Post Op Flop

In exactly 3 weeks I will officially be 1 year Post Op!

One WHOLE year since I had my dick cut off… JOKE… or is it??

My weight loss has now plateaued and I stand here happy at what seems to be a constant 11st 5lbs.

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I can totally live with this. I’m more than happy with this. I should be fuckin elated with this considering I’’ve lost 10st 11.5lbs in under one year whilst luckily avoiding looking like a bubbling cheese melt.

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But what is dis little parasite of anxiety mulling away in the back of my brain box.

The constant ‘new fear’ that plagues my thoughts on the regzzz bro

The WHAT IF!

What if I fuck all this up and end up back to square one?

What if I gained 1 stone, then 2 and then 10 and then BAM the next thing you know I’m on a reality show for food addicts locked up in a Melba Toast padded room with Frais Gois walls in the cell with Apricot Chutney drizzle oozing out of the light fittings.

In this delicious torture chamber I’ve had my mouth stapled shut so have to resort to snorting the delectable delicacies from the fuckin floor!

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That’s my dream house / décor BTW!

Look, I know it’s controversial to love Frias Gois but it taste so good and let’s face it, it’s not as controversial as let’s say, wearing Crocs.

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I’ve spoken to a number of my ‘Post Fatty Crew’ on Instagram (I do hope no one is offended by this label – If you are… Meh) and I’m aware this a common fear amongst the masses. But then again I’ve spoken to many of my friends that have never belonged anywhere near the ‘Post Fatty Crew’ who all share the same fears. Interesting hey?

OR JUST VERY LOGICAL.

Judging by my calculations, IFSO FACTO would conclude that I am now 100% a totally average person that simply wants to keep their weight in check.

Suddenly this epiphany seems LUDA LUDA LUDACRIIISS.

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Why would my panic of an unhealthy diet / attitude towards food be any greater than yours just because I used to be fatter?

Why would I be more susceptible to weight gain anymore than you just because I used to be fatter?

It’s that fear, that ‘Yeah but I’ve been there before’ fear that convinces you you’re one Lamb Jamdani Hash away from getting crane lifted out of your gaff in front of a live TV audience.

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The reality is to maintain a healthy lifestyle and weight you must work for it. A constant steady stream of watching what you eat, exercise and moderation.

This rule applies to everyone it would appear.

This information relieves me. This information catapults me back to reality and out of my self-absorbed mind box where I am the only person on the planet concerned about weight gain.

So, with this new found enlightenment I shall enjoy myself with my 83 Calorie Chocolate Covered Rice Cake and I will not shame myself for enjoying a second one because GUESS WHAT!

I am going to walk up ALL the escalators steps at Kings Cross on my commute home from work and this my friends is what’s known as BALANCE!

See, fuckin nailed it.

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Moral of the story?

No one can escape the fat monster if we don’t run away from him.

Endy fuckin Story (Scottish accent required)

AND WE WILL NEVER MENTION GALL BLADDERS AGAIN….. EVER

HERE YEEEE HERE YEEEE! The Gallbladder has fought it’s last round, sang it’s last song and … I can’t think or any other irrelevant analogies to misuse so i’ll wind it in by just confirming that the gall bladder and all of it’s toxic stones have now been evicted.

5 days ago the wonders that be at Homerton University Hospital stabbed me up 4 more times and whipped the little fucker right out. My torso looks not too dissimilar to a game of Kerplunk now its home to 11 incisions but hey, it was necessary.

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I was greeted at hospital by a team of nurses that each weirdly resembled a member of The N.W.A and I couldn’t have felt more secure and looked after. Fuckin’ ace bitches every one of them. ❤

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They even ‘raised the roof’ when I finally managed to part with a piss after 2673838 million attempts post surgery, a sure clear sign I was fit and well enough to go home.

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As elated as I am knowing that cretin gall bladder will never cause me strife again I can’t help but feel so very sad I’m under strict instruction to stay out of the gym for 6 whole weeks. No lifting, no intense exercise and NO core stability class. The last one I am not so sad about.

