Low Places

Throughout my career, I have been so blessed to work with some of the finest physicians anywhere.  As I have changed jobs over the years, I've been so fortunate (and very thankful) to enjoy a continued good relationship with my former employers.  Whether they want it or not, they usually get a hug from me whenever I see them.  It's probably unusual to have always left a job on good terms, and continue to be able to say good things about a former employer.  I'm really blessed in that regard.  And while I enjoy a great rapport with them all, there are a few who stand out above the rest.  One in particular actually saved the day for me today.  Because of the issues I've been experiencing with the band, I called on the expertise of one of these fabulous men.  You know how it is when you leave a message or fax for a physician.  If you're very lucky, you'll hear back from them the same day; sometmes it can be several days.  This particular doctor wasn't due back in his office until Thursday, and with his hectic schedule, I figured it would be sometime next week when he would have Judy or Carolyn call me back with a message.  He absolutely, positively placed himself at the top of the heap, when he phoned me early this morning to discuss the questions I had faxed over yesterday.  He put to rest my two most immediate concerns, and offered advice on some medications to try.  Today I have a renewed hope that I'll be able to stick it out (pun intended) and possibly avoid surgical removal.  I'm resigned to the fact that my band isn't going to work in the way it was intended, but if I can clear a few hurdles over the next couple of months, perhaps it will all work out in the end.  Surgical removal is still quite probable, but at least now I have a glimmer of hope that I didn't have yesterday.  For those who prayed for me, thank you.  My "ruby slippers" arrived this morning in the form of a dear former employer/friend since 1979, who cares enough about me to invest 20 minutes in a very personal, caring, and helpful phone call.  Most of the time we don't get 20 minutes of face-to-face time when we have an appointment!!  For all you have taught me over the years professionally, for all the impeccable care you have provided to many, many members of my family, and for all you mean to me personally... thank you so much, Dr. JMW!!!

I Don't Think We're In Kansas Any More

This was one of my favorite movies of all time.  Although, those flying monkeys did used to creep me out big time!  My mom hated that movie! How funny that the film was created the same year she was born!  Few of us ever get to that surreal place
"somewhere over the rainbow", and if we do, somebody probably already stole the pot of gold!  I was one of the fortunate ones who actually did get a trip over the rainbow, into the Land of Oz.  If you've followed me closely, or if you've checked out my other blog, you know that I had Lap Band surgery back in May.  While not a day at the beach, and a little worse than I expected, it wasn't horrible.  And it got me to Oz.  The place where dreams come true.  The dream of losing enough weight to be healthy and active, enjoy life, and to live it long enough to see my grandchildren grow up.  I've been very pleased with the results so far.  As of today, my total weight loss, including the required 20-lb preop loss, is 44 lbs.  So that's not too shabby, and I'm really grateful. It's actually 1 lb away from being halfway to my goal! 

Near the end of the movie, "the wizard" reaches into a bag and presents The Tin Man, The Cowardly Lion, and The Scarecrow not necessarily the exact things they were looking for, but a tangible icon to represent a brain, a heart, and courage. I guess I can closely identify with Dorothy when she looks at "the wizard" and very sadly says, "I don't think there's anything in that bag for me". 

Looks like there's a good possibility that, due to a complication, I may have to have my band removed.  It's nothing life-threatening, yet something that can't be left untreated, and the only treatment is removal of the band.  For now, we're just going to sit tight (no pun intended) and see if the symptoms improve, as the weight continues to drop, and see what happens.

Perhaps I really can be like Dorothy, and find that I had the power within myself all along to reach my destination.  Perhaps this surgery was meant to be The Tornado that took me to Oz, to teach me the perseverence, diligence, and confidence that I need to get it done.  In the meantime, please remember me in your prayers, and pray that I will find those ruby slippers soon.  Thanks.  Love you all!

Some Buttons Are Best Left Unmashed

{I started to have for the title Some Buttons Are Best Left Unmashed.  But that reminded me of what happened one time to Randy's cousin Teresa.  Years ago she went to the Big City for a meeting in a big hotel, and upon entering the elevator, she asked the person near the control panel to "mash" 5. (Or whatever floor she was visiting.)  She said the person just looked at her and said "Mash??? You want me to MASH #5??, okay I'll MASH #5 for you"   Surely it must have been one of those Yankee-Type People. I think  you'd have to be from way, way up north not to know what "mash" means.  Do those people eat "pressed" potatoes?  I think not.  Mash that button, Mister!!  The lady wants to go to a different floor!  Press it if you will, but we say "mash" down here. I heard that story over 30 years ago, yet every time I get in an elevator, I think of Teresa and how we used to laugh about it.}

Well, you know what?  I'm proud of my southern heritage, and so what if I'm a country bumpkin.... I'm going to change my title back to "unmashed".  So if any of you Yankee-type people are reading, it means... push.  As in, don't mash/push/press that button.

