Monday, June 1, 2015

A letter to my Math teacher: Letting it Out

Dear Mr. Waldron: It's been about 45 years since I was that stupid little girl in your math class. You must remember me, I was also the girl who spoke English with an accent.

I was a bit intimidated and afraid to speak in your class because of your caustic teaching style. If someone didn't have the correct answer, you'd scoff or say something cruel. This was not setting a good example to young, impressionable minds as a teacher or adult. However, if it was a pretty, young female student, then you'd say something sweet or cute. Your students were 12 to 14 years old, we were all coming of age, some of us came from poor homes, some of us had alcoholic parents and some of us were abused. We needed adults in our lives who set good examples, were good leaders and gave us guidance, but you must have skipped class were out sick the day you were taught civility and leadership in college.

I remember watching you walk through the school, you were a young man back then. You wore a Marine haircut, had the body of a football offensive lineman; you scuffed your feet as you walked through the hallways, sometimes the sound of your shoes clicking on the hardwood floors echoed throughout the school. I never understood why you walked with a constant angry scowl on your face; and I remember the rancid smell of underarm odor that followed wherever you walked. You scared me, but being a young, innocent and naive child, I thought if I was quiet, did as I was told and stayed under the proverbial radar that I would be okay. I remember how much you enjoyed those girls at school who wore short skirts or dresses and make up. I watched you as you flirted with them; your scowl turned to a smarmy smile and as they turned to walk away, your eyes fixated on their backsides. I didn't know then what you were thinking, but I know now.

That's not the only way I remember you as a teacher.

I know you didn't like me. That was apparent from day one. I wasn't the prettiest girl in school or your class, my hair wasn't straight, I wasn't allowed to wear make up or short skirts. I didn't have the nicest clothes, and I was a little overweight. Whenever you called on me in class and I didn't have the right answer, you'd say something in retaliation. You told me several times in front of the class that I was stupid. I trembled every time you looked my way and my stomach turned to knots when ever you asked me a question.

I remember the day books were being offered for sale at school. I loved books. I spent a lot of time in the library reading. These books were special, and I really wanted them. I asked my mother for $2.00 so I could buy some. She gave me $1.50 instead because it was all she could afford. I bought 3 paperbacks and proudly carried them to math class anticipating reading them when I got home from school. I was so happy! That day in class, you had your back turned to the blackboard, one of my books slipped off the desk and fell to the floor. You turned around to see where the noise came from and saw me picking up the book. I remember how red your face got as you marched towards me, I remember the nasty smell from your body as you stood before me. You said the reason why I was so stupid is because I didn't pay attention. I tried to explain that the book fell, but you wouldn't hear of it, you picked up the books and tore them into pieces in front of me, then tossed them in the wastebasket. I could not buy those books again. Those books were paid for with my mother's hard earned money. I wonder if you thought about the actions your anger caused you to do. Did you ever feel any regret or remorse?

I wanted to cry, I wanted to run home but I couldn't. I sat there shellshocked, while feeling the eyes of the entire class on me; burning into my skin. I kept my head down for the duration of the class, unable to concentrate on what you were teaching. I dreaded coming back again.

You see Mr. Waldron, my parents were immigrants, and unlike the other students, I was different. I interpreted English for my parents, I wrote out the rent checks and did other things that required an interpreter. I taught my father English so he could get his driver's license. Both of my parents worked 2 jobs. I was a latch key kid. After school I picked up my brother from another school and walked to a neighbor's house to pick up my 3 year old sister. I would make us an after school snack, clean up a bit, wash laundry by hand and do whatever chores were left to me until one of my parents came home, then I'd do my homework. My parents were not rich and struggled to pay bills. This is why I wore the same outfit several times a week and brownbagged my lunch; every day I ate peanut butter on bread with an apple and a cup of water, when most kids bought lunch in the cafeteria.

Mr. Waldron, you got away with what you did. I did not tell my parents, nor did I go to the principal's office to complain about you. Math was difficult for me, as a teacher you should have picked up on that, but you didn't. I have kept the anger you displayed that day inside me for 45 years. I hope you know that what you did affected me mentally and emotionally throughout the rest of my school life, and even though I can live with it now, I do every so often remember your face and what you did. Yes, it was that traumatic.

Since then I've had many great teachers who have had a profound effect on my life; whose sage words still echo through my mind. I am not stupid, I never was. You took advantage of a child that needed help in Math and abused your role as a teacher. You took your anger to the classroom and used your students as proverbial punching bags.