I was also told AFTER surgery that I will now be susceptible to hernias (that’s fine, I can avoid this if I follow the post op advice) BUT.. what I cannot avoid is a life long battle with intense bouts of ultimate diarrhoea. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH Eh? Y THO?

As a predominantly constipated individual i’m looking on the bright side and figuring that this may even out the solid shit with the sloppy shit and settle on a an equilibrium of just standard normal shit.

Feel free to piss on my chips and tell me this is bull shit but it’s a theory i’m running with until proven otherwise. Otherwise being yesterday when I experienced my first ’bout’ … that was the first time though, i’m not taking that as a given for future reference.

Let me just bury my big head right back in the sand on this matter.

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But again, FUCK ALL THAT. The pain is over, the attacks are no more and even though i’m only 5 days post op I feel an overwhelming relief that this 8 month ‘agony phase’ is now over and done with. 6 weeks recoup is a small price to pay. A life time of turbo shits is a small price to pay.  A stab wound straight through my mother fuckin belly button is a small price to pay.

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BTW, this 1 incision makes me feel queasy. All the others are sweet, legit, perfect… all stab wounds but NOT THROUGH MY BELLY BUTTON.

The belly button is the gate way to your soul, if this unravels then as far as I’ve been told SINCE BIRTH your entire body and all of its contents will just fall out of your skin.

I’ve always had an ‘inny’ belly button which means I’ve always liked to put things inside it as a little secret space no one could ever find but me. I held coins in it as a child, crayons and even chocolate at one point. Very messy, I don’t recommend it.

So it unsettled me that this sacred haven that has stopped me falling apart for 33 years has now been penetrated by my sisters in The N.W.A, sorry NHS.

I forgive them of course, but always give a sister a heads up when you’re gonna go messing with her coin holder. It’s just manners bro.

 

 

 

 

RIP 10 Stones of FAT! Laters Potatoes

YO! Long-time no see hey?

So I took a little time out from my incessant chatting of shit whilst my whole weight loss ‘journey’ was being severely dominated by the bane of my existence that is my Gall Bladder.

I have bored myself to tears many times now talking about them, moaning about them, over explaining to my boss why I can’t get off the floor because of them. Unfortunately the stones care not for my plea to FUCK OFF and remain a solid fixture until my surgeon whips the whole gall bladder out.

When will this be? How long is a piece of string, Bro? Who the fuck knows.

I do however FINALLY my Pre Op Assessment have on the 22nd on January so maybe…MAYBE we will get some confirmation. A little shiny light at the end of this pretty fuckin painful tunnel.

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Anyway, let’s move on to more pressing issues like.. ME HITTING MY FUCKIN GOAL WEIGHT.

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Yas, it happened. Now, let me first of all stress that this is MY goal weight, not my Doctors goal weight.

According to my Bariatric team I should weigh approximately 10 to 11 stone whereas for my height and build my aim has always been 12 Stone aka 168 Lbs aka 76.6Kg

Now, call me crazy but having lost 10 stone 2Lbs aka 142 Lbs aka 64.3Kg I feel quite a sense of achievement in that.

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I feel healthy happy, both mentally and physically and I whilst it’s been such a challenge adjusting my mind-set to my new diet I feel like I have a great balance I am confident I can maintain which to me is the most important thing. Not going backwards.

Going backwards, the dreaded gain, the ‘popping that one extra mince pie in at Christmas’ which will catapult you a hundred miles an hour straight back to Fatty Ville is every VSG Post Op’ers realest nightmare.

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I weighed myself this morning after a heavy weekend on the sauce in Switzerland followed by a Chinese last night upon our return.

1lb gain. MELTDOWN?  No, I’m not going down with that ship. It’s so very easy to become obsessed with the scales, too easy to beat yourself up and tear yourself down over a 1 pound gain as opposed to cheer yourself on for the other 168 that you have actually lost.

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Today I’m back on my protein shake breakfast, my skinny decaf and my high protein low carb lunch. That lb will have fucked off my Friday and life shall go on.

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I’m guessing what you want to know by now is what happens to someone’s body when they lose 10stone?