Okay.  So now on to that button that I'm saying shouldn't be mashed.  It's the number 10 button on my mama's treadmill.  For the past two days, I've had a lovely walk about dusk-time, and fully intended to do it again today.  Before I made it out the door in my walking shoes, my dad called with some internet problems.  Far from a computer geek  (very, very far!), sometimes I can get lucky, so I told him I'd be over in a bit. Their house is all out of order due to Mr. Lawrence working his magic with a paint brush, but it was time to get the office up and running again. After the internet project was complete, I spied my mom's treadmill sitting in the middle of the dining room. "This thing work?"  I asked.  "Yep, sure does!"  So I pulled off my flip flops and climbed aboard.  We flipped switches, and mashed buttons, and finally the floor beneath my feet started moving, and I was "walking"!   Four laps around the track would be a mile.  Not so bad.  I was strolling along, every now and then mashing the + button that would increase the speed by .1 mph.  Across the console of the treadmill, there's a series of buttons numbered 2 through 10.  Feeling rather comfortable with my pace, I went to mash the + button again to increase the speed just a little.  I didn't have all night, ya know.  Oops.  The 10 button is right next to the + button.  See where this is going?  Instead of the + button, I mashed the 10 button.  I think 10 means 10 mph, which is quite a bit faster than the 1.8 I had been doing. 

Did you ever watch the closing credits to The Jetsons?  Yep, that's exactly what happened.  From 1.8 to 10 mph in 1 second flat.  It was hilarious.  Thankfully I had my wits enough about me to step off to the side.  But in doing so, I dislodged the little emergency key (in place for such a time as this) and turned it off.  Now all my stats were gone from my first lap.  I think I had burned about 38 calories by that time, but I'm not 100% sure.  I had hoped having the stats would motivate me, but now they were gone. It would have been really sad if we hadn't been laughing so hard. 

I recovered my composure, though, and fired up the machine again, this time at a comfy 2.0 mph and finished out my 1-mile walk. On lap 3 I even + up to 2.6 mph, but for just a short time, then back down to 2.0. It was fabulous!!  That makes three nights in a row that I have walked.  And it feels good.  :-)   Tomorrow night is salsa class again... but I think I've talked myself out of going this week.  Maybe I'll catch it next week.  Lots to do around The 409.  But I promise, if I don't sweat it Latino style, I'll do the walking thing again.  Or an exercise video, or something.  Or maybe go use the treadmill again???  Maybe I'll even get one for myself.  I don't think it would be half bad to do it while watching tv.  I'll hafta think on that a bit.

But you can bet I won't ever mash the 10 button again!

Extra Credit

I did it!  Took my first walk today.  Maybe a mile or so?  All the way to the highway, back down the street and up to DJ's.  Then back to my house.  Woo Hoo!  The light was fading, and it was just before dusk.  My work was finished and it was now or never.  The moment I had been putting off for weeks.  The good news is, I survived!  It felt pretty good tackling the hill both ways between my house and DJs house. Now the trick will be doing it again tomorrow and the next day and the next day... So.  Do I get extra credit for today? 

Leyland The Duck

There's a sweet little boy at Leyland's school named Case.  He was in K4 this past year, while Leyland was in K3.  I met his mom a few weeks ago when I was at the school, and we struck up a conversation.  Case came wandering over, and I introduced myself as Leyland's grandma.  His mom's eyes lit up and she said "Who?"  I told her again, and she started laughing.  She said that they have a duck named Leyland at their house.  They adopted a baby duck a little while back and Case insisted that he wanted to name it Leyland.  She assured him that Leyland was a beautiful name, but wherever on earth did he come up with that?  He told her there was a little girl in K3 with that name, and that is what he wanted to name his duck.  She was tickled to learn that Case's duck was indeed named after a real person.  How cute is that.  What girl wouldn't be thrilled to know that a boy named his pet duck after her???  I never had a duck named after me, did you??

I do remember from childhood that my uncle Ricky once had a duck named Gertrude.  I'm fairly certain he didn't name her after a cute girl at school, though.

When You Pray For A Soldier

I love scrapbooking.  I love internet message boards.  I love blogging.  Through the message boards on a scrapbook website that I enjoy, I *met* an awesome lady from Washington State.  Her name is Noel, and she has two beautiful daughters.  Noel is a photographer, scrapbooker, and designer for several craft companies.  It's strange, sometimes, how you feel like you can really get to know a person by following message board posts, blogs, e-mails, and Facebook chats.  I won a contest she sponsored last summer, and enjoyed a few personal e-mails at that time.  Her husband, Stan, is in the Navy and does something with planes.  Flight instructor, flight safety something-or-other, I'm not sure just what he does.  He has been deployed several times since I have *known* her, and it is always heart-wrenching for her cyberspace friends when he has to leave.  I don't remember exactly the date of his latest deployment, I'm thinking about nine or ten months ago.  A lifetime ago to his wife and children, I'm sure.  Anyway, when she asked for prayers at the time of his last deployment, I added him to the list of military personnel that are listed each week in my church bulletin. 

I was so happy to let them know last Sunday that his name could be removed (not that we still won't be praying for Stan, but now he is out of the *Hot Zone*), as he was scheduled to come home this past week.  Just last night I was able to take a few minutes and look at Noel's FB photo album of that day.  I was very moved by her photos.  Here are a couple that had me sniffling. 

I don't know about you, but this is what it's all about when I pray for a soldier.  Staying safe, getting the job done, and returning home to his/her family.  Thank you, God, for bringing Stan safely home to his wife and daughters. And thank you, Stan, for not only your service, but for the price you (and your family) pay every moment that you are away from those who love you.

Salad!

My friend Paul T. and I laugh about the silly things that people put on Facebook. (Who cares what someone had for lunch, or that they are going to Publix after work, or bought a book of Elvis stamps...)