I can't imagine what kind of horrible human being you were. I often wondered why you chose teaching as a profession when you were obviously unable to perform your duties. I hope you got the help you needed for your anger issues and I hope you've somehow learned from what you did to me, because I'm sure I wasn't the only one you humiliated and used to direct your anger. However, regardless of how much it satisfied you to hurt me as much as you did, I wish your children and grandchildren a better teacher than you were to me.

Much peace to you whether you're still on earth or have passed over to the other side.


The stupid girl in the second row, 5th desk

Friday, January 9, 2015


I’ve been suffering from depression for quite a while, but some days I feel like my depression is over the edge. Like I could fall off and never return. Depression hurts like no pain that anyone has ever felt. I’ve even entertained the thought of dying.

I haven’t seen my sister since my father died 6 years ago. In most of those 7 years we’ve had a pretty strained relationship and barely spoke to one another, but our relationship has gotten better. She has her family and her life so she’s happy. My niece was 10 years the last time I saw her, now she’s 18 and calls me on the phone several times a week to tell me what’s she’s up to. I enjoy our conversations, because I’m getting to know her, but she’s not getting the full benefit of who her aunt really is because of my depression. I don’t want her to see the side of me that I’ve become so I fake it. I don’t even laugh anymore. Which brings me to to why I’m feeling exceptionally depressed today.

My niece is going to New York with a group from school and my sister is going with her. From the way it was explained to me, they can basically do what they want while there, so I thought if that’s the case, I could take the train and we can spend a day together. Yesterday I got the train schedule and look at hotel prices and was ready to make my reservations when I got a phone call from my sister telling me they will have so much to do with the school and she doesn’t know if there will be any time to spend together, but I’m still free to go if I want.


I called my sister last night, she wasn’t home and spoke with my niece who read the itinerary to me. She said, we can have dinner between 8 and 9:30pm. Why would I go at this point? To spend money on the ride there, just to sit in a hotel room, not see my sister and niece and go home the next day?

So it looks like I’m staying home now, and once again I’ll have nothing to look forward to.

On a positive note, when I found out the news last night and made my decision not to go to New York, I didn’t eat. I made myself a drink, but only drank half of it. I planned to take a sleeping pill because I knew after hearing the news I would be up all night walking the floors. I didn’t want to mix alcohol with ambien. So I didn’t use food as a crutch, that’s a good thing.

It seems lately whenever something is planned with friends, it falls through. I was supposed to to Cape Cod for a Fall weekend getway with friends. I looked forward to this for weeks and the week before one of the girls realized she had something else to do and plans fell through.

Today, as I sit here looking at the snow falling outside my window, ending my life seems very tempting, but I won't do it.

Maybe I just need to find new friends.

Tuesday, January 6, 2015

My Empty Holes

One of the reasons why I self medicate with food is because food fills all those empty holes in my body. The holes that make me anxious, sad, depressed, lonely and happy. Those are the holes that need to be fixed by me and need some TLC from me. The problem is I know where some of those holes are and I know why they exist, but the rest are just too confusing. Someone once told me to start with loving myself. How does one begin to love themselves? To me love is food. When I was a child, my mother would give me something to eat to make me feel better, so naturally I associate food with love and happiness. She didn't know any better. No one gets directions on how to raise children or be a mother.

My mother grew up during the second world war in Europe. When she was 7 years old, the German Army bombed her village. She was with her mother (my grandmother) when it happened. My grandmother, in an effort to protect her from shrapnel or from being killed threw herself on top of my mother. These were times of war. Food was scarce, electricity was rationed, fear was everywhere. My father was from an adjacent town, and his mother hid him deep in the mountains in a cave. Nonna told me the Germans came into town looking for young men to recruit for Hitler Youth Camps. My grandmother had already lost her husband and was raising a family of 3 children (one adopted) on her own. She wasn't about to lose her son.

Both parents grew up in poverty, so when they got married and came to the US, life's necessities were at their fingertips. They worked hard, made money, socked some of it away and lived within their means. They had children who, unlike them, were well fed. Having slightly chubby kids was a sign of status. It meant the family was doing well. I wonder if that's where my addiction began? I don't eat them anymore, but when I was a child I loved cold cuts. My dad would come home with the groceries on Saturday nights. Among those groceries was a fresh loaf of bread and freshly sliced Italian cold cuts. Either I or my mother would make a sandwich of mortadella, salami and prosciutto (I disliked cheese) on freshly baked bread. I remember scoffing the sandwich down. The salty, greasy, spicy goodness sliding down my throat to fill my already filled tummy. You see, my dad would go shopping on Saturday nights after dinner. I had no reason to be hungry, I just wanted to taste the sandwich. Why? I don't know. I just know I wanted it.

