HAHAHAHA!  Oh my God!  I'd OD on Xanax if there weren't only three left.  My kingdom for a shot of vodka.

Yeah yeah yeah, I'm alright, in fact, I could just shit.

Long and tiring story short, I don't have a surgeon -- I don't need a surgeon.  Whatever problems arise, my physician is more than capable of handling them.

You know what I believe in?  Superstition.  I know, I know.  You would think I was actually smarter than that, but try as I might, I can't shake it.  You know the drill, letting everyone know it's all ok and BAM, turns out it ain't.  Pffft!

Now that I've managed to tell everyone my strictures are of the past, it seems as though I'm throwing up more.  Oh honestly, couldn't life not be predictable just this once?  I'm just not gonna worry about it, I still think everything's ok.  

Ya know... I kinda wish celebrities who've had WLS were more open and honest about their daily routine and what to expect, not just: Hey I eat a lil bit, exercise and lost the weight *thumbsup*.  Because there's a helluva lot more to this story.  For instance, how about learning the foods you're unable to tolerate?  IE, learning the hard way.  And the constant belching and hiccuping.  There are times I get caught in a hiccup frenzy.

*hiccup* *hiccup* *hiccup* *hiccup* *belch* *hiccup* *hic-hic-hic-hic-hic* *slight pause allowing drink of water* *heavy sigh* Finally!

That's just part of my daily routine now.

And while it may not be a daily occurrence, vomiting is certainly a two to three times a week gig -- whether it's intolerance of a certain food or eating too much.

Now this isn't where I cry foul and claim this surgery to be nothing but a device of torture, but I do think people need to know EXACTLY what they're getting into.  To be quite honest, I never knew it would be this difficult.

However, all hurling and hiccuping aside, my weight is down to 367.  That's 47 pounds since surgery and a grand total of 63.  It's still just a drop in the bucket for me, but it's a start.  I also updated my inches -- had to dig through that cesspool of a bedroom to find the notebook.

I've started riding my bike again and am walking up and down to the mailbox -- which was impossible before.  I've yet to make it to gym.  I set my alarm and before it goes off, I lie awake obsessing over breaking the equipment, and then of course I turn the alarm off and go back to bed.  It's silly.

I concede that Dr. Felix is a very gifted surgeon, but let's face it, the Advanced Bariatric Center is nothing more than a money making machine. His staff is less than stellar, his after care lacking and his very own message board on MSN is nothing but a joke.

I've had three strictures and never have they called to see how I was doing.  In fact, I basically scheduled the endoscopies myself.  They file everyone under a "textbook" case and dismiss varies symptoms of complications you relay to them.  They file folks into the office like a slaughter house and because of this multitude, you are never recognized.

I have a theory that the only reason they encourage no minimal caloric intake (quote from the head nurse: I'd be happy if you didn't eat anything at all) is to keep their after care at a bare minimum.  And speaking of!  They say that you may phone in your post-op "office" visits -- in fact this is strongly encouraged, I assume in order to pave the way for newer patients.

They sent me a letter about their seminar at Pismo beach and strongly encouraged us to tell others about it (obviously those who are overweight).  This isn't a medical practice, it's a pyramid scam.

During my pre-op class, the head nurse said something that sent up a red flag and that was, "I'm the head a multi-million dollar business."

Business...

Starbucks is a business.  Walmart is a business.  Coldwell Banker is a business.  Even drug dealing and prostitution are businesses, with the exchange of monetary units for services -- indifferent and unattached.  A medical practice is not a business.  When you're stripped of your dignity (ie, naked with only a lil paper nightie to cover ya), shoved onto a cold metal table and revealed to strangers for the purpose of poking and prodding -- that is damn well personal.

Dr. Felix's office has nothing to do with personal and certainly not emotional attachment.

I've been extremely fortunate to have two wonderful physicians in my short life.  Both with genuine concern for my well being.  Good grief, they even hugged me!  These are two doctors whom, if saw me on the other side of the street, they would cross it in order to say hello -- as opposed to, "Oh God, it's one of my patients," and run in the opposite direction.

Am I just completely spoiled and expecting too much?  

The thing is, if I had to do it all over again I would still choose Dr. Felix as my surgeon.  Why?  Because I believe he may have been the only one to do my surgery laproscopically.  And despite it all, I still like him.  But I'm very disappointed and if no one from that office bothers to call around my 3 month anniversary, I'm changing surgeons.

God I'm tired of this. While I'm thrilled about losing 35 pounds I could certainly do without the constant hurling. Just recently I commissioned a second puking cup for the computer room.  At the moment I'm doing a bang up job being in complete denial over it being a fourth stricture. I think I'll just go back to bed.

I grew weary of the boycott against bread.  After  all, what has bread ever done to me but make me happy and hold my sandwiches together.  I had bought this low carb bread online, basically for my Dad to try since he's on Atkins.  So I decided to have a cheeseburger (boca burger), and I was able to eat about half. But...  The bread did expand in my lil pouch and I thought I was gonna have to throw up, fortunately it went down but I don't think I'll be having bread again for awhile.

