Yes, It's a New Year...But Who Says It's Happy?

Holy Shit has it been a long time since I visited this place.

Avoidance of a weight loss blog can mean one thing and one thing only...and it's not good. It means I've run away from the very reason I started this thing. I've abandoned ship, turned tail, gone AWOL - call it what you want. It all boils down to giving up on the weight loss goals I set for myself last year. Ouch.

I hate the words "giving up." Because technically, I didn't give up. Giving up means you completely surrender and have abandoned all hope of ever meeting your goals. I didn't do that - not entirely. I'm back to try it again, which means I still do have hope. I still believe, despite the numerous failed attempts at getting my weight loss shit together, that I will - one day - be successful.

Last year wasn't my year. Sure, I made some good attempts at losing weight because I had to. My gallbladder issues forced me to eat differently - not necessarily to lose weight - but to feel somewhat human.  Then I had my surgery. Of course the real story is, once the surgery was all said and done, I went back. Back to all of the junk. Back to bad habits. Back to the lifestyle that landed me at 244.5 lbs. As of yesterday morning's weigh-in. I don't even have words for that number. Actually I do. Two words. Fuck. Me.

Look, I don't want to cry in my oatmeal over this, but I do realize the severity of the situation. This is my reality and it blows in every way possible. But the silver lining is, I am still able to make this happen. If I want to. And I do want to. I know I need a game plan and I need to be held accountable. I need to understand why every time I try to get a handle on my weight, I fail. I have questions. A lot of them. I want answers. But I'm not totally sure where I'm going to get them. Not yet anyway.

In the last week, I've turned 44, and the entire world has welcomed the year 2016. Within this year I will turn 45. I do NOT want to be and CANNOT be the same person on January 2, 2017 as I am today. I need to be different. I NEED to be healthier. To be more confident and secure. To be the best damn person I can be. Lord knows she's in there somewhere. I can't wait to meet her.

Mini Goals

Every successful endeavor starts with a strong plan of action. For the past 2 to 2 1/2 months, I've had pretty much zero course of action where losing weight is concerned and, well,  it shows. Right now the scale hates me, and I, it. We have a very complicated relationship.

I'm sitting firmly at a quarter pound under 230 right now and I want to scream my head off. I'm so insanely angry this is my reality. I'm even more angry at how hard a time I seem to be having at changing this reality. Considering how much I loathe it - it should not be this hard to change it. Right?

Every single stinking time I seem to find weight loss momentum, I allow something - anything - to throw me off course. This has been my history from the beginning of my dieting days way back when. It's not appropriate to say I yo-yo diet, because that would imply that, at some point, I hit a goal and then bounced back and regained what I lost. Truth be told, I'm usually eons away from my goal before I bail ship and the pounds start creeping their way back on. I must be a very good host to those fat cells, that's all I can say. I sure feed them well, anyway.

Yesterday after I posted, I did a little Throwback Thursday and went back to revisit my old Sparkpeople page. I created it in 2007 and weighed roughly 24 lbs less than what I weigh now. I'd kill for that weight right about now. While I know living in the past doesn't help my future, those pictures did inspire me to firmly plant my ass back in the saddle today. And I'll stay here for as long as it takes.

Which leads me to that aforementioned plan of action. Other than my marriage, I'm actually quite terrible with long term commitment to most things. I need to aim for smaller goals so that I'm not staring this huge 90 - 100 lb monster of an obstacle in the face. That's right -  the one that's looming between me and my future healthy self. It's too big, too ominous, and too depressing to take on all at once, so smaller weight loss increments are going to be my focus right now.

To begin, I'm aiming for another 10 lbs. Since I began this journey in January, I had been slowly losing until my surgery. In May, right before my gallbladder hit the skids, I was down to 225.75, a slight increase from my lowest weight through this most recent journey, which was 224.5. I'm still only 4 lbs heavier than my pre-surgery weight but it still pisses me off that I allowed myself to slip back to this point. Part of my anger stems from knowing that had I not decided to take back control, I could easily allow myself to slide all the way back to where I started in January. I'm angry that after all the dieting I've done in my life, I'm still doing the same stupid things.

