Don’t Whinge If You’re Gonna Binge

Why is it still so easy to drink alcohol?

I wish it was more of a chore but it’s just as easy as it ever was.

Why can’t I drink water like I can drink Wine?

And Beer.

And Prosecco.

And anything else wet.

As healthy as I can be all day, week, month.. the minute someone asks me if I want a drink. Bitch be like…

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I’m hungover in work today and its days like this that make me feel like this operation never existed.

I’m binge eating.

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I’ve eaten every single piece of food for the day that I brought to work with me.

In fairness, thanks to my unprepared hungover brain I didn’t actually bring any legit pre prepped goodness with me. I fear my little food haul is somewhat lacklustre

I asses my food pile to see what damage I’ve just done to myself and I’m alarmed to see that even in this fragile state things are somewhat very positive.

Has my brain finally engaged and processed that to binge on hangover food it doesn’t always mean that the chosen binge food has to be total fat head horse shit?

Here’s the damage.

100g of Bernard Mathews Turkey Meat – 119 Calories & 20.7g of Protein

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25g of Skinny Popcorn – 114 Calories & 8.6g Protein 

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Half, so (30g) of CarbKilla Protein bar –  107 Calories & 12g Protein 

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I mean come on, things could be so much fucking worse. I even chose to walk 30 minutes around Notting Hill for the fucking pleasure of it before getting into work 1.5 hours EARLY.

Of course it helps that I can now leave work early but it’s also because i’m pretty sure i’m bloody Spartacus.

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I now feel pretty pleased with myself. I bought these items without a second thought, the internal turmoil of SAUSAGE BUTTY WITH LURPACK ON ACE BREAD WITH LOADS OF BROWN SAUCE vs Fruit.

Okay fine so I didn’t buy any fucking fruit BUT I didn’t buy the Sausage Butty either did I? NO. Lilli 1 – Life 0

I purchased Low Cal, High Protein snacks that was through my very own pudgey little fat brain’s choice. YAS.

On a low note I now have no food left as I gave the other half of my Protein Bar to Ginger Joe in the office and now I feel so sad like only Chunk from the Goonies could possibly understand.

Oh Chunk.

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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.

 

 

 

 

 

A&E = Acid & Excrement, In My Case.

So lots of fun things have been happening this last week.

Spent an ultimate LOL night at the hospital thanks to this acid reflux business that now seems ever present in my day to day life.

Normally an attack will last approximately 20 minutes. I pace around, guzzle Lansoprazole with Gaviscon and maybe stew in a hot bath for an hour or so whilst my muscles start to relax.

NORMALLY.

This time was a right hoot, 4 solid hours of torment. Pure agony. Now, I pride myself on having a pretty solid pain threshold. I once fell out of a shower cubicle and broke my leg before managing to get a flight from Switzerland dragging my club foot along for the ride. IM SO HARD.

But this, this was bull shit man. I tried to walk the pain off and almost fainted outside my flat before vomiting multiples times. And yes, Gaviscon does taste worse coming up than it does going down.

In A&E I was pushed through quite quickly which confirmed my initial thoughts, I was about to die.

FAREWELL CRUEL WORLD.

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I had bloods taken, piss samples taken, pooh samples taken, abdominal x-rays, chest x-rays and an ECG for good measure.

I spent the foreseeable on a drip of meds to dull the pain and keep me alive. Slight Exaggeration.

After being told, in layman’s terms that there is not set cure, only prevention I am now banned from Caffeine and a multitude of other lifelong fave’s to keep the acid at bay.

Does this technique of cutting out every bit of happiness from my life work? Not always.

A cracker sent me to hell and back the other day. A fucking lowlife cracker.

Aside from that fresh hell I’m 2 lbs off a 7 Stone weight loss. I’m happy with that. Dead happy.

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I’m happy my skin is not dripping off like water. Happy my tits don’t touch my legs when I sit down. Happy I’m not bald. Happy I’m healthier. Happy I’m not dead via internal Acid Gang warfare.

Things could be worse.

I’ve bought my first 10kg Kettlebell this week and I feel like I potentially could be in the next series of Gladiators and of course after much deliberation I have decided my gladiator name would be…. Lathargica.

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Maybe that’s because it’s Monday and I’m tired but it’d a fo’sho front runner so thus far.

Laters. x

Happiest Fatty in Homerton… STILL (Tough Crowd)

I had my 2nd group session of post fatty chat at the hospital yesterday.