Were the holes starting then? What was missing in my life when I was 7 or 8 years old? Yes, I was a little chubby and yes some kids did tease me about it. I remember my 4th grade teacher asking me to go to the board and complete a long division equasion. I couldn't do it. My mind went completely blank. She bullied and humiliated me in front of the class. When that wouldn't work she sent me to the principal's office with a note. I read the note on the way there. It said something like, "Nica weighs 100 pounds and cannot do math equasions." It hurt that she used my weight against me. I couldn't understand my feelings at the time so I may have just buried them deep inside me. I wonder if that's when my addiction started?

From Psychology today:

"Addiction is a condition that results when a person ingests a substance (e.g., alcohol, cocaine, nicotine) or engages in an activity (e.g., gambling, sex, shopping) that can be pleasurable but the continued use/act of which becomes compulsive and interferes with ordinary life responsibilities, such as work, relationships, or health. Users may not be aware that their behavior is out of control and causing problems for themselves and others.

The word addiction is used in several different ways. One definition describes physical addiction. This is a biological state in which the body adapts to the presence of a drug so that drug no longer has the same effect, otherwise known as a tolerance. Because of tolerance, the biological reaction of withdrawal occurs the drug is discontinued. Another form of physical addiction is the phenomenon of overreaction by the brain to drugs (or to cues associated with the drugs). An alcoholic walking into a bar, for instance, will feel an extra pull to have a drink because of these cues.

The most addictive behavior is not related to either physical tolerance or exposure to cues. People compulsively use drugs, gamble, or shop nearly always in reaction to being emotionally stressed, whether or not they have a physical addiction. Since these psychologically based addictions are not based on drug or brain effects, they can account for why people frequently switch addictive actions from one drug to a completely different kind of drug, or even to a non-drug behavior. The focus of the addiction isn't what matters; it's the need to take action under certain kinds of stress. Treating this kind of addiction requires an understanding of how it works psychologically.

When referring to any kind of addiction, it is important to recognize that its cause is not simply a search for pleasure and that addiction has nothing to do with one's morality or strength of character. Experts debate whether addiction is a "disease" or a true mental illness, whether drug dependence and addiction mean the same thing, and many other aspects of addiction. Such debates are not likely to be resolved soon. But the lack of resolution does not preclude effective treatment."

Yes, I eat/self medicate for pleasure. It satisfies the pleasure center in my brain. How do I kill that?

works cited:

Monday, January 5, 2015

Food Triggers

Today I was thinking of food triggers.

I have certain triggers that set off my food addiction. I can’t have crackers in the house, because they lead to cheese and more crackers, or they just all end up in my mouth if they’re salty and tasty enough. One or a few crackers are not enough because once I get started, I go into some kind of trance. It's the only way I can describe it. It feels as if I've left my body and something else is controlling my mind. Whatever is controlling my mind is causing me to put too much food into my mouth. I'm not satisfied with a few crackers or the suggested serving, I have to eat them until I'm full; sometimes overly full to the point where I'm sick. Also, I can’t have candy of any kind in the house. You know those little Cadbury eggs that come out at Easter time and gummy bears? I have been known to eat an entire large bag in one day! I keep these things out of the house on purpose.

Out of sight, out of mind. I don’t crave them, but if I see them while I'm out, I begin to have a mental conversation with myself. It usually starts off with, “I can control it, it’s alright.” Then it becomes, “you fool, you can’t control it, you’ll have the bag scoffed up by evening and you’ll be complaining about how sick you feel the whole next day!” My behavior is very similar to that of an alcoholic or substance abuser. It sucks. The conversations in my mmind go back and forth, up and down and all around. It becomes a whirlwind of conversations that eventually turn into so much noise, I just give in. I lose. My psych told me to make peace with the triggers. Tell them, they’ve served their purpose but are not useful to me anymore. I guess that can work if I really want it to, but something inside me continuously wants me to fail and give in. And I do.