I remember when I first heard about Twitter, my thoughts were... Who on the face of the earth could possibly care about what I might be doing at any point in the day?  However, when Whitney and her family went to the beach, I signed up for a Twitter account, thinking I could keep up with my grandkids' first trip to the ocean, if Whitney tweeted about their trip.  Smart phones make connecting with friends an easy task, and I thought she might be more inclined to do that than send e-mails.  Nada.  With no news from the vacationing grandchildren, I quickly became bored with it.  Not to mention all the strange people who wanted to "follow" me.  Seriously?  I think I still have the Twitter account, but I forgot my password. 

Anyway, Facebook, for some people, has become the same kind of tool. Oh, I've posted my share of goofy statuses too, most of which are always unworthy of a comment.  (Ignored)  I'm not one of the Facebook "Stars" with thousands of friends fawning at my every post, with 50 comments after each one.  Probably half of my posts never get comments at all, and who knows, maybe my FB friends just glance right over them.  After all, what young college student would possibly be interested in my pillow talk with the grandchildren?  (Well, Kate would be that exception, but that's because she loves my grandchildren...).  Anyway, my point here is that a lot of the postings on FB are pretty silly, and sometimes I'm like... "huh?" 

Today, I wanted to share some exciting news. And since my blog is networked to FB, it will show up on FB, where I am certain that all 201 of my FB friends will be reading my blog and posting their congratulations on this momentous occasion.

Paul, this is HUGE.  I had a salad for lunch. 

Actually, Paul will understand why this is a big deal.  This is my first salad in weeks, and weeks, since well before my surgery.  I can only have pea-sized bites of whatever it is that I'm eating, so I painstakingly sliced up baby spinach leaves, a small sliver of cucumber, some green onion, a boiled egg, and some pre-cooked misquite chicken tenders into confetti-sized pieces, and grated a tiny bit of cheese on top.  Oh, yeah.  This was a very intensive labor of love.  Love for salads.  I really wanted/needed for this venture to be successful.  When introducing a new food back into my diet is UNsuccessful, I tend to never want to see that food ever again.  I sure didn't want that to happen with salads!!!  And I am so thankful to say that it went down fine, even though it took me about 45 minutes to eat 1/2 cup of my confetti salad.  Which is about right for a lap-band patient.  I am so thankful for my delicious lunch.  And I knew all my blogger and FB would want to know about it too.  I might even tweet about it.

For all the gory details about the "new me", check out my other blog:  http://cathyb-thexbandedfiles.blogspot.com/ But be forewarned, there are some scary numbers and photos lurking over there..... and you are sworn to secrecy if you read any of those posts.  If you tell my secrets, I will have to kill you.

Campin' By The River

It was my pleasure to spend the weekend at home with the grandchildren, while their mom and dad went camping.  Now I must admit, I didn't have much confidence in their trip, and worried that they would 1) have terrible weather, as it has been rainy and stormy for almost two weeks here, 2) have trouble setting up camp, 3) generally be miserable.  Whitney has camped a good bit before, but was always the kid, and never had to be responsible for anything except having a good time.  I'm not sure of Dustin's wilderness experience.  Their destination for the weekend was a no-frills campground on the Tallulah River in NE Georgia.  Whitney's dad loaned them the camping gear, and offered advice from his personal camping experience. 

On a really funny side note... the tent is identical to one that we bought many years ago while married.   Our maiden voyage with the tent found us by that same river with only a few precious moments before darkness fell.  Randy was all in a dither and hurry trying to get the tent up while we still had light.  He would set up a pole, tell me to hold it secure, and he'd go off to set the opposing one.  Well, mine kept falling.  (To hear him tell it, I was dropping it, but I wasn't... he was just pulling too hard!)  Then the unthinkable happened.  I got tickled.  The harder I laughed, the angrier he got.  The angrier he got, the harder I laughed.  Now, Randy didn't get mad too terribly often, and he most certainly never used profanity (directed at me)... but on this particular occasion, when the situation was becoming critical, i.e. it was gettin' dark in them thar hills... he glared at me one last time, and told me if I didn't shut the $%#* up, he was going to throw my @$$ in that #&%* river.   So I decided I'd best stop laughing.  At least on the outside.  But I was so shocked at what he said, that I was absolutely about to bust a gut from laughing on the inside!!!  But, I contained my hysterical giggling, and got serious about tent-pitching.  I do believe we put the finishing touches on it by flashlight, but thankfully we had a dry shelter in which to sleep.  Notice I didn't say warm, because it was freezing cold, and I slept totally buried under the covers.  Oh, and did I mention that this was back in the olden days, when it was permissible to pitch a tent anywhere along the river as long as your stakes weren't in the (one-lane, dirt) road.  We were in The Big Bend.  No lights.  No bath-house.  No nothing.  Just us and the wilderness.  The next morning when he made coffee out of water from the river, I didn't feel like laughing any more.  I was ready to go home. 

But I digress... this is Whitney and Dustin's camping trip I'm blogging about, not mine.  Perhaps I shall tell more stories about "our river" another time.  For further info on my family's history with this particular river, read this post. 

Though Whitny and Dustin stayed at an obscure little campground at the bottom of the mountain, with electricity, water, and a facsimile of a bath-house, there still was no cell phone signal.  At some point she was able to text me to let me know the tent went up fine, the weather was fine, everything was just fine. 

Meanwhile back at home, I was having a wonderful time with the munchkins! They were perfect little sweeties. On Friday, we went to the mall to "the jumpy place" and they had a grand time.

