I have red shoes.

Copyright 2003 Seasmoke All Rights Reserved

Today on NPR, I heard an account of various world events related to and immediately following the terrorist attacks on the United States on 11 September 2001. I came into the broadcast midway through and don't know who produced it, but the spin and narrator were definitely British. Two things really stood out to me. One was the referral to Shrub as "President Bush Jr.". The other was a replaying of the the Star Spangled Banner (at Buckingham Palace?) on 13 September, 2001. For some reason, the latter--more than anything else in the report--took me right back to the time. I cried.

I cried on 13 September, 2001, as well. I'm still not sure why. Was it because it was so fundamentally "decent"? Was it because it was proof that "our flag was still there"? It made me think of the old saw, "If a tree falls in the woods..." That scenario presents a fundamental question regarding whether or not a witness is essential to existence. If England saluted us with our national anthem, it meant they could still see our flag. That meant it was still there. That meant that we still existed. Is that why I cried?

The song "London Pride" makes me cry similarly. When I was a young girl, I read many books set against the backdrop of World War II. The Lion, The Witch, & the Wardrobe was based on Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy being sent away from London to stay with an uncle because of the air-raids. Most of the other books in the series provided additional glimpses of WW II England. The Dawn of Fear was about the reality of war descending into the lives of children, as well. The Diary of Anne Frank was almost too much to bear. I sat clutching the book to my chest as I doubled over and sobbed when I realized that the diary ended because Anne was captured and died. She just ceased to be. Prior to that, the only autobiographical works I'd read were the Laura Ingalls Wilder series. I had no context for such devastating, mind-bending injustice. The Hiding Place was about ordinary people doing extraordinary things in outrageous circumstance; things we can only know as true because one of them lived to tell about it, due to a clerical error. I connected with the strange mix of terror and practicality that suffused the atmosphere of the books. My own home was a battle zone of shifting alliances and objectives. Echoes of its siege mentality persisted throughout much of my adult life and occasionally drop in for tea in the present.

In school we learned battle dates and remote-seeming facts about what happened in Europe and Asia. In those books and others, real (to me) children were dealing with real losses in situations that were completely out of control. I remember feeling raw horror when I realized the bombs were being dropped on mommies and daddies, on babies and grandmothers, on non-military people who were trying to live their lives and be good to one another. The bombing of London expanded in my mind and evolved into something that lasted for years rather than days. I grieved for the families of the people who disappeared. Somewhere in the eye of mind was born an image of humble, noble people gathered by candlelight singing "London Pride" in sincere tones. I realize how mawkish it sounds by the light of today, but it was very tender to me then and some vestige of the sentiment carries through to the present.

Is it the simple faith of playing music in the face of unspeakable grief? Is that why I cried?

I don't know. But I'm grateful for the journey of trying to figure it out.

London Pride has been handed down to us.
London Pride is a flower that's free.
London Pride is our own dear town to us,
And our pride it forever will be.


Copyright 2003 Seasmoke All Rights Reserved. London Pride belongs to the man what wrote it and whose name escapes me in this moment but I'm pretty sure he also wrote "The Stately Homes Of England"

Friday was eight weeks to the day since my MidBand surgery. Now that I'm approaching the point of changing gears again and entering the fill phase, I've been doing some reflecting and thought I'd share some of it here. I posted the first draft of this on the Lap Band board. Then someone reminded me that newcomers get value from reading about all types of surgery on this board, so I'm cross-posting and updating it.

The single most powerful gift I've gleaned to date is affirmation of the power and beauty of honest communication. Wolf and I have worked hard to stay open, tell the truth, and deal with what's difficult regarding my having had surgery and her still being pre-op. It's not appropriate to go into detail regarding the dialogue, but I do give thanks on a daily basis that we have each done enough healing work to be able to walk such an exquisitely tender road together.

Second to that has been marvelling at how insidiously rhythmic humans are, including me. While I don't have a food addiction, I do have some automaton-like eating habits when eating familiar food in a familiar location: for example, at home, with Wolf, eating something we've had before. If I don't really commit to paying attention to every bite, then I fall back into the familiar rhythms of how large a bite to take, how much to chew it, and how large a portion to eat. It's a trip!

The bite size and chewing are the most vulnerable. I find myself having to continually re-apply some portion of my conscious attention during a shared meal. The good news is that since it really is about habit rather than desire, I know it won't be long before I've replaced the old rhythm with a new one, effective "changing my tune". (Please don't hurt me. I couldn't resist that one.)

Another piece of learning has been about returning to what I know works for me. For example, I know that when I'm navigating change in my life, it helps me to surround myself with postive images, words, ideas, etc. Stuff that's suffused with love, affirmation, and hope. It keeps my fears at bay and energizes my new efforts. So, I'm doing that. I've returned to SARK's stuff and even picked up some I didn't have (LOVE that woman!). Louise Hay is back on my horizon, as well (love THAT woman, as well!). The nice thing is the change in my relationship to their work. The first time I encountered it, I rejected it as campy or superficial touchy feely. The next time, while engaged in really heavy therapy stuff, I clung to it with my desperately aching soul. This time, it's like sliding into a warm candlelit bath, scented with rose petals. I bask in it. Wriggle, even. It's joysome!

Wolf, being the amazing, brave, and wholly supportive partner she is, even gave me a boxed set of "Wisdom Cards" by Louise Hay. I know they're small and maybe even a little goofy, but they are fabulous tools for keeping my mind focused and on track. Here's the one I pulled for today, "Everything in my life--every experience, every relationship--is a mirror of the mental pattern that is going on inside of me." Amen. I'm very grateful for things that lift me out of that which doesn't serve and remind me of who I am and where I prefer to live. Reality check in a box!

