This past Monday marked the beginning of week 8 post-op. Dad is down to 227 and I’m at 215.
This week I had a NSV (non-scale victory). At work occasionally we have to wear lead aprons for cases involving x-ray. Usually I have to hunt for the 1 apron that fits semi-comfortably or deal with feeling like I’m, as my mother would say, 10 lbs of shit in a 5 lb bag. Well, this week I had extra room and was actually fairly comfortable! And I didn’t hunt for the 1 xl apron! Tiny bit excited about that.
At our 6 week follow-up appointment, which was really during week 7 due to scheduling conflicts, we were released to exercise. As part of the program we’re in we get a 12 week long “free” membership to the gym associated with the hospital. During those 12 weeks we have 24 group sessions with a trainer. Last Thursday was our orientation to the gym and we met our future trainer. Neither Dad nor I were very impressed. She’s so scatter brained! I’m usually a fairly laid back person but one thing I absolutely can’t stand is someone being wishy washy and indecisive. This individual couldn’t stay on point, couldn’t make decisions, and couldn’t remember what she was doing one moment to the next. Also, her voice was very annoying, at least to me.
Fast forward to yesterday, Tuesday, when I had my first group session with her. Our initial impressions were confirmed in my eyes. Dad got to miss out on our first session. Instead he had the lovely evening of getting a crown done at the dentist.
Because of the way the program is organized it’s a rolling admission of sorts. Myself and another patient were the newbies in a group of at least 12 that had already been together for a week. They had already been taught the fundamentals of what we were doing. At the beginning of the session, in which our trainer was 5 minutes late, we spent nearly 25 minutes going around introducing ourselves and telling a challenge or success to the group. All this is well and good and I don’t mind at all. However, our trainer felt the need to comment on everyone’s challenge or success for several minutes. While I’m sure she thought her comments were helpful I found them to be neither supportive or helpful. For example, someone had said their current challenge was transitioning in the post-op diet to the next stage and figuring out more variety to eat. The trainer responded by going on a diatribe for 3-4 minutes about how we shouldn’t use the word diet because it makes one feel restricted and causes people to fail. That we should use “healthy eating” or “mindful choices” instead of diet, while at the same time we shouldn’t restrict and should eat whatever we want, including ice cream. I’m sorry, but in this instance, in our new reality as bariatric patients the word diet is not an evil 4 letter word. It is actually a noun. A word that describes our new food situation. Maybe it’s the nurse in me that thinks of diet first as the food options available/allowed medically vs a restrictive plan meant to loose weight.
Finally after 30 minutes into the session we started working out. 14 circuits of 45 seconds doing leg or arm exercises she had spent a scatter brained 5 minutes explaining. The entire next half hour consisted of listening to her talk in a shrill, wishy washy voice while we went through the circuits. Of course the circuits weren’t organized so when we would move on to the next thing we had to decide what we were doing and hope it wasn’t taken. If everything was taken you were relegated to arm pinwheels or jumping jacks. I nearly knocked myself out with the boob floppage, but I got a compliment from a fellow group member on the quality of my jumping jacks so there’s that at least.
I’m hoping it’ll be better this Thursday when Dad joins me. We’re also planning on doing a Karate class the gym is offering. The times work out perfectly for when the session should be over. If she starts to annoy me I’ll just take out my frustration there afterward. Maybe I should also look up yoga or meditation or something too. Try to zen myself out, otherwise it’s going to be a long 12 weeks. Deep breaths…..