10 lbs is, in my opinion, a very obtainable goal. But how am I going to do it? This morning I spent more time than I should have Googling the shit out of "clean eating for weight loss". I found a few food blogs where people posted pics of their standard daily meals and honestly? It all kind of looks culinarily void of excitement to me. Which I, perhaps mistakenly, interpret as also being void of taste. Anyway, I quickly realized this is certainly a bad way to start thinking so soon into my weight loss recommitment ceremony. So, I abruptly halted my search and thought about what I might be able to do realistically, given that I enjoy cooking and cannot for the life of me imagine myself making a meal out of simply raw almonds, a small banana, and wilted kale. Gag me with a friggin' spoon, will you?

What  I learned from my pre-op eating is that clean eating is what you make of it. It means different things to different people. I don't doubt that if I strictly followed some pre-formulated meal plan and removed all wheat, gluten, dairy, artificial sweetener, and alcohol that I would lose weight. As a matter of fact, I know I would. I also know that I'd probably last as long as a snowball in hell on that plan. Call it lack of willpower. Call it lack of truly wanting to lose weight...Call it what you want - but I know myself and in order to do this long term, I have to figure out a way to be successful that is not going to drive me to murder or suicide. Removing alcohol and cheese from my life? Yeah, I don't think so.

My eating essentially has to go back to basics. Lean protein, veggies, fruit....get rid of the processed crap. It's all the things I talked about before my surgery - and I need to treat this lifestyle plan in a similar manner. The indigestion attacks may no longer be an issue, but I have to pretend like they are. In other words, eat like I have a problem, even if I don't. Except - I do have a problem. It's called obesity. No one needs Salt & Vinegar Kettle chips in their life, especially me. Fact. Meals should be kept simple. The easier it is to prepare, the more likely I am to stick with it. I like the sound of it already.

Now that I have the eating sort of figured out, I need to address the other elephant in the room. Exercise. Simply put, I don't really do any regular form of it, as embarrassing as that is to say. At best, I am inconsistent with yoga. It's not enough. I'm well aware. I need to get out there and burn some calories and typing at warp speed on my Mac while sitting on my ass doesn't burn the calories you might think it does. Thirty minutes a day, Saturday through Thursday, with Fridays off if needed. It doesn't matter what I do, just that I do it for thirty minutes. Yoga, walking, swimming...all perfectly acceptable activities. As I move toward my next mini weight loss goal, I'll increase my exercise time, but for now - it's 30 mins, 6 times a week. No excuses.

I'm feeling better. So far, this plan sounds promising, and I am excited about turning myself around and being back on track. Let's see if the scale and I can make peace next week.

Stay tuned...

Battlegrounds

The battle of the bulge starts right here...

I spent some time yesterday with a friend who is suffering terribly. Suffering is a strong word, but it's appropriate here. It wouldn't be accurate to say she's going through a "rough patch" or having a "tough time" because the truth is, she is battling cancer and has been for many years. If that doesn't constitute suffering, I don't know what does. She recently had back to back surgeries to first remove tumors, and then complete a painful skin graft. Radiation has left the skin on her chest as thin as tissue paper, inhibiting its ability heal on its own after making the necessary incision for the first operation. She is in deep pain -  both physically and mentally.

One thing about this friend that I do know is that she is one tough cookie. This woman has been through hell and back and despite all that she has been though, she has always maintained a sense of humor and relative optimism. That's not to say she's all rainbows and butterflies all the time. Not at all. But for the most part, looking at her, you would not believe just how sick she is. However, yesterday I saw the tremendous toll this is all taking on her. I saw just how exhausted she is of fighting for her life. 

