This week nothing that exciting is happening (although, I did get my IV out today), just still struggling with getting my body to accept food. The IV feeding I was on was delivering 3050 calories a day, so the doctors said to try and get as many calories in as I could so that I didn't experience a major crash to my system when I stopped the IV. This has been a challenge, for sure. I never knew grazing and getting enough calories in could ever be a problem, but when your stomach is super small, and angry, it really is a problem. I have, however, ruled out two foods that can no longer be part of my life.
Food funeral #1 - Cookies. I was so excited the other day when Will's sister sent us our Christmas present and it was home baked cookies. Specifically, peanut butter kiss cookies. My FAVORITE! I didn't get to eat all through the holiday's, so I thought, "damn it, I earned this cookie! And, this fits the catergory of high calorie." So, I bit in with glee. I had half a cookie down and my stomach turned. It was angry. It didn't want that much sugar. It punished me with queasiness for about a half an hour and then forgave me. It is a good news, bad news story. Good news that my body is rejecting the very thing that kept me fat when I couldn't behave. Bad news that I would not be able to enjoy the occasional cookie. But, this is for the best. I understood when I started this journey that sacrifices would need to be made and that a new lifestyle would be required. I am at peace with this, albeit a little sad.
Food funeral #2 - Ice cream. This is the grand daddy of all foods. I love ice cream. It's my favorite food, ever. It's been there for me through thick and thin. Rocky Road was there for me every month when PMS kicked in. If Will even sensed it was "that time of the month," he would arrive home with Rocky Road and Oreo cookies. A good man, a scared man. He knew ice cream was his defense against the angry demeanor of PMS. Ice cream was my "I'm sad" food. It was my comfort food. It was my happy food. It was the perfect food. And so, while grocery shopping yesterday, I thought, I want to have some ice cream. I poured long and hard over the selection. I didn't want a lot of ice cream. I mean, this was just a one time splurge, not a continuation of a poor lifestyle. I selected a little pint of Ben & Jerry's Mint Chocolate Cookie. It wasn't my favorite flavor, but I thought it would do.
After dinner I went to the freezer and got the ice cream out. I ate it slowly and carefully, savoring each bite and trying to decide if my body was going to reject it. It was going down so smooth. I hadn't had very much, maybe about 6 spoonfuls. I put it away. This was a reasonable amount of ice cream for a girl that really shouldn't be eating ice cream. Back in the day, I could have put that pint away in one sitting, easily. And then, just when I thought I had successfully achieved ice cream success, that is when all hell broke loose. My chest started to hurt. My stomach was beyond angry, it wanted to puke or something worse. My intestines were immediately alerted of the intruder. I started to sweat. Oh shit. This is what they call "dumping." What did I do? I was miserable and breathing heavy trying to keep from puking. I grabbed my Cosmo and headed to the bathroom. I sensed I would be in there for a while. I tried to focus on "25 Ways To Kiss A Naked Man," but I couldn't. This was no time to think about nakedness or look at pictures of a bunch of skinny bitches that could eat ice cream. I could not get comfortable. I came out of the bathroom wearing nothing but my shoes, socks and underwear. I sat on the couch and hugged my pink pony comforter. I laid down. Oh God, no this is bad. I sat up and rocked. Back into the bathroom. My body wasn't sure what it wanted to do, but it was angry and it wasn't releasing anything. I would have given anything at that moment to either vomit or crap my pants. Will just looked at me and laughed a little. Not a mean laugh, but a laugh that said, "good Lord, what am I going to do with you?"
I continued to sweat and breathe heavy. I remembered I had anti-nausea drugs. I hoped I had some left, I didn't want to have to resort to the suppositories that the doctor gave me. This was no time to be shoving anything up my can. I paced around the house moaning and cursing the day I ever met ice cream. I hated Ben & Jerry. How could they betray me like this? Why did they have to use so much sugar in their ice cream? I vowed, at that moment, to never forget this feeling. I vowed at that moment that me and ice cream were over. The threesomes that Ben, Jerry and myself had shared were over. I have to say good-bye to the most perfect food ever. It was a painful moment physically and spiritually, but I was so relieved about 30-40 minutes later when my body calmed down.
Ben, Jerry and all of your ice cream friends, we are over. Don't call me, don't follow me, don't bang on the glass doors of the freezer section as I push my little cart down the grocery store aisle and don't call out my name. I mean it. I'm moving on. I'm not looking back.