They played outside on the jeep till dinner time, then Greemaw fed them deliciously nutritious Happy Meals from McDonald's, while I my ownself enjoyed some seasoned talapia, broccoli and baked potato from Captain Ds.  Or more accurately, I enjoyed the talapia.  Wish I had known the kids would eat most of my plate (which worked out great for me anyway), and I'd have held off on the Happy Meals.  Corey ate most of the broccoli and potato, and Leyland ate all of the rice and a little bit of the fish.  Oh well.  At least MY dinner food wasn't wasted.  We all enjoyed it.  Just as well they didn't much touch their food last night, because today Leyland wanted to go back to McDonald's "to play".  So, I decided a quick lunch of chicken mcnuggets, apples and chocolate milk, then a little time on the playground would be just what they needed right before naptime!  While we were there, Whit called and said they were home already.  Their camping trip was a success!!  They arrived home safely, all camping gear intact, and they caught eight trout besides!!  The fish were really biting, they said, and they could have caught more, except they only bought one trout stamp, and were respectful of the laws that dictate the daily limit.  Whitney caught four, and Dustin caught four.  (I'm sure glad she didn't get carded, because she just doesn't look like a "Dustin"!)  So, I was very happy to know that they were home, and after a bit, rounded up the kids from the playground and headed home.  They were so proud of their catch, and couldn't wait to show me. 

Can I just say.... WHOA BABY!!  I have grown up all my life catching, attempting to catch, and eating trout caught out of that river.   The average size that the fellas usually came home with was maybe 7 or 8 inches (before cleaning, with the heads still on!).  Sometimes maybe a 9 or 10 inch fish would make its way home, and boy, oh boy, would there EVER be some razzin' between those dear men of ours!  Some years the catch would consist of what should probably have been considered fingerlings, but we ate those "minnows" anyway, and loved every tender little morsel. 

My daddy, my brother, my uncles, and my male cousins, and Whitney's daddy would all just probably faint dead away if they saw the fish that Whit and Dustin brought home.  Oh. My. Goodness.  Even after cleaning, (with their heads cut off), one of the fish was almost 13" long!!  Seriously!  I even accused her of going to a trout farm, but it would have cost them a week's pay for these huge monsters at a trout farm!  I'm posting pictures.  The red dish is a platter.  Though the photo with the pink tape measure shows a little less than 12", it was in reality closer to 13".  (yeah, yeah... but you should have seen the one that got away...)  Seriously, it was the angle I was standing when I shot the photo.  The things were so huge they kept sliding off the platter.

We froze them up real good and soon we'll be having baked or grilled trout.  Mmmm Mmmm Good!!! 

I'm so proud of them for handling Campin' By The River, for having a great weekend away, and still in a bit of shock and awe at the monster fish they brought home.  Eat your hearts out, Butt-In-Brothers!!!!

Sure wish I could go back to The Mountains one last time, with all our menfolk there, safe and healthy, for one more fish fry... one more night of all the magic that happened when our family was together.  I sure do miss those days, and the way things used to be.  I really miss those Stainback men too.

Whitney and Dustin, perhaps they are smiling down on your big catch, and remembering the days when they, too, fished in the river!!

The Last Full Measure of Devotion

A week ago, a Barrow County man lost his life on Hwy 316.  Though I didn't know him personally, he was a well-respected man, and so many kind things have been said about him.  Since the highway was opened, it has gained the reputation of a death trap, as many people have been killed, including a dear friend and member of my church.  Most of us drive daily, and yet when we turn the key in the ignition, we're not thinking that "today I may be killed while driving my car."  It would be difficult to complete the task at hand if we worried or obsessed over our safety.  We simply drive, and do what comes natural, and most of the time, we return home at the end of the day, and go through the same routine tomorrow and the next day.

I would imagine that a soldier serving in a hot zone is a little more cognizant of his (or her) mortality when he goes about the tasks of his day.  I would think that a heavy measure of dread and trepidation accompanies a soldier as he gears up for another day of battle.  But I'm sure in the back of his mind, he never really thinks that today will be the day that he will die.  To obsess over it would not only put himself in danger, but his comrades as well.  So, like a driver behind the wheel, the soldier does what he has been trained to do, and instinct kicks in. 

I've never really thought about the actual number of soldiers who have died in battle.  I've seen photos of Arlington, and American cemetaries on foriegn lands, and it always overwhelms me. White crosses as far as the eye can see. Each cross representing a life cut short.  Today in church, my pastor quoted the numbers of the known (American) dead from the wars - around 1.3 million, since the Revolutionary War.  Many of us know families who have experienced first-hand the loss of someone they love on a battlefield far, far away.  We've watched videos of funeral processions through towns where people lined the streets to pay their respects.  We've wept over people we've never met who were willing to lay down their lives... men and women who "gave the last full measure of devotion", to ensure our liberty and freedom.

There are those who vehemently oppose military action/wars.  There will always be controversy over some of the engagements in which we've been involved.  Memorial Day, in my opinion, is not the time for arguing over the Democratic or Republican, liberal or conservative opinion of whether or not we should be there in the first place.  It is about honoring the men and women who have given all. Instead of staying home and playing with their children, tending to their families, working in a job making far more than soldier's wages, they died far away from the ones they love, often in the arms of their fellow soldiers.