I don't know how this addiction began or where it came from. I could go back and blame my parents, my bad marriage, events that happened in my life, but in reality, those are all just catalysts. I'm the one with the addiction, I'm the one who can't stop hurting myself. And that's what it all comes down to. WHY AM I HURTING MYSELF?? What happened to me that I have to constantly punish myself by making myself sick?

Something to think about.

Yesterday, I made myself one of those healthy smoothie drinks for lunch. In a blender, I added some frozen peaches, half a banana, about a half cup of cooked, frozen kale, some almond milk, water and a half serving of protein powder. It was so good, I sucked it up through a straw, and by the time I realized it was gone, I wanted more. I drank it too fast and I was mad at myself for doing so.

About an hour or so later, I took a nap. 20 minutes into the nap, I woke up with the worst acid reflux I've had in quite some time. It felt like a cold, steel sword coming up from the bowels of hell cutting my esophagus on the way up and laughing as I suffered from the burn. I began to cough as some of it had reached into my throat. I drank a huge glass of water, but it still burned. The burning wouldn't stop. I took two good swigs of Maalox and it only burned more. I didn't know what to do, but I thought about something that would coat and soothe. I thought about how people who eat hot, spicy peppers drink milk afterwards to stop the burn, so I poured a tiny bit of milk into a cup and drank it. It felt good going down and the burning stopped. I don't drink milk, in fact, I despise milk, but I'm glad it was in the house.

In looking up some of the causes for acid reflux, I noticed I had a few. One was obesity, that's me! The other was eating too fast and drinking liquids while eating. I remember being told after my sleeve surgery, to not drink with meals, and if I had to, to take small sips. Naturally, I ignored it because I figured if I drank water it would fill me up. It does, but it distends the stomach and water empties out pretty quickly leaving one hungry mere minutes later. Today, I was cognizant of what I ate and paced myself while eating. I have to keep doing this.


Thursday, January 1, 2015

It starts with the Food Hangover

Hi Everyone,

Today, being the first day of a new year, I woke up with a food hangover. It's that sick feeling where your stomach feels like a cat was trying to claw it's way out, succeeded and vomited all at once. I needed coffee this morning because it's the only thing that helps when I've got that sour food hangover tummy.

I stay home on New Year's Eve. I don't mind it. I've been doing it for well over 25 years. We usually have something fun to eat, watch funny movies toast with sparkling apple cider at midnight, then we both crash. Last night I made nachos. We haven't eaten nachos in several years. I had a little bit of leftover chili in the freezer,a package of shredded cheddar and a bag of blue corn tortilla chips. I put them all in an oven proof plate and baked until everything was melty. It all went down nicely with a tall glass of spiced rum and coke. Last night all bets were off. I felt comfortable giving into my addiction because I felt it was an occasion where I could. I shared the evening with the husband, but had my own little "addiction" party going on in my head. I ate until I was sick, but never crossed the line where I would physically get sick. The way my addiction works is by indulging with just enough to bring myself to the edge, then I take a break, mainly until the nausea wears off. When that happens I continue and repeat. Before I went to bed, I took a few good swigs of Maalox.

This morning when I woke up, naturally the first thought on my mind was breakfast. However, I did something new this morning. I fed the cats first, then I made coffee, washed a few dishes left in the sink, fed the birds outside, and then I thought of breakfast again. I baked a loaf of fresh spelt bread the day before. I cut myself a skinny slice, toasted it and fried an egg in spray coconut oil (like Pam). By the time I was done, the coffee was ready. I didn't feel bad about eating the bread because it was spelt, not white and I wasn't about to make it my fall off the wagon reason. I can't worry about carbs right now.

Right before lunch I ate a cup of mixed grapefruit and orange, then attempted to eat lunch. I was still doing well and not thinking of food. In fact, I went the rest of the day without falling off the wagon. I ate 3 meals, 2 snacks and began cleaning out my study. By the time I thought of food again it was 15 minutes to 11pm and too late to shove anything into my mouth, so I went to bed.

I'm in bed right now writing.

Today was a good day. Tomorrow I'm meeting an old friend for lunch at an Italian restaurant. I'm not sure what to do, but I'll try not setting myself up for failure. It's all I can do for the moment.

I also had a passing thought tonight that I might try to see someone who specializes in food addictions.

Good night.

Monday, December 29, 2014

Hello My Name is Nica, and I'm a Food Addict

For those of you who still check in here once in a while, thank you. I’m sorry I haven’t been posting. My life has been a roller coaster of problems, issues and fuck ups (mainly mine) that I need to sort out.

