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.

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

Free Date With Every Gastric Sleeve? Bargain.

3 month check in with my Surgeon. ROMEO DONE!

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She’s like legit the cutest woman I have ever seen in my life and to think that she was capable of pumping my torso out like a fuckin Puffer Fish and slicing my insides up like Sushi just blows my mind every time.

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She called me a ‘Star Pupil’ and not to gloat but I totally would have buzzed HARD if she’d have given me a badge.

Honestly my experience with the NHS has been nothing but amazing so far which I think its fuckin immense considering the cuts and the intense pressure these fuckin KWEEN’S are all under.

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Maybe the customer service mark was slightly overstepped yesterday when my Dietitian (Let’s call him DIET MAN) asked me out for a drink. I DIED.

SIDE NOTE-

To all that know me IRL will have heard me speak glowingly about DIET MAN pre op.

He was such a huge help and really pushed hard for me to get approved in those final stages considering id been lost in the system several times.

He gave me his number, his pager and his email and was more than happy to have me peck his head and chase up ‘The Board’ to see if my case was in motion.

On reflection. That bitch was KEEN as.

Sat waiting patiently after the glorious catch up with the super fuckin ace Surgeon I scrolled away on my iPhone waiting for the next session to start.

 In walks DIET MAN.

 DM – ‘Catherine, you’re looking great’ WINK 

 Me – Smiles awkwardly forever unable to accept any kind of compliment with grace.

 DM – ‘Yeah, really great. You know, now you’re post op maybe it’s time we grabbed a drink or a coffee sometime. If you fancy?’

 At this point I went straight into THIS MUST BE A JOKE SO LET’S TAKE THE PISS MODE.

 Me – ‘Why are you only just asking me now? Was I not slim enough before you FATTIST?’

I’ve never a pasty white face turn purple quite so fast. I didn’t even have time to laugh and reassure him that I was, of course only being LOL x 10000

I mean, of course I’d never go out with him. He’s rancid. And I’m engaged. But still, I was joking all the same.

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He ran out of the room.

I went back to scrolling on my phone wishing to die before being called into my next Fatties session catch up.

I strolled in. DIET MAN was leading the session. JOY.

I plodded over to my favourite chair in the back corner. He didn’t look at me once.

Oh YAS. Still got it.

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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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