During my lifetime, I am unaware of any of my own family members who have perished while serving our country, but many of the guys in my family have served, including my father, my brother, and all of my uncles.  Army, Navy and Air Force.  I am so thankful for their service, and thankful they returned home safely to us. 

There's a family heirloom that sits in my living room.  It's a hand-crafted blanket chest that's in the neighborhood of 350 years old.  Inside this chest is a little "secret compartment".  When my grandmother inherited it, there were some items inside the compartment.  Among the items were some very brittle, faded letters penned by one of my ancestors from the battlefield.  In the Civil War.  He wrote home to his mother about "hiding in the ditch from the damn Yankees", about drinking bootleg whiskey that someone had obtained.  Of his love for his family. Amazing letters.  The story goes that the soldier's mother received word that he had been injured in battle.  Though she was weak from having given birth a few weeks earlier and nearly hemorrhaging to death, she insisted that she be taken to the hospital to see her son.  She and the baby were packed in the back of a wagon, and they traveled many miles so that she could be with her son.  After days of travel, they finally reached the hospital, where she learned that her son, her brave young son, had died shortly before her arrival.  He gave the last full measure of his devotion.  North or South?  Doesn't matter.  He was an American, and gave his life for a cause in which he believed.  I'd venture to say, that at some point in history, every family has been impacted by this supreme sacrifice.

Our nation today is facing challenges like never before.  Over the years our government has become the epitome of Big Brother, and many of the actions of our leaders do little to honor the intentions of the men and women who got off the boats and founded our country those many years ago.  It makes me incredibly sad to see the state of our nation, especially knowing the high price that has been paid. 

Freedom is not free. 

All gave some.  Some gave all. 

I hope there is a special place in heaven for the men and women who gave all. 

May there always be a special place in our hearts for them, and may we never forget.

Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this. But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate -- we can not consecrate -- we can not hallow -- this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us -- that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion -- that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain -- that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom -- and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.  ~Abraham Lincoln

Epiphany

Hi, my name is Cathy, and I'm a fast-food junkie.   Yes, I believe there actually is a 12-step program for weight loss called Overeater's Anonymous.  I'm not poking fun at them, not in the least.  I'm all about whatever works for a person to overcome whatever it is that has a hold on them.  In my case, my demons are delicious fried chicken fingers, double-patty burgers, chili dogs and greasy onion rings, ooey-gooey pizza, cheesy crunchy things, scattered and smothered hashbrowns, and five-dollar foot-longs.  mmm, mmm, good!  

I've found myself struggling a bit since surgery.  Not so much with the eating part, as there hasn't been much of an appetite.  My struggle has been emotional.  It's crazy, and it confuses me.  I have taken a reasonable surgical risk, and committed the remainder of my life to a new way of eating.  (See this post for background information.) 

I've found myself "mourning" over the fact that I'll never be able to eat whatever and as much of whatever I want.  Hopefully, I'll be one of the patients who can eat most anything I enjoyed before, only in much, much smaller portions.  Still... I am surprised at how sad I feel, how deprived I feel.  The strange thing is, I don't really WANT to gorge myself, and even if I had The Varsity's finest (or Chili's, or Outback, or Provino's, etc.) in front of me right at this minute, I wouldn't be able to eat it.  Well, maybe a bite or lick or two.

So last night I'm driving through Winder.  It was about 9:45 p.m. and I hadn't had dinner yet.  Though not physically hungry, I found my mouth watering as I drove down restaurant row.  At each of my favorite joints, I found myself imagining what I would order if I went to this drive through, or that drive through.  By the time I made it past all the restaurants and fast-food spots, I had worked myself into somewhat of a dither.  More precisely.. I was pissed.  I was angry because I couldn't just pull up to the menu and tell the person on the other end what I wanted, and, oh, by the way, can you Supersize that?? 

As the lights of town began to fade and I made my way through the country, I had an epiphany.  THE SURGERY IS WORKING!!!!   If not for the surgery, my biggest dilemma would have been where to stop for dinner.  Because, believe me, I would have stopped.  Yes, I might have been in a bad mood for a few miles of my journey through town, but the end result is that I did NOT do the drive-through (or sit-down) version of dinner.  I did not gorge myself with hundreds of fat grams and thousands of calories.  That is HUGE for me.  I was POd about it, because my old habits dictated that whenever I'm within a block of something good to eat, I'd better drive through (or go in) and get me some. 

But, because I have this little band inside of me, even before my saline fills and before it is working optimally, I have a tool that helps me make better choices.   Does that mean I'll never want my fast-food again?  Doubt it.  I'll probably always want it to some degree.  Just like I imagine any sort of addict will always crave, to some degree, the substance that they formerly abused. 

With the full moon shining through my windshield, driving through the country last night, I realized that this emotional battle may never be won.  I may always struggle with an irrational sadness over giving up the very thing that was killing me.  I know it sounds insane.  I can't explain it.  But I also realized for the first time in my overweight life, there is hope.  I feel victorious!  MY SURGERY IS WORKING!!!  Woo hoo!!

Thirty Years

Quick!  Can anyone tell me what event occurred thirty years ago today that made the news worldwide, and forever changed the landscape?  If you said the eruption of Mt. St. Helens, you are correct.  What an amazing, destructive display of science and nature. 