Out of balance me is not pretty. In balance me is gorgeous. Guess which one I want to be as much as I'm able?

One thing I'm feeling really great about is the excellent job I've been doing managing my own expectations! The year and a half of prep work I did is really paying off. I feel happy, calm, and have a twinkly smidge of joyous anticipation in the mix, too.

My die-hard habit of perfectionism rears it's head from time to time. But, it's fairly easily quelled and replaced with a wiser point of view. What a blessed relief!

Along that line, I have more evidence of achieving success grappling with the fallout from the unrealistic language of perfectionism, most prominently, procrastination. It's so easy to procrastinate if I'm buying into the possibility that I might take "the wrong" action (talk about illusions!). Rather than challenging the procrastination head-on and entering an endless feedback loop of truculence, I look for the actions I can take--no matter how small they are. This seems to break up the perfectionistic ice as I move my ice-cutter of action from one thing to the next, by-passing the inertia that my unrealistic fears and standards have wrought. It feels so powerful!!! This has been a lifelong issue and I'm making solid progress! While I don't credit my band for this, I do believe that the band and my new success with this issue are symptoms of deeper changes, evidence of growth. I feel propserous.

I've also returned to what I know works for me regarding eating. Grazing is better for me than eating three meals. When I graze, I eat fewer total calories, more protein, drink more water, eat more fruit/veggies, and--most important of all--feel better. I think my sense of hunger is so skewed (a story in and of itself) that if I wait until I'm aware that I'm hungry to eat, it's well beyond when my body needed more fuel. The resultant effects upon my mood, judgment, and body are yucky. So, I'm going with what I know.

I was afraid to do that for most of these past couple of months. When in doubt, I can tend to try following the rules first. There is so much emphasis here and among the WLS community on not eating that way, that my terror of overeating drove me to try it the other way. Have I mentioned I'll be doing some more EMDR/journeying re: that terror? *chuckling* It's nice to trust myself. It's nice to have my intuition validated by my experience. God, when I think of how many mis-steps I've taken in life based on not trusting myself, I'm amazed I've lasted 39 (yes, Wolf, "and a half") years! I'm so grateful to have achieved a much more loving and trusting relationship with myself!

Back to the band itself, I've also learned some interesting (to me) things about my own physiology and awareness of same. For one thing, pre-op I didn't know that any foods made me gassy--well, I mean beyond my infamously foul broccoli farts. I thought that gas magically appeared in my intestines. Now that I'm banded, and perhaps also because I had a hiatal hernia repaired, I'm learning that some foods, or combinations of foods really bloat my stomach with gas! And, when that happens, I can get a visit from the shoulder pain fairy. So, I'm learning and trying to identify the causes so that I can either change what/how I eat, or maybe take GasX.

I think that my shoulder pain occurrences are down to one or less than one per week. Wolf would be a better judge, though. I'm shite at chronology stuff, but I complain heartily enough when I do have it, in an annoying enough manner that I'm sure she's got a crystal clear sense of the frequency.

Along with that goes learning that while I don't have optimum restriction (I'm pre-fill), I do have some. Learning how much to eat is a little confusing because it's not consistent. I'm not well-dialed in to where to stop and I hope that I'll become more sensitive to it over time and with better restriction. I feel panicked when I have the "too full" feeling. It certainly doesn't happen at every meal, or even every day. But, all my fear daemons start fluttering when it does. "I'm going to cause myself dilatation!" "I can't do this!" "I'll never learn!" etc. They're easily defeated with common sense, but as I mentioned above, they're also due for some healing attention. And, I'd be remiss if I didn't add that Wolf does a beautiful job of validating me and helping me restore a sense of realistic proportion when I succomb to the moment's fear.

I am also experiencing some limits on what I can eat. The usual culprits rear their heads on the "Hmmm... Not So Much" list: pretzels, some bready stuff, overdry white poultry meat, too-lean pork, etc. Happily, I don't care. I didn't think I would, but I confess that a portion of me was on tenterhooks wondering if I was right.

Some of you may know that I've decided to try and cultivate my local PCP to do my fills. She's really sharp and I think could do a great job. Of course, I'll also ask her if she's aware of someone nearby who has experience accessing sub-cutaneous ports. Anyone can learn the protocol. Accessing the port is the most challenging part. Mine is so superficial that I think it would be a great one to learn on. I realize that this flies in the face of conventional wisdom. If it doesn't work out, you'll be the second to know. But, my gut and intuition are really pushing me in that direction.

Anyway, I have my letter to her written and just need to attach some band information. I hope to have it in the mail to her within the next few days. It's on my project list for Sunday.

A quirky habit has emerged, beginning the day after my surgery. I had no real pain at all, even at my incision sites and felt comfortable touching my port location immediately. Now I find that when I'm reading or hanging out at home, my hand will go to my port and start tracing it's planes and edges. Sometimes I even catch myself tapping a little rhythm on it! The only drawback is that if I'm not careful, I do it at work, too. And there, I'm thinking it's not the most professional thing I can do.

Well, I think that's it for now. Thank you so much for reading this account. I think the words I'd use to describe this portion of the journey are: gratitude, wow!, faith, maturity, happy, curious, learning, and love. I think that's not a bad start.


Cheers,
~M

MidBand
Dr. Frering
Lyon, France
22 November 2002

Copyright 2003 Seasmoke All Rights Reserved