As we talked yesterday, we spoke about the unknowns in her life right now. I asked her what she was most afraid of. She confided to me that she is petrified of not ever getting her life back. To see the fear in her eyes and sadness on her face was heart-breaking. Her statement was enough to nearly knock me to my knees. It made me go home, kiss my husband, think about my own life in the present, and ask myself why the hell am I not more concerned about my own health? Why, after years of being fat, am I still losing my own personal battle with weight? When, pray tell, am I going to get my own life back and be the person I feel that I am on the inside?

Good question.

Let me preface the next part of this post by saying I'd never in a million years compare having cancer to being fat. Those two conditions aren't even on the same plane. However, seeing someone I care about fight a disease they have no control over made me realize that life is the biggest, most fabulous gift I'm ever going to get and I'm stupid as hell if I choose not to live it to the fullest. Obesity, while classified as a disease by the American Medical Association, is a condition which can be controlled. It doesn't require drugs or medical intervention (most of the time). What it does require is a sincere willingness to change unhealthy habits and the balls to take a good hard look at one's self to determine what isn't working and be committed to fixing it. 

I feel like I constantly go round and round with this train of thought. It's not as though I had some type of epiphany yesterday or anything. But sometimes, something jolts you back to reality and forces you to refocus. I guess that's what happened to me after seeing my friend. 

Sure, I'm sick and tired of fighting the fat war. But here's the ridiculous thing - I have the ability to end the war anytime I want. I've just chosen not to. So far I've only chosen to stock up on an ammo of good intentions only to trade it for some fatty diet-illegal contraband. A donut here. Some chips there. Throw in a piece of pie for good measure. And (not so) suddenly, I'm (once again) trapped behind scale-crushing enemy lines. I've been here a while and frankly, I'm not digging the accommodations. I need a good strategy so I can start tunneling my way the hell out.

I know I talked about starting over in my last post and I suppose, in a way, I am doing that. Before my surgery I was tunneling out, little by little. I felt like finally, I had created a solid path of healthy eating, albeit forced upon me by my revolting gallbladder. Post-surgery, without the medical condition to keep me on the straight and narrow, I plummeted back to the days of yore, choosing to forget the assured consequences of those actions. In other words, I chose to go back to war with myself, trudging through the battlegrounds created by my idiotic decisions regarding enemy number one - food.

I hate viewing food as the enemy, especially because it SHOULD be my ally. And it would be my ally, if I would only allow it to be. After all, I need it to survive. At some point, making peace with it sounds like a good idea. I'm continuing on working on how to do that. How to say no to the wrong stuff and yes to the right stuff. How to stop gratifying myself with quick fixes and impulsive choices. I have to keep reminding myself - over and over and over again - that I DO have control of this. I'm fortunate and I need to remember that. This is NOT a situation where I am helpless... I just need to figure out how to help myself. Consistently. Correctly. Confidently.

Back to the drawing board, as they say...

Unexcused Absence

Funny how life moves at warp speed sometimes.

One moment it's May 13 and I'm hooked up to an IV, writhing in pain in the emergency room awaiting emergency gallbladder surgery. And in the blink of an eye the calendar screams at me that it's July 16 reminding me my precious summer is half way over.  I really shouldn't complain - I have just returned from 11 glorious, sun-drenched days at the beach. Or heaven on earth as I like to call it.  However, time stands still for no one. It seems an additional 4 lbs have taken up residence on my ass since my last weigh-in (in APRIL) and frankly, I'm none too happy about it. Between you and me, I'm thinking of suing Candy Kitchen.  Is it even possible to testify against dark chocolate covered sea salted caramels? They're at fault, after all.

In all seriousness, I've already given myself the proverbial 10 lashes with a wet noodle over how long it's been since I've blogged. And I can't "Candy Kitchen coat it" no matter how much I'd like to - there is no excuse for it other than my sheer, unrelenting lack of dedication regarding all things for which this blog stands. In case you forgot (as it seems I have - a-hem), I mean healthy eating and losing weight.