I have to be absolutely honest with you. My stomach surgery did not work. It didn’t work for several reasons. Most of them are my problems with the exception of one, and I'll go into that later in this post.

My problem: I have severe bone on bone osteoarthritis in my right knee. My knee is collapsing over itself. I have trouble walking and cannot walk for more than 5 minutes without excruciating pain. I’m at the point where pain relievers like Advil and Aleve no longer work. I lead a very sedentary lifestyle because I can’t work out or walk.

My problem: I suffer from depression and anxiety. Some of my depression is personal, the rest is due to my arthritis. On beautiful days I look out the window yearning to be outside despite the temperature, but I can’t because it hurts too much to walk. I’ve had several ortho doctors and none of them will do knee replacement until I lose weight; and the Catch-22 is I can’t lose weight because I can’t walk, therefore I can't get to a gym or exercise. Therefore I have resigned myself to being in pain for the rest of my life. I have tried everything including cutting back on calories to where I was eating approximately 800 calories a day, and not one ounce of weight was shed because I can't work it off.

My problem: I have Thyroid disease. Hashimoto's to be exact. It "may" have something to do with lack of weight loss, it may not. My TSH level is between .49 and 1. My endocrinologist says I should be able to lose weight.

I do the food shopping every week. I come home in tears from the pain in my knee from walking. I can’t carry the groceries inside the house nor can I put them away, so my husband does it. It hurts to climb stairs and do laundry. It hurts to climb into the shower or blow dry my hair. I can't do very much housecleaning, although I try. My husband does the laundry and a few other things around the house, but I do the cooking, which is painful because I also can't stand for very long and resort to quick, easy meals that doesn't require much standing. I’m also a student. More than anything I would love to attend a live, traditional classroom setting, but schools are big buildings, and I'm unable to walk from one class to the next.

Several semesters ago, I took a class in addiction. I had a wonderful professor who was very thorough and very knowledgeable about the subject. I learned about addictive behaviors and that people are addicted to all sorts of things other than drugs and alcohol. Addictions can also manfest themselves in sex, gambling, shopping and food for example. Yes food. I learned something else. I have many of those addictive behaviors. I don’t drink alcohol, I don’t take any sort of drug that would alter my consciousness, I don’t gamble and I don’t shop. My addiction is food. I self medicate with food. I use it when I'm happy and I lean on it when I'm sad. Like an alcoholic who reaches for a drink, I reach for food.

I attended several, different Overeaters Anonymous classes. It's a great concept, for those that like it. The ones I attended were very religion based. I felt like I was sitting in bible class, there is no human connection. No one talks to each other, the mediator does not talk to others except to ask if they would read passages from the "book." Everyone thanks their creator for helping them, the session is over and I'm more confused than ever before. I did not get satisfaction, it did not help me.

In February of 2011, I had bariatric surgery. I went through the multitudes of medical tests both physical and psychological. I was so excited. I thought finally I'd be able to eat less, lose weight and be happy; but it didn’t happen. Yes, I did lose about 45 lbs initially, but I had 125 lbs. more to lose. Don’t get me wrong, I do not, for one single moment, regret my surgery. Not at all. The staff at the hospital where I had the surgery was great, but then they dropped me. I would go back every few months or so, I’d see a Registered Dietician, but she kept telling me I was doing great, and inside I knew I wasn’t.

As I said at the beginning of this post, most everything is my problem except for this: What hospital bariatric departments fail to discuss with their patients is addictionn as a possible reason for obesity. Bariatric surgery is great, eating less food is great, but it's not the answer. When the individual gets home and back to routine, and the addiction begins to rear its ugly head again, eating less goes right out the window. It’s what happened to me. I am a food addict. Food is my life. There isn’t a day that goes by that I am not thinking about what my next meal is going to be. Just like a substance abuser who doesn't stop thinking about his or her next fix or drink. The only issue is people with subtance addictions can survive without it, but food is a necessity. I don’t know why I do this, although I have a sneaking suspicion that self loathing may play a role.

I started this blog because I wanted to be like all the other bariatric bloggers. I wanted to report my progress and share recipes. I used to read blogs like The World According to Egg Face, Metlting Mama and a few others. I wanted to be part of a group with a common interest, but was not very well accepted. You see, I had questions. College has taught me to be a critical thinker, except my questions fell on deaf ears... unless they wanted you to buy something or participate in something that would benefit them, then you're inbox would be flooded. I'm sorry for being so harsh, but it's the truth. They're not the rock stars of the blogging world, so they feel they don't have to respond to their fans, so I stopped being a fan. I want to accomplish the same things they did. I looked to them for guidance and then I stopped reading them because they did not help me.