Na na na na....na na na na...hey, hey, hey....good bye.....
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dO1PYvloBtk
Yep, it was that dramatic.
Food funeral #1 - Cookies. I was so excited the other day when Will's sister sent us our Christmas present and it was home baked cookies. Specifically, peanut butter kiss cookies. My FAVORITE! I didn't get to eat all through the holiday's, so I thought, "damn it, I earned this cookie! And, this fits the catergory of high calorie." So, I bit in with glee. I had half a cookie down and my stomach turned. It was angry. It didn't want that much sugar. It punished me with queasiness for about a half an hour and then forgave me. It is a good news, bad news story. Good news that my body is rejecting the very thing that kept me fat when I couldn't behave. Bad news that I would not be able to enjoy the occasional cookie. But, this is for the best. I understood when I started this journey that sacrifices would need to be made and that a new lifestyle would be required. I am at peace with this, albeit a little sad.
Food funeral #2 - Ice cream. This is the grand daddy of all foods. I love ice cream. It's my favorite food, ever. It's been there for me through thick and thin. Rocky Road was there for me every month when PMS kicked in. If Will even sensed it was "that time of the month," he would arrive home with Rocky Road and Oreo cookies. A good man, a scared man. He knew ice cream was his defense against the angry demeanor of PMS. Ice cream was my "I'm sad" food. It was my comfort food. It was my happy food. It was the perfect food. And so, while grocery shopping yesterday, I thought, I want to have some ice cream. I poured long and hard over the selection. I didn't want a lot of ice cream. I mean, this was just a one time splurge, not a continuation of a poor lifestyle. I selected a little pint of Ben & Jerry's Mint Chocolate Cookie. It wasn't my favorite flavor, but I thought it would do.
After dinner I went to the freezer and got the ice cream out. I ate it slowly and carefully, savoring each bite and trying to decide if my body was going to reject it. It was going down so smooth. I hadn't had very much, maybe about 6 spoonfuls. I put it away. This was a reasonable amount of ice cream for a girl that really shouldn't be eating ice cream. Back in the day, I could have put that pint away in one sitting, easily. And then, just when I thought I had successfully achieved ice cream success, that is when all hell broke loose. My chest started to hurt. My stomach was beyond angry, it wanted to puke or something worse. My intestines were immediately alerted of the intruder. I started to sweat. Oh shit. This is what they call "dumping." What did I do? I was miserable and breathing heavy trying to keep from puking. I grabbed my Cosmo and headed to the bathroom. I sensed I would be in there for a while. I tried to focus on "25 Ways To Kiss A Naked Man," but I couldn't. This was no time to think about nakedness or look at pictures of a bunch of skinny bitches that could eat ice cream. I could not get comfortable. I came out of the bathroom wearing nothing but my shoes, socks and underwear. I sat on the couch and hugged my pink pony comforter. I laid down. Oh God, no this is bad. I sat up and rocked. Back into the bathroom. My body wasn't sure what it wanted to do, but it was angry and it wasn't releasing anything. I would have given anything at that moment to either vomit or crap my pants. Will just looked at me and laughed a little. Not a mean laugh, but a laugh that said, "good Lord, what am I going to do with you?"
I continued to sweat and breathe heavy. I remembered I had anti-nausea drugs. I hoped I had some left, I didn't want to have to resort to the suppositories that the doctor gave me. This was no time to be shoving anything up my can. I paced around the house moaning and cursing the day I ever met ice cream. I hated Ben & Jerry. How could they betray me like this? Why did they have to use so much sugar in their ice cream? I vowed, at that moment, to never forget this feeling. I vowed at that moment that me and ice cream were over. The threesomes that Ben, Jerry and myself had shared were over. I have to say good-bye to the most perfect food ever. It was a painful moment physically and spiritually, but I was so relieved about 30-40 minutes later when my body calmed down.
Ben, Jerry and all of your ice cream friends, we are over. Don't call me, don't follow me, don't bang on the glass doors of the freezer section as I push my little cart down the grocery store aisle and don't call out my name. I mean it. I'm moving on. I'm not looking back.
Na na na na....na na na na...hey, hey, hey....good bye.....
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dO1PYvloBtk
Yep, it was that dramatic.
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