Tonight was the night I realised that pizza and I can’t be friends anymore. I’m not gonna lie, I will MISS it. But, if that’s the way it has to be, I will adjust, just as I have to everything else so far.
I went to the surgeon this week for a monthly follow-up and I had lost 4kg for the month, which is a fantastic result, and it meant I had no saline added to the band. But it’s like my body heard that and said to itself: “Right, well I am going to make it hard for her to eat things she has been able to get down until now.” The upshot of that is that I had a day yesterday where food and I were not really compatible, and then tonight, no pizza for me. I don’t know if it’s the dough, or the cheese, or a combination, but it’s off the menu – at least for the time being. I guess the best part for me is the other realisation: it’s not the end of the world if I can’t eat a meal. The food is not the most important thing anymore. It certainly used to be. I was more pissed off at the waste of money than the waste of food. I don’t ever remember feeling like that before. So, my relationship with food and eating is still changing. I find it easier to say no to food. I can go to the staff morning tea now (usually a magnificent spread of lots of yummy stuff) and not eat ANYTHING. Even just after the surgery I would have tried to have something very small, just so I could tell myself I had enjoyed something. Now it’s about talking to colleagues and getting out of the normal workspace. Things like that are a revelation, and quite emancipating really. At least now when I go out for breakfast with our friends tomorrow morning I will know I have some space to put some nice eggs, or a corncake. I will enjoy it, but I will enjoy the company, and the experience of being out and feeling comfortable in my own skin for the first time in a long time, MORE.