Yesterday I made my monthly sojourn to the Center for Fat-ass-i-ness. As usual, I arrived a bit early, checked in with Ms. Grumpy at the desk, got my hospital name bracelet, and selected a fat ass chair to park in while I waited for the venerable Dr. X.
As always, the waiting area was filled with a mixture of pre and post bandsters. I can usually tell who's who. I remember my first consultation there back in January. I envision that I probably had the same look on my face. A look somewhere between anxiety and fear. And right down the street from What the F am I doing here. Yup. That look. Taking that first step takes a lot of courage. Not military type courage. It takes personal courage. It's very humbling to waddle into a fat ass clinic full of normal sized people and ask for help. It's the last stop on the rotund railroad. Miss this stop and you're on your way to I-Give-Upsville. I bet almost all of these pre-bandsters have their consultation and take the plunge like I did. Once you've gone this far and once you're comfortable with the people trying to help you, the rest falls in to place. All that's left is the commitment.
Dr. X must've been busy, because I waited 45 minutes for the extra wide doors to swing open and the bubbly Ms. K to call my name. Once inside, my visit went by briskly. Ms. K, Dr. X and I have all become chummy and we spend more time chit chatting than we do about weight loss. But our work does get done. Blood pressure, excellent. Body Temperature, excellent. Now to the industrial scale and... 89 kilos exactly! It's always so anti climatic. We then went in to the exam room and dissected the numbers. Five pound loss in 5 weeks. They were happy. Me, not so much.
After the normal questions regarding my eating schedule and exercise routines, the three of us discussed my current plateau situation. Dr. X was very supportive and told me to hang in there. I'm doing the right things and it will pay off. But he decided to give me a little adjustment anyway. Another .25 ccs were squirted in to my port bringing the total restriction of my band to 47.5% full. I told him up front that the last injection "got my attention". I had three small stuck episodes and experienced my first slimming after the last boost. I really have to pay attention to the size of my bites and how fast I eat them. I guess I'm a real bandster now.
Before I took my leave, Ms. K inserted her two cents worth by suggesting I try cross-training to help me move off my plateau. Cross-training? I'm not really sure what that is. If cross dressing is the uniform for the cross training sport ... you can count me out.
Until next time...
SHUT YER MOUTH!
Johnny T
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