I don't pretend to be a soothsayer, but I'll be damned if I didn't predict my unfortunate relapse into eating craptastically post-surgery. Everything I had voiced and feared would happen once the gall bladder and I bid our adieus, did. I went from convent-like abstinence of all foods unholy and bad for me to triple X-indulgences of the culinary kind. Inevitably, it caught up with me - not just in those 4 lbs but also in the way I feel. In the world of dieting, what I did was akin to taking a swan dive off the top of the Empire State building. To not expect repercussions from that would be moronic.

I don't want to make light of my 4 lbs, but I'm actually surprised the gain wasn't more catostrophic. I also suspect that at least 2 or 3 of those pesky pounds meandered to my midsection during my vacation alone -  which isn't unheard of for many people, chunky or not. Again - it's 4 lbs - not 14, not 40 - so I'm not going to get my Spanx in a twist and spend a tremendous amount of time lamenting how or why this happened. It doesn't take Nancy Drew to solve that little mystery. The focus now has to be on how to stop this fat train from barrel-assing down the tracks any further. Where is Superman when you need him?

Last night, I returned to yoga, which is a promising start in the right direction. Sometimes you don't know what you're missing until you're reunited with it after an extended absence. (Insert the song "Reunited" by Peaches and Herb here. 1978, I miss you.).  Anyhoo - I was disappointed that our regular instructor, Erin wasn't there - I was looking forward to her challenging me after being away for so long. Honestly, I was a little nervous getting back to it. I thought my body would revolt in some way, shape or form. I'm happy to report, I made it with no major issues. We had a sub who was good - but her style lacked the guidance and intensity I had grown used to with Erin. I still enjoyed it very much - it was relaxing and gentle - which is maybe what my body needed to ease back into it -  and I've vowed to continue on for the summer. My goal for yoga practice is twice a week.

I've also recommitted to weighing myself each day. I know, I know...there are mixed emotions on this one. The scale, while a scary beast for some, is truly my friend when I think about it. When I need to hear the truth, she gives it to me - no matter how devastating the news. Like you'd expect from a good compadre, she tells it like it is and does her best to keep me honest. The information she gives isn't meant to hurt me - it's there to help me. To encourage me to keep going. To motivate me to stay on track. What I choose to do with that information is entirely up to me. The scale only delivers the headline; she doesn't get pushy about how to write the rest of the story. That's entirely my bag. Being in the dark about how much I weigh is detrimental to this entire process. Three months is waaaaay too long. In staying away from the scale, I realize I only hurt myself. Avoiding her since April was a mistake. I won't do it again. Pinky swear! It's just you and me, Scale! Total BFFs! Ok, not really, but you get the idea.

As for the eating, what can I say? I'm angry that I still treat sugar like heroine sometimes. Donuts in the car this week? Check! Conquering my cravings for sugar is, without a doubt, my Mt. Everest. Seriously - what is it about the white stuff that has such a choke hold on me? Yes, it's addictive. I'm certainly not the first person to make that claim. I just wish it wasn't so....so...I don't know. Delicious?? Comforting??? EVERYWHERE I LOOK???? Le sigh...One day, I'll figure it out.

Every time I jump back on the health-kick bandwagon, I start thinking about what inspires me. This time is no different. Personally, I love the diet quote that says something like: "Being fat is hard. Losing weight is hard. Choose your hard." That's about as in your face as it gets as far as I'm concerned. Anyone who has ever struggled with being overweight and has tried to lose weight understands exactly what that quote means. Life as an overweight person is never easy. The older I get, the more difficult it is to haul the load so to speak. It is, as the quote states, hard to be fat. On so many levels. Too many to count or get into with this post. I have known this for most of my life - and perhaps that is why no matter how many times I take that aforementioned swan dive from atop the Empire State Building, I always go back inside and try to climb my way back to the top. The climb, as it turns out, is also very hard. But if I had to compare the options of staying where I am or continuing to climb, I'd say choosing to climb is the better deal - each and every time I do it.

