The day of the unbanding

Gastric band :2 11th September 2014 Today was the day of the unbanding ( I make it sound like one of those teenage science fiction series like the Hunger Games or Divergent) I sat in Spire Hospital at 11 am this morning after handing over the privileged sum of £176.00, waiting for the band, the bane of my life to be deflated. I felt a mixture of different emotions from relief to wild panic. I was excited at the fact that I would be able to eat normally again after five years without the fear and embarrassment not to mention the pain of regurgitation. This was coupled with the fear that I would leave Spire totally out of control and consume all food in a frenzied eating binge ending up like Mr Creosote “Just one wafer thin mint please” then I would explode. There was a little anger directed to myself and to Spire, anger at the waste of money, anger that the band through no fault of its own caused so many problems both physically, emotionally and within my relationships. My partner had funded the operation and I was tormented by the thoughts of guilt that I had let him down in some way, that I had squandered his inheritance money and that he did not “love” me the way I was despite the fact that I had nagged the backside off him for the operation. Many women will recognise those paradoxical thoughts. The thoughts of not being good enough, of comparing themselves to other women who are the perfect 10. “My life would be happy if I was thin” The media screams this at us every day and subconsciously we believe it, girls grow up believing it. The nurse called me in and instructed me to jump on the scales, this makes me feel uncomfortable and judged (even though I know its procedure) I don’t look, I don’t want to know, the shame and the sense of failure creeps in again. The last recording on my chart from nearly 5 years ago is 92 kgs, I know I’m well over that and some. The nurse tells me the doctor will be with me shortly, and instructs me to sit. The doctor enters the room a pleasant looking chap, quite solid himself with a mop of curly hair, I recognise him from before. “Hello, we haven’t seen you for some time, four years actually, what brings you back” ? I decide to be honest and I tell him the truth. I tell him the band has not worked as the problem is me, I am the one with the eating disorder and only I can change that by embarking on a programme of recovery for binge eating and constant eating of “junk” foods. I tell him about the regurgitation, the binging, the preoccupation with junk foods, the erratic eating habits and frustration and misery of this. His response is surprising he says I have taken the first step in admitting it and recognising that in some people it is a psychological illness, he still maintains that bands do help in some but not all cases. (so do lobotomy’s) I sarcastically find myself thinking. He asks me to lie on the bed under the X Ray machine, luckily the horrible barium drink is not needed as I’m having the fluid withdrawn from the band, this fluid causes the restriction of foods in to my stomach. A quick scratch of the needle for a local anesthetic in to my port (situated under my breast bone) then the needle goes in and slowly sucks out the fluid filling the band. 6.5mls went in and they are able to get about 5.9mls out. I ask where the other 0.6 mls went and they laugh stating that this is normal. All over, free to go, a free woman, the only control that lies between me and my eating now is me. My appointment to discuss my recovery plan is next Thursday and my start date for my recovery is the 21st September. I just hope I don’t gain 2 stone by then!