You remember the first session where I seemed to be the only one not crying into my protein shake about how I was now unable to chow down on a family sized chocolate bar, it was embarrassing man.

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This one was slightly better, less tears.

It was amazing to see these people 3 months down the line. They all looked, well, smaller. I now understand people’s reactions when they see me for the first time since the operation as i have always assumed It’s just polite to tell someone they look like they’ve lost weight after they’ve had an operation to cut their belly off. And as I don’t see the results in myself it was reassuring to see them in others.

We went around the group and each spoke briefly about our new eating habits.

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So Sandra, how’re you getting on’… Sandra looks up from her Turkey slices wrapped in cling film now sweating in her clammy grip.

Well, the thing is I’m still really struggling to eat full meals. I still get very upset at dinner time when him indoors and the kids sit down to a roast and I’m left there watching and well, it just really gets to me’

Everyone nodded in agreement. How dare those bastards sit and eat their tea in front of us well we sit here like a shaking shitting Donkey from an NSPCC advert?

I watched from the back left hand corner of the room trying not to laugh and shout at them all. ‘BUT YOU’RE NOT STARVING ARE YOU, SANDRA. YOU CAN EAT. YOU COULD EAT WITH THEM YOU SILLY COW BUT YOU JUST LOVE MOANING DON’T YOU. YOU FUCKIN GREMLIN’

Look, I fuckin get it man. It’s hard at times. Can be frustrating. But come on, get a grip. If I can sit and eat a roast with my friends and family why can’t they?

Yes, my roast is minuscule in comparison to the others but who cares, it tastes ace and is great protein if you make a few adjustments. A little bit of chicken, a sprout and maybe a tater if I’m feeling fruity. I can enjoy that just as much as you can scran your roast like a bossman. What’s the beef?. mmmmmmm BEEF.

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It just felt to me like I was hearing a lot of excuses. Whinging for no real reason. Only me and 2 others had even started going to the gym yet. The other 7 still didn’t feel ready, was too tired.

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I’m over these people man. These are the one’s that will be blending up Mars Bars and chugging them down convincing themselves it’s a treat day every other day and end up having another surgery 4 years down the line. What a fuckin shame.

MOVING ON

I went on to have my own personal one on one with my dietitian. I’ve lost 56% of my excess body weight so far. Sounds good yeah?

But it did get me thinking. If I’ve lost 56% of my EXCESS body weight and still have another 44%, what the fuck do they class my target weight as?

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I’m 5’9 and 33 years old and looking forward to be a happy healthy 11 / 12 stone. By their math it looks like I’ll have to be about 2 stone before I’m no longer classed as overweight. Liberty bro. Pure. Liberty.

So, what to do about this. The plan of action is keep my own personal target in mind. When i reach that target, reevaluate the situation. If I look like road kill and my skin is blowing in the wind behind me, i’ll know it;s time to stop.

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I AM ALEX MACK.

Since the 21st April 2017 I have now lost 82.6lbs and I look like a deflating water balloon.

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That’s fine. FINE. But like, when this belly of joy finally fuck off? ‘It’s been 3 months HAVE PATIENCE LILLI’. No. I shall not.

I’m morphing into a modern day Alex Mack. SOS.

Too dramatic?

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I’ve decided to eat no more, no less than 800 calories a day for the rest of my life. Is this achievable?

I fear not as I cast my eyes down to my turmeric stained fingers from fishing out a piece of Chicken from Leigh’s curry last night after a bottle of wine. Oops.

Don’t judge me, it was Thursday. And everyone knows that Thursday is the new Friday. AND I’m not going to drink tonight AND I’m already over explaining myself through the guilt of LOVING BOOZE SO MUCH.

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I have so much guilt over drinking booze again 3 months down the line. I imagine my fat little liver bathing in a swamp of Pinot Grigio wearing a skin tight Tankini like a fat kid by the poolside in Benidorm covered in Ice Cream.

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Oh liver, what doth become of me?

I tried to redeem myself this morning by wearing my tropical swimming cozzie under my work threads. How can I not go to the gym / swim straight from work if I’m already dressed for the occasion. FOOL PROOF G.

Little do my work colleagues know (who think I’m super dedicated to the gym)  that I’m only wearing this flamboyant M&S cozzie to work because it was easier than finding knickers and a bra this morning amidst my white wine hangover daze.

Lilli 1 – Life 0

On the subject of brazier’s I’ve road tested out my new Shock Absorber Gym Bra thing and FUCK IN HELL its pure magic man.