I guess what I am trying to get at is that I acknowledge the last few months have not been the most spectacular part of this little journey of mine, but that's ok. There's no tears, no self-abuse, no regret. (Ok - maybe a little bit of regret). But when the sun goes down today, I'll know which hard I have chosen and that it's the right one. For me.

You heard me. I'm back!

Looking To The Future

Well, it's official. The old gallbladder has got to hit the skids.

Other than advising that it's best if the Big G and I part ways, the meeting with the surgeon didn't reveal anything I didn't already know. What it boils down to is, if I don't get this thing out sooner rather than later, I run the very real risk of a stone becoming lodged in the bile duct which would result in A) severe pain (uh, no thanks) and B) emergency surgery that would be more complicated than regular gallbladder surgery (uh, double no thanks).

Since I'm not really down with the idea of having more pain, I'm opting to play it safe and get this all put to bed before school lets out for the year. I'm certainly not thrilled with the prospect of being out of my classroom for a week, but I'm also not digging the idea of waiting another 2 whole months to resolve this issue.

The surgery will be on May 20, provided my upper GI doesn't reveal any other surprises. The way I look at it, I have one more month of living on the edge, so to speak. I can handle that. Bland eating has sort of become my thing, except for when I lose all sense of sanity and take a risk on eating something from my diet of yore. Hello, Gertrude Hawk Chocolate Mini Smidgens... (Hey, don't look at me. They were a gift from one of my students). Oh, but I am looking at you. Your size may be tiny, but you pack a hell of an indigestion punch. It's stupid, but I have been known to do it. Pull the trigger when I know what lies in the wake of doing just that. In a way, eating has kind of become a bit like playing Russian Roulette. If I eat this (fill in the blank), will I feel like crap in a couple of hours? Spin the Wheel of Indigestion and find out! What I do know is, I've had about 7 attacks within the past month, so as far as I'm concerned, the writing is on the wall. It's getting worse. Time to take permanent action. ASAP.

One of the interesting comments the surgeon made was in regard to LAGS (Life After Gallbladder Surgery - my stupid acronym, not his). He mentioned that people sometimes complain of weight gain. Upon hearing that fantastic news, I'm pretty sure I made an audible groan. He then assured me that there is no biological reason that people gain weight after this surgery. Your gallbladder is not responsible for weight control at all. However, when people experience attacks or symptoms such as mine,  they tend to adjust their eating -  usually for the better - because if they don't,  they suffer. Weight loss can be a pretty cool side effect of that change. My surgeon went on to explain that after surgery, many people simply resort back to their old ways of eating and therefore, boom - the weight comes back. This is EXACTLY what I said in my last post. It is what I fear the most. More than the surgery itself.

I'm not going to get all religious on you or anything, but I do believe that this issue became mine to deal with for a good reason. As I've said before, I silently wished that something would make me have to eat better/differently/more mindfully and sure enough, this problem of mine has done just that. I was on the fast train to a number on the scale from which I may not have recovered. It was a number that I swore I'd never reach - and yet.....it was there. Just 7 pounds away. I'll not yet reveal that number, but I will say that had the scale reached this number to which I am referring, it would have put me in a very, very dark place, mentally speaking. No joke. We're talking Tan Mom dark.

Oh, I'll show you dark.

Let's just say, I'm glad I didn't reach that point. With start of the new year and the increasing frequency of my attacks, something inside me pleaded for a change. It was now or never. I chose now.

As much as I hate that a health problem forced me to screw my head on straight, I don't discount its importance in this process. Obviously I wasn't willing to do it on my own. As much as I thought about it, I wasn't proactive in the least. Especially in the last couple of years.