Okay, the truth. My truth at least.

My tits are fucked. They look like suet puddings.

Nice with chips & gravy but not what you want stuck to your chest. When I lie down I feel like a 6 year old boy. My ribs stick out higher than my boobs. Not ideal.

Weirdly it’s not like they’ve sagged, just deflated. Could I have picked a more apt blog name before this all happened? Maybe I jinxed myself. Ace

Next is my arse. ‘What arse’ I hear you say? Exactly. It’s gone. The only reason I know I still have one is thanks to my constant state of protein induced constipation.

Belly? It’s defo like jelly now. I kind of like it. Feels like velvet when I’m in the bath and I squidge it all together.

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Will I need plastic surgery? Maybe. I 100% want my boobs reflated.  I have always had jugs a plenty and I miss them greatly. Plus it would be nice for my Fiancé to revert back to my original nick name of ‘Big Joooceh Titties’ as opposed to the ‘Tiny Cupcake Tits’ he calls me now.

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Urgh.

The Gall Sadder Blues

So it seems quite a lot has happened since my post last week where life was nothing but sweet peach ready to be devoured.

This week, all hell broke loose INSIDE OF ME.

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If you’re a regz reader you will no doubt be totally familiar with my ‘Acid Re-flux’ woes.

Having never experienced re-flux prior to my surgery I took it as gospel when the DR diagnosed me that it was pretty common to feel like the pits of hell were imploding within my body.

Why would I question that intense body cramps, spewing up blood and generally clinging on to dear life wasn’t just totally common when several DR’s and dietitians have told me it’s part of the process.

I’d cut out the caffeine and the bread and most gluten. I’d made it my routine to walk off all foods consumed each time I put one bite in my mouth box. I’d followed all the rules.

Why the fuck is this still an issue?

Monday last week agony struck. Luckily for me I have really fuckin understanding bosses who’ve let me work from home to allow me to sit in a hot bath whilst I work or pace the living room to try and ease the cramps.

By Wednesday shit had gone turbo. After hours of cramps, tears, sick and more blood my DR sent me straight to A&E where I was admitted pretty much on arrival.

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My first night in hospital I was woken at approximately 3am by the feeling of something very hard and cold sneaking into my ear.

I opened my eyes confused. A man stood hovering over me with 2 swabs in 1 hand and a thermometer in the other. He took my temperature clumsily and opened his first swab.

I asked several times what this was for and was met with a very muffled response before I felt my corneas burning from my skull with the brightest flash light beaming directly into my face.

I prepared myself for death. The grim reaper had come to collect me.

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I heard the muffled voice again.. ‘swab nose, swab groin.. do it now’.

First off, this Grim Reaper is a bit pushy and secondly his annunciation is really getting on my tits.

I sat up in bed.

‘What’s happening here man?’

The light above my bed came on.

The night nurse guy waved the swabs in my face and turned around with his back to me.

‘SWAB GROIN’

I swabbed. He turned around. I see the second swab aiming for my face. The swabbed hit my nose. He shouted ‘NOSE RING’ I flinched. He kept repeating swab.

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I’m so fuckin confused. He turned his back to me again. I was asking questions but he just ignored me repeatedly. He turns back to me. The torch is back in my face.

OMG HE’S DEAF.

He’s lip reading me in the pitch black.

He runs away never to be seen again with groin swabs.

2 days of nil by mouth and 2 days of clear liquids (water) several blood tests, several piss tests, 1 endoscopy, 1 abdomen X-Ray and 1 ultrasound I was finally diagnosed with Gall Stones and also an acute obstruction in my sleeved stomach.

YAS.

Like, legit I mean it when I say YAS. Some people panic, worry when they receive news something is wrong and another operation, potential two operations are on the cards but I’m fuckin elated man.

THIS MEANS I CAN BE CURED

What was the alternative, burry my head in the ‘acid re-flux’ sand fo’lyf and carry on les miserables in pure agony every other day. Naaaaaah mate, Allow that.