I know I know!  I swore I'd never get anywhere near a pork rind.  But you must understand that the only pork rinds I was familiar with were those nasty store bought kind Grandpa always came home with.  So a couple weeks ago I was searchin the web.  How come pork rinds only come in hot, cheese or barbeque?  I want all the potato chip type flavors.  So I typed in sour cream and onion pork rinds to see what it came up with.  I happened on a lil Mom and Pop site that claimed they made farm fresh pork rinds.  But the best thing?  They had like 17 flavors!  And God Bless 'em, they'd letcha sample 'em all for only $18.  They arrived today and I whipped out some cheddar and sour cream, and was pleasantly surprised.  They weren't greasy and didn't have that funky pork rindy taste.  Still I wasn't sure -- perhaps I was lil too desperate to find something satisfying and couldn't trust my own taste buds.  The real test was shoving 'em down Mother's gullet. Even she was pleasantly surprised AND asked for another.  It's official, they're damn good.  Unfortunately I got a lil over excited about the cinnamon and splenda kind -- I ralphed 'em up later.

I must admit I'm a lil paranoid over strictures, any lil twinge I find myself worrying it's a sign.  But the doctor was very confident and I'm sure I'm fine.

Since I'm two months post-op, I thought I'd list some typical things I eat throughout the day.

Filling from one chicken gordita
1/4 cup of crushed tomatoes (a lil garlic powder, a lil cayenne and splenda) 9 or 10 slices of turkey pepperoni and a slice of cheese on top. Then slap it in the microwave
1/4 cup of Nutlettes with 1 tablespoon of peanut butter
Atkins Crunchers
Scrambled eggs, a bit of a fritatta
Tofu dog with cheese wrapped in a lettuce leaf
Chili! About 1/4 to 1/2 cup
1 1/2 to 2 oz of turkey breast, chicken or lean pork
1/3 cup of Atkins cereal with 1/3 cup of Soy milk

Wow, that was unpleasant.

I had no problems with panic attacks on the way over to Fresno -- had a very nice drive, listened to some cd's and was very relaxed.  By now I'm an ol' pro at gettin scoped, so no worries.  I even helped the nurse put my IV in.  I thought watching the needle go in would totally wig me out, but it was actually purty cool.

I get into the lil procedure room and Dr. Chang says, "Well hello again."  He tells me that this time he's gonna open it up a bit more -- he mentioned 12 so I assume that meant twelve millimeters.  He said that when I was under a lot of anesthesia, I fought the scope, so they were gonna give me less.  Oh God was it ever less.  I was wide awake and alert when he started puttin that thing down my throat.  I coughed and spewed and gagged through the whole thing.

Now here I am with a lil plastic doo-hickey to keep my mouth open, a tube shoved down my throat and the nurse is tellin me, "Breath through your nose honey."  Pffft!  I was too lucid to think logically.  I felt everything and I mean everything.  When he started to dilate the stoma, that really hurt and he asked how I was doing and I just shook my head.  So he gave me a couple shots of Demerol, and that relaxed me quite a bit and kept the gagging to a minimum.  But I was never so glad when they pulled that thing out. Anyways when he came in to talk to Mom and me the first thing I said was, "Next time I wanna be knocked out."  He smiled and patted my leg and said, "There won't be a next time."  Oh good.

Since I had fought the scope so hard, my throat really hurt all day.  I ended up going home and sleeping for about 18 hours.  I'm still tired now, but at least I can eat again. *thumbsup*

They did weigh me at the hospital and I had lost a couple more pounds, but I really need to start exercising again.

It was going smashingly well earlier.  I'd wake up in the morning and find myself saying, "Hey! I'm smaller than yesterday." And happily, not a scale in sight to prove otherwise.  I even went to Taco Bell and got a chicken gordita, tossed the bread away of course, doused the filling with hot sauce and it was damn fine.  But last Thursday I began to notice the signs and by the weekend it was back to good ol' liquefied food.  I'm really kind of annoyed, besides the obvious reasons, because I was planning to test out new recipes like a Smoked Salmon Fritatta and a possible savory cheesecake.

I called Dr. Felix's office first thing this morning and the gal told me she'd fax that over to Dr. Chang's office.  However two hours later she calls me back questioning me about my symptoms: How long have you felt this way? Are you throwing up? Did you make yourself throw up?  What the hell was that all about?  Lady, this is my third stricture, I should be giving you lessons on the symptoms.  To be quite honest I haven't thrown up because I've learned how to detect this problem, but I dare not tell them that for her next sentence would have been, "Well it doesn't sound like you're having a stricture."  It's clearly the old doctor's rule: How dare you diagnose what's wrong with you.

But aside from my strictures every two weeks, I'm feeling purty damn good.  My knees don't pop like they used to and my lower back is no longer killing me, and saints be praised, I can get in and out of the bathtub again.  We have one of those deep soaking tubs and you can imagine my grief over the loss of bath time privileges.