So, I suppose I'll just thank the universe for hearing those whispered cries for help, no matter how bizarre, and giving me this reason for change - no matter how annoying and painful it's been. I'm sending one more request out there. Please keep me on track even when all of this medical stuff is behind me. Allow me to continue on the path to health and not forget the real reasons this is going to benefit my life when I reach my goal. Give me the strength to stay the course and keep treating myself with patience and kindness.

This will happen. It's my time.

Tales From The Scale

And maybe lose an ass cheek or two while you're at it.

The closer we get to the end of the school year, the faster time whizzes by. We're nearing the middle of April already which seems next to impossible, considering it felt like Christmas was just a few weeks ago. Admittedly that could have something to do with the fact that some of our Christmas decorations hung around just a tad, a-hem, longer than they should have. What I mean is, we may or may not still have a rather large pre-lit pinecone tree hanging out on our credenza in the dining room. And we may or may not also have some lights hanging from our trees outside.

Just don't pop over unannounced until, say about, June 17- ok? I may (or may not) have my shit together by then.

This past week was a little stressful. My hubs was out of town, report cards are due this Monday, and I've been experiencing a tremendous amount of anxiety when I eat because of - well... you know the sob story. Fact: When Josh travels, I don't eat well. I tend to fall back into my single-days mindset when cereal and any and all varieties of alcohol were perfectly acceptable dinnertime meals. I'll admit to having both types of those "dinners" that dominated my 20's and 30's while Josh was away. Corn Chex for dinner on Tuesday and a hot toddy on Wednesday. I don't recall what I ate on Thursday night, but suffice it to say it wasn't anything gracing the pages of Bon Appetite.

Um - now that I think about it, I do remember. It was a blackberry margarita. And some pretzels and a cheese stick. Ina Garten would not be impressed.

Here's a sad story. Veggies and I pretty much parted ways this past week. As a matter of fact, if clean eating is the equivalent of a G-rated movie, I was pretty much gobbling up triple-X porn this week. That's not to say I scarfed down Burger King and cheesesteaks and chocolate cake and butter sandwiches, for God's sake. But for a girl who has been trying to avoid excessive carbs for the last 10 weeks, I did a total 180 and ate those suckers like it was my job. Bagels, bread, cereal, rice....you name it, I ate it. That's become "bad-eating" for me these days.

Ironically enough, carbs are the one thing that don't send me into heinous gallbladder attack mode. Or at least this is what I thought until yesterday when I had my second attack in two days and had really only had carbs and nary a trace of fat all day. Frankly, I'm done guessing what will cause the pain - I just want the damn good-for-nothing organ out of my body. Even though this whole issue has made me really adjust my eating (mostly for the better), I am tired of not knowing what is going to happen each and every time I put something in my mouth.

I don't know if you guys are sick of reading about this problem, but I sure am sick of writing about it.

So...in addition to living in Carbtown this week, I didn't do much in the way of exercise either. Not even yoga, which always makes me feel a tad bit guilty. Simply put, I just didn't feel great this week so I skipped it. You don't need to tell me. As far as weight loss role models go, I know I kind of suck right now.

Is it any wonder the scale didn't budge? Nope. Not really. You don't load your body up with enough carbs to get you through a marathon and expect your scale to reward you. It doesn't work that way, and I am fully aware of that. As a matter of fact, I was floored I didn't see a gain. Not to jinx myself, but in the 11 weeks I've been working at this new lifestyle gig, I haven't had a gain at all. I've had exactly two weeks where the scale didn't move, and that's nothing short of amazing. This whole process feels slow as hell, but for the first time in all of the attempts I've made at this weight-loss thing, I don't feel like it is impossible. I've sort of resolved myself to be one of those people that takes the long and winding back country roads to their goal weight, versus hitting the Autobahn.

There is something that has been weighing on my mind, however. Even though I complain a whole lot about this gallbladder issue, I do realize that it is a major reason why I have been so much better about my eating than I was in the past. There is a small part of me that is afraid that if I do end up having surgery to get it out, and I start to feel better, I will somehow forget the benefits I have seen with this new way of eating. Without having that fear of food causing me pain to stop my inclination to eat poorly, will I be foolishly tempted to revert back to my old ways? It's a frightening prospect, but a serious question I need to ask myself.