Once again the NHS have been good to me. Yes, it’s a slow process but see how fuckin fast you work with one set of hands and 18 patients on your ward. What do you want, a fuckin Octopus?

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There was one, okay two slight mishaps where the surgeon got me confused with Lisa in the bed next door and tried to wheel me off to have my gallbladder removed. In hind sight, I wish he did now. Could have saved me 4-6 weeks waiting for my operation.

The other incident was pretty traumatic. A nurse came to my cubicle, drew the curtains and sat me down for a serious conversation.

‘So, Miss O’Hara. When were you first diagnosed with Diabetes?’

‘I HAVE DIABETES?’

Nurse, looks through her notes confused

‘Oh Sorry Miss O’Hara, have you got diabetes?’

‘You’ve taken nearly all the blood in my body over the last few days, you tell me’

‘No you’re fine Miss O’Hara, good bye’

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Surrreeeeee that made me feel so great, especially when a second nurse came and asked for my insulin instructions later in the day. I was getting paranoid man. Do I have diabetes?

Surly after losing nearly 8 stone that should be the least of my issues at this point.

Turns out I 100% do NOT have diabetes.

My life now is heading back to basics. Back to soft foods, soups, baby food and as little fat as possible.

The aim is to keep the pain to a minimum as much as humanly possible until surgery and life can then resume back to normal.

If that means sloppy shit for another 6 weeks then so be it.

I WILL NOT BE DEFEATED BY A FUCKIN STONE.

Easier said than done? Watch this space.

Allow Me To Introduce You To Pure Inspiration.

This week’s blog is taking a slight detour to the usual format of me chatting shit at you guys about the usual shit. Literal shit.

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Before my surgery I spent many hours trawling the internet trying to find blogs, information and forums from pre / post op sleeve’heads to try and gage some legit information about the process I was entering.

This was tres deficile man, truss. Any active bloggers always seemed much older than me and 99.9% of the time, American.

This made it pretty fucking difficult to gage was information was relevant to me. The terminology, the foods, vitamins, measurements. Like. How the fuck does anyone know what actual measurement 1 cup is? SOS yo.

Deciding to start my own blog turned out to be more lucrative than I initially realised. I initially wanted to be a voice in laymen’s terms for people like me, scared shitless, clueless and no fuckin idea where to start. A beginners guide some what.

What I’ve ended up with is an amazing network of really fuckin clued up people that are all experiencing everything I’m experiencing in their own unique was, who teach me things on a daily basis and who I can talk to about the good the bad and ugly sides of life post op.

Where were these people before my op? Why couldn’t I find them months ago?

Weight Loss Surgery still has a very jaded stigma attached to it you see. If I look back to very early days of my own ‘journey’ I didn’t tell anyone at all. Maybe through embarrassment, maybe because I was unsure if this was just a pipe dream.

When i did decide to open my big fat mouth I overshared the best way I know how. DIS BLOG and obvz 213546633543436536 selfies on Instagram. Standard.

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Not everyone feels the need to overshare as much as this big mouth but be assured they still have a lot to say. And I thought it might be a grand idea to share that with you guys.

I put together a bunch of questions I wished I could have asked someone pre op and sent them to 2 of my personal fave Instagram bbz to give me the lowdown on their personal experiences with total anonymity.

First up with have, well,for the sake of anonymity Let”s call her… Babe A

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  • Why did you choose to choose to keep your surgery secret?

Very simply, because I bloody wanted to! I was open about my gastric band, so when it didn’t work, it was completely humiliating and I couldn’t go through that again. I’m not completely secret, it’s more a need to know basis. I work at the hospital I had my surgery at and literally EVERYONE there knows! It’s a massive part of my life there and I love talking about it. If someone flat out asks, I am more than happy to share. I just don’t advertise it, much in the same way an alcoholic or recovering drug addict wouldn’t with their addictions, mine just happens to be food.

  • Are your tits still tits?

Absolutely not, I resemble a prepubescent boy. They haven’t sagged though, I legit just have itty bitty titties haha! I have an augmentation booked for next year though and after that, I fully intend on having my baps out 99% of the time!