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Like, my tits are almost protruding out of my back it straps them in so hard. Brilliant.

It’s amazing how much more energy I have to focus on exercise when I’m not contending with the ‘Mitchell Brothers’ scrapping away in my bap hammock.

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I’ve never experienced life with small breasts before. Not since I was like, 3.

Anyone with big boobs will agree that the minute you whip your bra off after a long day you can’t help but stand, belly out, head back jiggling your boobs in your hands for a good 5 minutes before you acknowledge how weird the situation has become and you put a T Shirt on before the neighbours in the flat facing call the police.

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So strapping them down to make life somewhat easier has become a real treat. I feel like this is the female version of ‘tucking’

I shall just leave you with this mental image. You’re welks yo.

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Gluten Is The Putin Of The Food World

The course of true love doth never run smoothly.

You know what else doesn’t run smoothly? Cutting your belly off and expecting zero repercussions.

I was informed several times that Post Op it was very common to gain intolerance to certain foods / ingredients that had previously never been an issue.

Did I listen, NO. Why would I?

After all. I AM BEOWOLF.

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That, or just really great at recovering from mega surgery. Like, things have been going swell so far bar the hair falling out sitchu. Lezzbeonest even that is having zero effect on my daily morale at present.

But then this mother fucker pipes up. GLUTEN.

I’ve always been of the mind-set that Gluten Intolerance is just a state of mind. A ‘Niche’, ‘Fad’ and a money making scheme to overcharge the public for really shit bread.

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Alas for the first time in my entire life I fear that I may actually be wrong.

I know, I KNOW. I couldn’t believe it either but hey I’m big enough to admit it. It happens to the best of us. I’ve gone 33 years without being wrong once. My time was well overdue.

GLUTAN IS THINE ENEMY.

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But this is all very confusing man, so out of the blue. Has this happened to anyone else post op? nearly 3 months post op?

I was absolutely fine up until 10 days ago. I ate a thumb sized piece of this warm, delicious Turkish bread. It was taunting me. I needed to swallow it.

1 hour later the pain that tore through me was unreal. Through my stomach up into my shoulders and back. My muscles were tight and I couldn’t take in deep breaths properly until the pain subsided exactly 8 minutes later.

A few days later I ate one singular piece of Gnocchi. 1 teeny tiny bite of pleasure. AGONY ENSUED.

This time I recognised the paid immediately and counted down the 8 minutes as I paced the hall way looking like The Hunchback of Notre Dame.

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Everything hurts after these ‘attacks’. It leaves my ribs tender and my body very achy. GRIM.

A tidal wave of agony is how I described this to the dietitian and I was NOT being dramatic.

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They didn’t seem too overly concerned with my situation. I should have taken a bite of that butty she was keeping for her dinner (lunch) and locked her in the room with me for an hour until the symptoms kicked in and THEN she would admit me to ICU no doubt. Probably. Maybe.

On Monday I decided to make Leigh a treat for his dinner (tea). Not having a mega appetite myself I forget that he’s probably being slowly malnourished as close to all carbs have been removed from his diet and he now lives off lettuce wraps and omelettes.

I knew it was bad when he woke me up the other night ordering Steak in his sleep. I knew it was time to feed the beast.

I made him one of his favourites. Roasted Chicken & Stuffin’ Butties. He was delighted.

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The Stuffin tempted me. I had a mouthful. Once again, I was to pay the price. This time Leigh was there to witness my agony. He wasn’t empathetic, this is Leigh were talking about.

He told me to have a pooh. I AM FOREVER CONSTIPATED. Of course I have considered having a pooh. It’s all I fuckin think about. SHIT. LITERAL SHIT.

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So why has this appeared out of the blue? I’ve tried Gnocchi since my op and was fine, no reaction. Why now?

I tried a small piece of bread dipped in olive oil and balsamic previously, no reaction. Why now?

Last night I ate a few Skips, my favourite all time Crisp and the pain taunted me but didn’t go the full kit and caboodle so I can only assume whatever demon is out to get me was only a trace this time.

Has this happened to you? What do I do? Do I have to admit defeat? Admit this is a problem, a real problem? Admit that I AM GLUTEN INTOLERANT.

Fuck my life bro, what next I ask you? You’ll be telling me next that Vegans are real people too.

On that subject. Why don’t Vegetarians eat animals that have died of natural causes? Like, old age? Surly they’d want that?

PS. 77lbs down. YAS