I'd like to think I'm smarter than that. I'm close to losing 20 pounds and that is a great start. But I want more. I've made some decent changes to my diet and I am happy about that. But I still have miles to go to get to a true place of comfortability with it all. Exercise has not become the BFF that I wanted it to be at this stage in the game. While I love the fact that I have found yoga, I need to do more. The only way that is going to happen is if I make it a priority. At some point, the changes to my diet won't be enough. I'll need to attack this thing with everything I've got - mentally and physically.

Now that Josh is back home and report cards have been put to bed, I feel better about the week ahead. I'm going to make sure veggies make a come back this week, as well as bid adieu to a few of those carbs I've gotten a bit too chummy with. I am eager to see how my meeting unfolds with the surgeon on Wednesday. Then it's lights out for my upper GI on Friday. It should be a week for resolutions, or at least a few answers as to what happens next.

Stay tuned!

Post Traumatic Dessert Disorder

I have some mixed emotions this week.

On Monday, I was told that my gallbladder has become a nice comfy habitat for some pretty badass stones. It's a glaring reminder that my fat-fueled diet over the years is not without consequence. This sit-up-and-take-notice diagnosis has become a catalyst for changing my relationship with food even more than when I began this weight loss trek ten weeks ago.

I lost 3.25 lbs. this week. This is certainly reason to celebrate in my book. Not only am I happy that I lost that much chunk from my trunk, but for the first time in ten weeks, I really, truly, honestly, without question know why I lost it. Simply put, this past week I was more in tune with what I put in my mouth than I probably ever have been in 43 years. I'm sorry, but that kind of blows my mind, considering how many freaking diets I have been on in my lifetime. If you're wondering what took me so long to finally figure out that I need to account for every morsel that crosses my lips, read on.

You see, I'm kind of an idiot.

After I left the hospital on Monday, I met one of my best friends, Aimee, and her son for lunch at Bonefish Grill.  I hadn't had a crumb to eat all day. I gave some serious thought as to what I should eat, given my recent dose of not so great news from the ultrasound tech. After carefully perusing the menu, I settled on a lunch combo with 2 soft filet mignon baja tacos and half a caesar salad. The tacos had literally the smallest chunks of meat in them I've ever seen, and they were topped with diced mango, shredded cabbage and a lime crema sauce. The caesar salad was not overly slathered with dressing. If anything, it was a little dry for my taste, but hey - I'm dieting - so it's not like I was going to ask for more. Croutons were minimal. All in all, it was a simple, yet, tasty meal. However, compared to the Lean Cusines that have become my usual go-to lunch fare, it was downright gourmet.

Had I stopped there, with the meal alone, it would have been a perfectly delightful lunch. Good company, good food. I should have been happy with that. More importantly, I should have been satisfied.

When you are dieting, it often feels like you are living a double life. Or maybe being on a diet is more akin to having schizophrenia. Either way, one day, you are Weight Loss Warrior, wearing the red cape, carrying a sword and all of that mumbo jumbo, standing high on a mountain top (or soap box), feeling totally superior because you have just slain the biggest Craving Beast to confront you yet. You feel absolutely 100% freaking invincible. There is NOTHING that will ever come between you and your weight loss goals again. You HAVE this. You KNOW you are winning the battle and you want to shout it from the rooftops.

Screw you, Sugar Addiction! You're my bitch now.

It's no lie. I love being Weight Loss Warrior. That chick has her shit together. She knows what she wants and is doing whatever she needs to in order to make it happen. Chocolate cake and cheese steaks be damned.