  • Why surgery? Why not just diet? It’s so easy right, everyone tells you just say NO to food. Because that is SO very easy. Why go as extreme?

For me it had gotten to the point of do or die, quite literally. I don’t think I was strong enough to do it on my own, I needed the help of my *tool* (another horrendous term) to start me off! I needed something that there was no going back, no option to quit or get out clause.

  • What information after surgery did you wish you knew before hand? Would this have made you think twice?

Hmmm, I was actually very prepared for surgery. I totally immersed myself in everything WLS related and kinda became obsessed, I thought I knew exactly what to expect and that nothing would shock me. I was VERY wrong! 2 days post-op I suffered major complications. My bowel twisted and became obstructed, to be blunt I actually started vomiting faecal matter. I was rushed back in for emergency surgery and then developed horrendous internal infections. I ended up being in hospital for over 3 months and having various surgeries to treat complications. Despite all this, I honestly would do it again in a heartbeat. It took me a good 6 months until I was fully well again, and I regretted it every single day, but I can honestly say it has all been worth it. Having the bypass has ultimately saved my life.

  • For the juicy details that we all love to know about. Has your sex life improved? TELL US THE GOSSIP

HAHA where to begin?! So I completely went hard core Maria Von Trapp nun style for the first 9 months. I was completely focused on me and didn’t want any distractions or anything getting in my way. I also wasn’t in the right head space and it has taken quite a while for my brain to catch up. However, I am loving dating again! I feel like a teenager at the moment, it’s all new. As for sex, I haven’t slept with anyone I had pre-surgery so I can’t really compare. Although, can I just say… things are a lot more enjoyable when you’re not huffing and puffing struggling to catch your breath, or your huge belly hanging in the way. One thing I am struggling with is feeling a little like a fraud! When I meet someone now, they can’t automatically tell I look like a melted candle underneath the double Spanx and dress and it makes me feel dishonest. At least when I was bigger, I felt like “what you see is what you get” whereas now, I dread getting undressed in front of someone new.

  • Mental or Physical happiness?

Mental. A million percent mental. I truly believe that they are part and parcel of one another and that you will never achieve physical happiness until your head is in the right place! One of my biggest NSVs was coming off of anti-depressants and to be totally honest, that meant so much more to me than the number on the scale or the size in my jeans.

  • How did you survive the dreaded hair loss phase? How long did this last?

The hair loss started in month 4 and went on for 5 months. It was devastating and I would say I lost about 40% of my hair. As soon as it had stopped falling out, I had a LA weave fitted and it has been the best decision ever. It is the same length as my own hair but has just bulked things out. I refused to cut my hair and I still won’t! It has actually grown back even thicker and more out of control that pre surgery so I can assure you that it is temporary and things do get better!

  • Excess skin is a very real issue for many post ops. Is this something you have to deal with? Would you consider skin removal?

FUCK YEAH! There isn’t an inch of my body that has escaped excess skin. My stomach is the worst because I always had a double belly and my navel is hiding between a roll! I have just booked my plastics for May 2018… new bod pending!!!

  • Do you still see yourself as the fatty you once was no matter what the scales say?

Yes of course, I don’t think I will ever not see myself as a fat gal! I lived as one for over 24 years; it isn’t something you can just unlearn.  I hope that one day I can reach a point where weight and body image aren’t major factors for consideration in my life.

  • And Finally, One day your kid comes to you crying because of their weight. You know their struggle, are you happy to take them down the route you chose? 

Should it get to that stage, I would 100% support that. However, I truly feel that this process has taught me how to develop a healthy relationship with food, one where I am confident around food and in control of my actions. I would hope that as a parent, these were values I could instil in my child so that they wouldn’t have to go through everything I did as a morbidly obese child.

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I AM NOT MO MOWLAM. Repeat To Self 10 Times & Breathe.

PANICK OVER.

The stall was but a very short one. Things haven’t moved majorly since my last weigh in but they have moved. That’s all that matters.

