The Long and Winding Road

An email conversation with Mary Winter has reminded me of my diet journey.

I recognize myself as a borderline bulimic. I can and have deliberately gone into the bathroom just to chuck up what I ate as a way to control myself and my diet. No justifications, no excuses. I am what I am. Ironically, my bulimia was never serious enough to actually cause me to lose more than twenty pounds, tops. That behavior continues to this day, upon occasion.

Unfortunately, for me Weight Watchers was a complete and total bust. The only thing lighter was my wallet after going to those $25 a week meetings and standing on the scale in front of God and everybody with no weight lost. The humiliation was more than I could stand, so I stopped going.

Believe it or not, the Richard Simmons Food Mover did work. In fact, it worked very well. Was it the fact that I had Dante doing the diet with me? I'm positive of that. He'd come home from work and we would immediately go into a cheerful game of one-up-man-ship on who had drank the most water or who had the most windows left (which meant fewer things eaten.) I thrive on competition, perhaps. It's based on diabetic exchanges, so it's a diet you can live on for the rest of your life. I lost 50 pounds back then.

When I go to the surgeon's office on Thursday and have officially weighed in, I might go back on the Food Mover. I'd like to do as Darragha suggested and reduce my liver before surgery. I'm already walking three times a week, weather permitting.

Speaking of roads, that was a fun drive this past weekend, trying to find the surgeon's office. We went on Saturday morning bright and early. Just as my husband had told me, getting across the river into the eastern part of the city was a piece of cake, and following the signs to find Beach Blvd was just as easy. We missed the doctor's office on the first pass, but quickly realized our mistake and turned around. The weathered two-story building is easy to spot once you know what to look for. Getting back home will be more of a challenge, but I think I'll be able to find my way back.

The role reversal of going to a doctor's office with the intent to say, "Look how fat I am!" is a bit of a brain twist on my part. Most of the time I march into a doctor's office trying to look smaller and healthier so they *won't* do anything else to me. How ironic is this mess?


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