Today also marks the 30-year anniversary of my marriage to Randy.  Some have joked in retrospect that the destruction of a mountain might have been an omen of things to come with our marriage.  However, the dissolution of a marriage is more complex than science and nature.  Even so, the devastation of divorce is often not unlike the devastation witnessed in Washington early on that morning in May. 

We live in an imperfect world, and divorce happens. With a few exceptions, I am by no means an advocate of divorce.  Even without the obvious exceptions that make divorce "acceptable", many couples will fall into apathy, and without tender care and attention to what is really going on, trouble soon finds them.  It seems easier to turn a deaf ear to the problem and live in denial than it is to face the issues head on and work on the problems.  By the time both partners are willing to admit that problems exist, it is often too late. 

Do I wonder how life would have been different without divorce?  Of course I do.  There would have been much ground to cover and many problems to overcome, and who knows how we would have ended up.  I wonder, not so much for my sake, but for Whitney's sake, how things would be different.  You know, I will never, ever say that I regret getting married.  I was osmosed into the most wonderful family of in-laws and extended in-law relatives.  I was blessed with the most precious love of my life, my daughter.  What I lost in the divorce was years and years of closeness with those in-laws.  It's not just a spouse you lose with divorce.  I missed watching my neices grow up.  I missed all the happy and sad occasions that go along with family.  However, what I lost doesn't even compare to what Whitney lost by not having her daddy in her life every day.  That is a demon that has haunted me for 18 years.  How would her life have been different?  Though there have been decisions that I would have made differently for her, it is also impossible to regret some of those decisions because the result is two beautiful grandchildren, whom I cannot imaging living without.  Still, over the years, I have wondered.

I consider myself extremely blessed that through the years, my relationship with my in-laws has been restored, and I have cherished each moment.  Sometimes I tend to get a little emotional when we're all together, when I think of all the years I missed.  Losing the family is often more difficult than losing the marriage. I'm so glad to have my family back, even if in a reduced capacity. 

To my married friends, love your spouse.  This entails more than saying "I love you."  More than flowers and chocolates for Valentine's Day.  More than physical union.  This entails listening, being sensitive, encouraging, putting the other person's needs before your own.  And, of tantamount importance, if your partner voices concern over "issues" or "problems", do not ignore it!!!  Even if you think YOU don't have a problem.  Believe me.  If your spouse has a problem, then YOU have a problem.  Tend to it early.  If you can't fix it on your own, get help.  It doesn't make you less of a person to admit that there are problems, and that you can't fix it on your own.  Don't wait until the side of the mountain is ready to explode to address it. 

Today you can visit the Mt. St. Helens National Park. My parents went there years ago, and say that even now the devastation is evident, and the landscape is forever scarred. I believe that's what happens with divorce. We can go on with our lives, and new growth can emerge. Hopefully we will be able to come to peace with our choices and accept the consequences. However, scars remain, and lives (not just those of the divorced couple) are forever changed.

Cool Mt. St. Helens Video

Choy, Choy, Choy!

This rainy afternoon probably wasn't the most ideal time to venture out, but since I must return to work tomorrow, and since Whitney had to deliver and pick up some work in Athens, I decided to ride along.  We had a couple of other errands to run as well, so we decided we'd stick it out as long as we could and then come on home.  The stickin-it-out part got rather noisy at times, as the munchkins had little spells of... shall we say... uncooperative nature?  Oh let's just go ahead and say it... they had little episodes of Turbo-Turd attacks.  On the way home, they vascilated between moments of angelic sweetness and ... well total turdism.  During one of her sweeter moments, Leyland decided to serenade us with some of the songs she has learned at school.  Honestly, she surprises me continuously with the new things she learned.  Remember in Sunday School when we learned the song "I've got the joy, joy, joy, joy down in my heart (where?) down in my heart, (where?) down in my heart" etc.  Well, Leyland was singing that song.  Only she doesn't say her "j" sounds perfectly yet.  They're sprinkled with a little of the "ch" sound.  So her version came out like:
I've got the choy, choy, choy, choy down in my heart (where?)  etc.   Then on the little reprise, she says "And I'm so happy, so very happy, I've got the love of Chesus in my heart, down in my heart"  etc.  So stinkin cute!!!   But what nearly made Whitney run off the road, and me break open my incisions was her rendition of the second verse:   "And if the debbil doesn't like it he can sit on a dyke, (ouch!) sit on a dyke (ouch!) (repeat).  Oh my goodness.  If you don't happen to know the words, it should be... "And if the devil doesn't like it he can sit on a tack (ouch!)" But no.  The DEBBIL can sit on a DYKE!!!!  Now isn't that just hilarious?  And Corey was just a-gigglin his little self silly.  So Greemaw says it was worth all the Turbo-Turd episodes to hear her singing in the backseat on the way home.  My precious grandchildren bring me such CHOY!!!

Mother's Day Weekend

Being a mom is one of God's greatest gifts to women. From the beginning of time, mothers have experienced the joys, pride, heartache, sleepless nights and worries inherent with motherhood.  Sadly, though, there are many empty arms this weekend, of those who have either lost their children, were never able to conceive, or unable to carry a pregnancy to term.  Mother's Day is a sad reminder for those who have lost their moms, but I can't imagine the grief that visits the hearts of women who long(ed) for children of their own, yet must endure a day that celebrates motherhood.  My heart goes out to you ladies.

Grand-motherhood is yet another joy granted to many women.  i wasn't expecting to join the ranks of grandmas quite so soon, but once inducted, I was quick to acknowledge that being a grandma is way better than being a mom. Can I get an amen from all my Grandma friends out there???