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My last weigh in 28.08.17 I was at 7 stone 2.9lbs lost. As of today I’m 7 stone 4.7lbs lost. 2.2lbs in 2 weeks I not the worst thing 5 months down the line.

I’m considering upping my meal replacement shakes from 1 a day to 2 and being strict to make sure I’m not exceeding 800 calories a day.

I’m aware everyone has their own process which works well for them but I feel like I have no clue as what I should / should not be consuming calorie wise on a daily basis at this stage. Then again, I had a heavy weekend. My brain is mush.

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Is it sustainable to live off 800 calories a day? Any advice on that is more than welcome man, hook a brother up AKA tell me what to do.

ACID UPDATE. My theory of never sitting down to eat ever again in my whole entire life seem to be working.

Eat – Walk, Eat – Walk.

The minute I’m sat down post food the death pang kicks in and I need to dash out the door to power walk it off immediately but shit gets serious.

I very nearly missed a vital hair appointment last week thanks to that dreaded pang but luckily a mighty fart after a power walk brought me back to the game.

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Its vile man but you got to do what you got to do, Yas?

Speaking of that hair appointment, I booked myself for a fresh cut and colour after months of going seriously au natural. With bright ginger roots beaming through like a glow worm enough was enough.

I came away from the salon £172.00 lighter and also very sad to the core of my icy cold heart. The hair was buff, that wasn’t the issue. The issue was it for the first time it was very apparent to me how much thinner my hair has become. WEEP.

AM I MO MOWLAM? I asked myself through teary eyes.

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It’s always been my ultimate fear to have Mo Mowlam hair. Fine baby hair spare across a big bulbas head like spun sugar on Croquembouche

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You see where i’m going with this? Not the strongest of looks is it?

I have this recurring nightmare that ill wake up one morning, sit upright in bed and realise I’ve morphed into a hard boiled egg. A bald, sponge of protein filled mess.

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How to stop my mind running away with itself? No clue man, wine?

Wine always helps.

If you’re not totally sold on my wine theorem then try a before and after photo to jolt you back to reality.

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These also help A LOT.

Not as much as wine though.

 

 

 

‘Cock Blocked By My Own Belly’ Worst Confession Ever? YAS.

I promise I won’t bore you this week with my never ending acid woes bar the one very quick update that they are now referring me for potential Gall Bladder dramz. Fuck it, if it is my Gall Bladder causing so much beef they can just whip the fucker out and have done with it, right?

I’m like 100% chill about this. Let’s move on.

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In other news I darted over the 7 stone LOST mile stone and have now exactly 2stone 13lbs left to lose to hit my target weight.

By Christmas (IF) I continue the way I have so far I should be bang on time to recreate the Mean Girls classic hit ‘Jingle Bell Rock’ in my soon to be purchased ‘Slutty Santa’ outfit.

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If all does not go to plan and instead I decide to blend up 294632032936749030 selection boxes and nail it in pints as opposed to my trusty Slender Blend I shall follow my option 2 route straight to Primark for a big fat Santa Onesy and spend the festive holidays with my belly hanging out like Waynetta Slob.

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In fairness neither of these two options sound up my street but it’s nice to have goals, gets me?

Speaking of goals, well more of a Bulls Eye target really… How much better is sex when your belly is out of the way? Legit man. I had no idea for so long I was being cock blocked by my own jelly.

Yes, I am aware this is ‘TMI’ but for all you post op readers out there, don’t pretend you haven’t been thinking the exact same thing as me you animals.

 

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On a more wholesome note, can someone please for the love of god tell me when I’m going to be able to shit again like a real person? I’m guessing it’s not OK to still rely on Laxatives once a week before I start walking like the hunchback of Notre Dame.

Something’s got to give man, the struggle is very very real.

As always the positives out way the negatives. Yes my glasses are now far too big for my face but the silver lining is that I now have an excuse to buy new ones.

Yes my hair is still falling out but on a plus side it means Leigh doesn’t peck my head when I drop £160 at the hairdressers instead of free styling my head off at home like a boss man.

Yes I can never pooh but on the plus side I NEVER POOH.

Like, ever.