It’s not about eliminating carbs and eating protein packed foods, (and if I hear “protein packed” one more time, I’ll vomit.) It’s not about all the freebies you get from Bariatic food companies to give away in an effort to get more readers to your blog. It's not about doing TV appearances or going to all the conventions. None of that helps you or me, it helps them.

My addiction is not about eating food, it is about what’s eating me. It's about what causes me to self medicate with food. I’m sure there are plenty of you out there who do feel the same way.

Ironically, my major is nutritional science. I study the biology of the body and food and how they work together. I don't want to end up your run of the mill, self proclaimed nutritionist. Anyone can be a nutritionist, you don't need a degree or license to practice that. Besides, they don't study the human body, they don't put hours upon hours of study time in like I do. Their excuse is I study mainstream science, but I still do all the studying, while they're off getting their degree from google and being know-it-alls. I want to use what I study to help others. My semester starts again in a few weeks, I’m not sure how much time I can dedicate to this blog, but I will certainly try. If you believe that you are addicted to food and can honestly come out and say it, then I’d like you to join me as we try to work this out together.

Saturday, November 24, 2012

I'm Back (for now at least!)

I know, I know. It's been forever since I've been here and again I'm going to attribute it to school. Last semester I tool Algebra and Human Bio and I hate algebra. This semester I'm taking Statistics and a language, and I hate Statistics! I just hate math! Good news is I've been accepted to a somewhat prestigious university for spring semester and beginning in January, my community college days will be over. I'm big time now! Hahaha!!

Total pounds lost? 69. Yes, it's great, but it's slow and sometimes it stalls for months! Imagine working out nearly every day in the summer, doing weights, cardio and even water aerobics, watching what I eat, counting calories and every blessed thing that went into my mouth and NOT LOSING A POUND!! How does one not lose any weight on 1200 calories and lots of exercise? Anyway, I had to be patient, but then I thought, if I took away 200 calories, what would happen? Well, I lost weight. In fact 10 lbs in a month's time. That's a lot of weight in one month so I don't expect to be riding the weight loss carnival ride for much longer. I know it will level itself off and I'll hit another stall but I'm enjoying it for now!

I'm learning. I go to a monthly post op meeting for bariatric patients at the hospital where I had my surgery. I also took a nutritional biology class this summer and and have been counseling, actually sitting in with a registered dietician while she counsels bariatric patients. I've learned a tremendous amount of information about our bodies and what happens when we feed it, and while I won't go on about what I learned, let's just say I've been enlightened, carbs are not the enemy. I love sharing my knowledge with others but I'm finding that people will only hear what they want, and that's okay too.

There is a certain message board for bariatric patients that I used to go visit pre-op and for a short while post op, and am now learning that much of the information shared there is dangerous. I even got into a mild debate with a dethroned king now acting queen at this site who basically told me everything that I've learned in biology class and in nutritional biology class is wrong and he is right. He possesses no professional experience, no license to practice, not even an internet diploma (sic) but he's an expert. And while his minions cheered him on as he "told me off," I laughed and shook my head. Apparently I stepped on his queenly toes. Okay, granted, I don't have a license either, not yet anyway, I expect to in 2 years, however I'm just sharing what I've learned and not giving out advice or private counseling. It's fine. I don't lose any sleep over it and we're all adults so I'm sure they will find their own way. All I will say is try to stay within a normal range of protein intake as too much can affect your kidneys, try to balance your meals with some carbs and a little fat and you'll be fine. It's working for me!

The above is an observation and an experience I had and I felt the need to say it and will not name the website or name of individual.

Weight loss can be accomplished if you use the tools that were giving to you during surgery. Eat small amounts, eat slow, eat a variety of foods, eat healthy, drink at least 48 oz of liquid a day, preferably water, but iced or hot tea and crystal lite are fine and don't forget to exercise That's it, nothing more to it. For those of us with VSG surgery, our bodies act the same as they always did, we're just missing a big part of our stomachs, and that doesn't change our biology, everything is in working order! Makes me happy that I did not opt for the gastric bypass but I admire those who did choose it.

On that note, I'm off to do some homework.

Ciao for now!