I've been blessed to have done the fun things with my daughter.  Girl scouts, class trips, middle and high school band, proms, homecoming dances, learner's and driver's license, dates, girlfriend sleepovers, late-night, last-minute homework projects assigned weeks ago, but due tomorrow, yet to be started, vacations to the beach, PSAT/SAT, honor student activities, college searches, FAFSA applications, shopping for dorm supplies .... to wedding planning, gown shopping, reception planning, food preparation, watching my beautiful daughter, ensconced in a film of white, being escorted down the aisle by her dad.  Plans were for her to finish her degree, with no thought given to starting a family any time soon.  God had other plans, though, and ten months later, we welcomed Baby Leyland into our family.  And another priceless memory was made as I watched my precious daughter bring another life into the world.  At first sight, my heart was forever melded into the spirit of that sweet little girl.. I was a goner!  13 months later, I learned that my heart would need to make room for another grandchild.  I must admit that I was concerned that I would never love another baby as much as Leyland.  As any mother/grandmother of more than one child will tell you, there is some magical formula, I believe sent from heaven, that enables our hearts to love more children, and Corey has filled a place in my heart that I never knew was there.  Isn't it amazing, the love we have for these little ones??

I look forward to making many memories with my sweet grand-babies.  I have so many to treasure already.  We're looking forward to a fun-filled summer.  I've had some work done at The 409, and the fence that once bisected my back yard has been moved and attached to fully enclose the back yard.  The sandbox project is complete and filled with sand, and has already provided much pleasure.  We have a new cedar swing set/play-scape awaiting assembly, and a Power Wheels vehicle on order.  Once the yard work is complete, the play-scape assembled, and the heating/air conditioning unit outside is barricaded from Mr. Demolition Man (Corey), we will find a suitable spot for the poool and fill it up with water.  That sounds like a recipe for a fun-filled summer!!!

As the result of 25-year battle with weight issues, I have found myself diagnosed with diabetes, sleep apnea, and intermittent hypertension, along with the physical limitations that go along with obesity.  Watching my grandchildren play, feeling my heart swell when they run to me with arms open wide, collecting those priceless Greemaw kisses, I have realized that if I want to be here to watch them grow, to have an influence in their lives, and to bask in their unconditional love, then I must address the weight issues that have plagued me for so long.  It is no longer just a matter of being uncomfortable, unhappy with how I look, spending tons of money on medications and supplies.  It has become a matter of life and death for me.  No matter how much money I spend on medication and supplies, keeping my head buried in the sand and ignoring/neglecting my conditions is simply a death sentence, or possibly even worse... sentencing to life in a wheelchair as an amputee, tethered to a dialysis machine and an oxygen tank.

Last fall I began researching the option of weight loss surgery.  I knew I wasn't interested in the gastric bypass option, but I was intrigued by the Lapband System.  After discussing the procedure with my PCP, attending informational seminars, joining several on-line forum groups and learning all I could about the procedure (the good, the bad, and the ugly), I made the decision at Christmas to apply for the surgery.  It was a huge undertaking! Thankfully so, as it is not a decision to be made lightly or quickly.  My mom, who has been my biggest supporter, offered to pay the $150.00 application fee.  (Another deterrent, I believe, to those who are not serious about the procedure.  The surgeon's office spends a great deal of time with each applicant, other ancillary providers, and the insurance companies.  For someone to be willing to pay the application fee, they are most likely going to go through with the procedure.)  I was required to have two visits to a psychologist, have an upper GI, a series of blood work,  an appointment with a nutritionist, and a letter of recommendation from my PCP as well as medical records to document three years of weight issues.  I was spared the sleep study session, because I'm already using a C-PAP machine.  Finally the surgeon had all the required information to submit to the insurance company.  I expected a three-week wait on the approval, but to my delight and surprise, they approved me in three days. Now the scary part would begin!  I would be required to lose 20 lbs before surgery.   My first thought was "If I can lose 20 lbs, maybe I can just forget the surgery and do it by myself."  However, I know my history.  I'll lose a few pounds, and I'll celebrate the victory by ordering two chili dogs all the way with a side of onion rings at The Varsity.  I have probably lost 500 lbs in my lifetime, and each time the victory celebration finds me off the wagon, regaining the weight, with a few extra pounds tagging along.....sigh....  The reason for the preop weight loss is to shrink the liver, which lies directly over where the band is applied.  If the liver is too heavy to be retracted laparoscopically, the procedure will be aborted.  So, I started the task of losing  20 lbs, and thankfully reached the mark by my preop date!!!  Woo Hoo!!!  (And I am horrified to admit that I celebrated the victory in a most unhealthy manner... which further reinforced my decision!!!)

As I write this post, I am sitting in my dad's recliner, three days postop.  My surgery was done this past Tuesday, May 4th, and I'm spending the week recovering at Mom and Dad's.  The first couple of days were pretty rough, but today I have felt much better.  For two weeks I'm surviving on a clear-liquid diet, then will advance to a pureed, baby food consistency.  Hopefully I'll be one of the lucky patients who ultimately gets back to eating many of the foods I enjoyed before, just in minuscule amounts, with the dreaded Foods To Avoid list.  I'm very, very excited about my new lease on life, and look forward to improving my health.  It's my Happy Mother's day gift to myself, and to my family.  After all, I've got many more Greemaw years ahead to enjoy!!!
~
Note:  Because there are so many opinions about the best way to lose weight/regain health, and because some people won't hesitate to shower you with negative remarks, I have chosen to wait until after the procedure to blog about my decision and my surgery.  The friends and family members I've confided in have all been very supportive and encouraging.  I've done the research, I know the down sides, the risks, the possible complications, and I know there are no guarantees.  The Lapband is simply a tool that I will use to assist me.  The food choices will still be mine.  The success or failure of the outcome is in my hands.  I used to think that weight loss surgery was the easy way out.  But believe me, there is nothing easy about it, and i will never think that way again.