But there's another personality that emerges from time to time. She's quite different. Her name is Weight Loss Wimp. And being her? Is not so much fun. Weight Loss Wimp hates having to watch what she eats and is always thinking of excuses as to why she should be allowed to jam some crap down her gullet, no matter that she knows full well what it does to her. She often can't see the forest for the trees and is angry that seemingly everyone else around her is eating whatever the hell they want, so why can't she? The big picture is lost on her. Excuses are the name of the game. That piece of pie? She pretends it won't hurt her. But we all know the ending to that story, don't we?

You glorious confection. Come to Mama. Get in ma belly...

I HATE being Weight Loss Wimp. She makes me feel weak and out of control. When she emerges, the finish line to this tedious, excruciating at times, weight loss marathon seems to move so much father away and I feel my grasp on this whole thing loosening.

Luckily, Weight Loss Wimp doesn't visit that often anymore. She used to show up more than I care to admit, but I think she finally understands she has worn out her welcome. But rest assured, I know that she is always there, lurking around the nearest corner, waiting for an opportunity to come out and once again show her ugly pie-smeared face. Funny thing? She always brings her own fork and spoon.

The last time she showed up was Monday. Flashback to that nice Bonefish lunch with my friend. After our entrees were consumed, it should have been the end of the food portion of our meal, save for maybe a cup of coffee. We could have easily just carried on with our conversation, sipped our sodas, and waited for the check. Except then the devil waitress showed up with the damn dessert menu.

I've always been powerless to the lure of sugary delights. Had my mom known better, she could have made Dessert my middle name, as opposed to the over used choice from the 70's, Ann. So when that bubbly, smiling, waitress showed up waving that hard bound list of mouth-watering treats, Weight Loss Wimp couldn't show up with her fat caboose fast enough. After all, it had been weeks since I had had any real dessert. This one time would be ok, wouldn't it? Didn't I deserve this as a reward for being so good???????????

Using food as a reward when you are admittedly fat but are finally making an effort to lose weight is such an eff'd up way of thinking - I gotta tell you. I know, because that has been my ass backwards mindset for years. But with a diagnosis of gallstones, surely the lesson has been learned.....???

IDIOT ALERT! IDIOT ALERT! DON'T DO IT! DON'T DO IT!! DON'T DO IT!!! DON'T ORDER THE KEY LIME PIE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Who knew something so small could hold such power?

Gulp. I did it. I ordered the stupid pie. The creamy, fattening, rich as a Rockefeller pie.

My gallbladder revolted hours later. As it should. I am an idiot. I'll never do it again. Pinky swear.

In the days following, I have been hypervigilant about my eating. I haven't had an attack since Monday and I attribute that entirely to the careful selections of food I have made since then. I'm through with taking risks. Those attacks are simply not worth the pain. Everything that passes the lips, passes the gums, look out stomach, here it comes, has been analyzed for gallbladder attack potential. Admittedly, I'm not reaching out very far on the culinary branches of the food tree these days, but until I get some real relief and more answers as to how to permanently fix what's broken, I'm ok with that.

I have a consultation with a surgeon on April 15 and my upper GI is still happening on the 17th. The next two weeks will be similar to this one in terms of staying on track with my unadventurous meals, but thems the breaks. I'll not be lamenting the lack of dessert in my life any longer either because frankly, anything that makes me feel that lousy is not worth getting upset about.

So while I celebrate the loss this week, I understand that it is because my diet has become rather radical. I'm sticking to a small group of safe foods in order to stay attack-free. Is this the way I want to live the rest of my life? With huge restrictions all of the time? Not especially. What I want is the ability to have a balance, and right now, that simply can't be. There is no room for anything "dangerous" in my diet right now and I'm not going to say that fact isn't hard for me swallow. It is. Keep in mind, what's happening to me is exactly what I wished for oh so long ago (like an idiot). That I would develop an issue to keep me from all of the things making me heavy....Well, I got my wish. Thanks, Fat Genie.

Until next time....have a joyous Easter and for God's sake, will someone please eat a Cadbury Creme Egg or two in my honor? I'd be forever grateful.