If you are one who disagrees with my decision, I can respect that, but I invite you to share your negative energy with someone else at this time.  I'll be delighted to refer you to some excellent websites to do your own research.  For my friends who pray, I would ask you to offer a special prayer for me, as the journey has just begun.  I am determined to succeed, but I don't pretend that it will be an easy road to travel.  Thanks for your support and understanding.

And speaking of progress, so far I have GAINED 4 lbs!!  hahaha...  I forgot to weigh on my mom's scales on the morning of surgery.  OBVIOUSLY they are way, way off from those of the surgeon.  Blessings to all who will read this and send good thoughts and prayers my way.  Thanks!

Tin Roof! Rusted!

If you see a painted sign by the side of the road that says 15 miles to the ....

Oh wait.  Not THAT tin roof!! It's not the Love Shack, it's MY tin roof!  And it's not rusted either.  It's brand-spankin new!  Last summer during one of our stormy afternoons, many houses on my street were damaged by hail.  I didn't think that much about it, since there were no signs of leaks anywhere.  However, David convinced me that I needed to have it checked out.  Sure enough, there was some damage.  And sure enough, after an exceptionally hard rain there were a few tell-tale water spots on the ceiling in the master bedroom.  The insurance company came out a while back, assessed the damage and wrote a check on the spot.  There were all kinds of things like deductibles, depreciation, replacement value, blah blah blah... and I stuck the check in my desk drawer to worry with it another day.  Another day began bright and early Monday morning. I'm happy to report that the hammers, snips and power screwdrivers will soon be quieted, and The 409 will be covered in a beautiful, dark green, metal roof.  It's not really tin, and it won't ever rust, but I can't help but think of the B52s every time I see a "tin" roof.  My own little Love Shack.  Haha!!! 

It's great to have another project out of the way (especially one I didn't have to pay for out of my own pockets!!) 

Come by and check out my new roof.  There are quite a few "Love Shacks" on my street now, thanks to the battering of last summer's hail storm.  If it hails this summer, we'll probably need earplugs. 

The whole shack shimmies,
When everybody's movin' around, and around, and around..
Everybody's movin', everybody's groovin', baby!Funky little shack... Funk-y little shack

B52s.  What a fun song!!  Lovin' my new "tin" roof!

Today Could Be The Day!

If you watch much network tv at all, you've probably heard that little jingle far more times than you want to.  I know I certainly have.  The Georgia Lottery people would have us believe that they are hurting, and as a result, they have cut back on the amount of money available to college students.  Here's a thought... stop spending so much money on stupid television ads.  Seriously.  How many times during one prime-time show do we need to see the same commercial over and over?  Is there anyone in the state of Georgia who doesn't know about the lottery?  And do we REALLY need to see the fake chinese man who only moves his mouth talk about Keno at every commercial break?  What the heck is Keno anyway?  When I was in Vegas, scantily-clad women would walk about saying "Keno!" every few seconds, and people would watch some numbers up on a screen.  I'd say, if you gotta go to the store to play Keno, then wait and do your commercials at the store.  I am of the impression that prime-time tv ads can be quite costly.  It wouldn't be so bad for one lottery commercial per show/hour.  But to show them at every commercial break seems to me that they are being bad stewards of their money.

The state school superintendant (I believe it was, I'm too lazy to check my facts right this second) made an interesting observation.  She said something to the effect that the K-4 program and college degrees are not mandated by law.  Yes, they are a great thing, and it is great having the lottery fund them.  However, our current school system is in a financial crisis.  Wouldn't it be a more prudent investment to put the lottery money into the public school system? 

I like how she thinks!!  Look at it this way.  Taking away lottery-funded college tuition would hurt many people, and take away the opportunity for college that they normally would not have.  However... if the state of our public education continues to decline, our students #1) won't receive an education that enables them to maintain the grades in high school to qualify, and even if they do, #2) they won't have a solid enough basic education to maintain the GPA in college to earn the second go-round of lottery-funded tuition.  So they'll drop out of college after the first term, and that pile of tuition money will have been wasted anyway. 

If something isn't done about our school system K-12, we won't be needing to worry about college anyway.  Our students won't be able to make high enough on the SAT to even get in.  It is a very sad situation. 

I, for one, could do with 99% less lottery commercials.  And I don't even watch tv that much.  So, lottery officials, save some money!  Stop with the ridiculous ads! 

Edited to add:  I am the biggest fan of school teachers out there.  This post in no way is meant to diss teachers by saying education is lacking.  Education is lacking because of funding.  Teachers and public safety workers are my heroes, and should be the highest-paid workers in our work force.  Not some silly athlete.  But that's another rant all together. 

And don't even mention to me the possibility of cutting the band program.  You'd get an ear full, and it might not be pretty.   I'm just sayin....