Counting the Minutes and Pounds

I’m not asking for sympathy, but any that you care to give will be gratefully accepted. I’m more than halfway through a modified fast, and I’m counting the minutes until it’s over.

The 25 pounds that I had to lose were stored in my body through a combination of gluttony, tempting food and an active social life. So, there was no one to blame but myself for the fix I was in.

Because of a combination of a hiatal hernia and excess weight, I wasn’t feeling well. So, my main goal in losing weight was to improve my health. When I asked for help, my doctor recommended this diet. It was not ordered. I keep telling myself that to have the comfort of feeling I could back out.

The modified fast started with four packets of Bionate (a powdered protein-complete food), potassium, vitamins and eight glasses of liquid--all in one day. The Bionate was to be mixed with decaffeinated diet soda or water. I chose the soda.

An important part of this diet is daily exercise. It’s to be as strenuous as the individual can do. I’ve been working on a stationary bicycle every day and watching television as I pedal. The only unfortunate side effect of this is that I’ve been watching soap operas--in tears.

Just Bubbling Along

The first two days of my fast (I like to call it a fast so it sounds like I’m suffering.) I was too busy drinking liquids (and you know) to feel hungry; or God forbid, thirsty. I was waterlogged. I didn’t walk--I waddled and sloshed--and my movements were accompanied by loud bubbling sounds. I dreaded each drink and forced each one down in a hurry.

Someone asked me, “Why are you doing this? Do you want to be a chorus girl?” That made me laugh but improving my appearance was important to me. That, and getting more physical endurance, were both secondary goals.

The third morning I gurgled on the phone to a friend. She’s a member of my Let’s Get Thin group (led by Dot Henley, at the Unitarian Universalist Fellowship of San Dieguito, in Solana Beach). When I moaned that I couldn’t drink any more, she gave me a good idea. “Ask your doctor. Maybe he’ll cut it down.” Why hadn’t I thought of that?

I tested to see if my doctor was kind as well as good. I told him my drinking troubles and, to my joy, he allowed me to cut down the liquids by two or three glasses. I chose three. He warned me to watch for dizziness, so I decided to be cautious. The next day, on two less glasses of liquid, I was fine. From then on, it was five glasses a day (plus those for Bionates with soda) instead of eight.

Things were getting better. Maybe I could survive this.

So, now that my diet was just liquid food, how did I manage the social part of my life? You might have said, “Stay home.”

My answer would have been, “Forget it. It’s fun to see my friends and also my husband needs to go out. He’s not fat.”

So Much for Friends

Our first attempt at going out included a trip to a Hungarian restaurant in Carlsbad on our way to a concert. Our party of four walked into the little place and the aromas were overpowering. I didn’t dare let my mind dwell on the goulash, the dumplings, the veal, the sour cream. I didn’t dare, but my mind disobeyed me. I sat down at the table with the others, determined to be sociable.

We explained to the waitress why I wouldn’t be eating and she looked at me with pity. Then everyone ordered and I tried not to listen. (But, I did.) We made some strained conversation (poor things--everyone was nervous about me, like I was a leper), but the good smells coming from the luscious-looking plates full of food around us kept me from talking much.

When the waitress brought the rolls, I looked away. But it didn’t help because their aroma was so strong. They must have been warm.

I really liked these people (including my husband), but felt a little bit resentful that they could eat what they wanted. It was pure envy.

When the waitress arrived with their salads and soup bowls, the delicious scents of salad dressing and steaming soup were too much to bear. I excused myself and left hastily.

The restaurant was in a shopping center, so I walked around it a few times. It was chilly, and when you think you’re hungry, you think you’re colder. I walked past two fast-food places and another restaurant, and was tortured by heavenly smells of hamburgers, chicken, pizza and who knows what other delicacies? Walking wasn’t much fun because it was chilly out, I was alone and didn’t have comfortable walking shoes on. At that point, I fully realized what being “out in the cold” meant.

When they were finally done, and we went on to the concert, my stomach gurgled a lot, and it was embarrassing. The music was great, and I think I enjoyed that part of the evening; but somehow, I felt unsatisfied. My stomach was full of Bionate and soda, but my yearnings were unfulfilled.

Oh, Those Smells

A few nights later, we had a date with my cousin, Del, and her husband, Bud, for drinks at their home followed by dinner out. We hadn’t seen them for a long time, and we had a good conversation. We enjoyed sharing experiences and catching up with family news.

Then they served the drinks, and I mixed my Bionate in their blender with a decaffeinated, sugar-free soft drink. It was cream soda, so it wasn’t too bad.

When everyone chose an Italian restaurant, I nearly died, but didn’t say anything. Chinese would have been just as bad--or Thai--or German. I was determined not to be a spoilsport.

The Italian aromas in the little restaurant surpassed those of the Hungarian place. I tried to feel superior about my diet and took mental notes on the many overstuffed patrons. It didn’t console me.

When the waitress appeared with steaming, aromatic ravioli, veal Parmesan and tortellini, I stumbled out in agony, not daring to look back--although the aromas still followed me as I opened the door and braced myself for a cold, lonely walk.

I wearily returned to the Italian restaurant, which smelled even better than before, and rejoined our group. They looked happy and well-fed. We held a conversation as the plates were taken away, and we ordered decaffeinated coffee (allowed as a liquid). It was bad, so I left it.

Del and Bud were sweet and thoughtful. She said, “The ravioli was awful.” My husband complained that this veal was tough. I tried to believe them but didn’t really want them to have a bad meal. I knew they were just trying to console me.

So, my sociability is wearing thin. From now on, my Bionate and I are staying home when friends and family go out to eat.

After what seems like forever, I’ve survived 23 days of this. I’ve had many rewards already. I’m feeling well now and look much better. I’ve lost 12 pounds, and I can wear some clothes that I couldn’t wear before. There are also about 4 1/2 extra hours a day to do with as I please. Shopping, putting groceries away, cooking, serving, eating and cleaning up take a long time. Maybe I’m saving even more time than that.

I will have to fast about two more weeks before I can go on “maintenance,” which will allow me to one real meal of real food (chicken and vegetables) with three Bionate meals. It will be difficult to last that long; but I can still remember my first day of this when I doubted that I could last one more day. My doctor checks me regularly, because this is a dangerous thing to do on your own. All I want is for the time to go faster. The days seem endless.

I weigh in weekly at the doctor’s office, and I must admit that I’m very childish about this because I want to finish the fast. I don’t wear earrings. I empty my pockets and I exhale. And, would you believe that once I took off my nail polish? But I guess the worst thing I did was cut off some of my hair.

The only reason why I’ve made it this far is my husband’s help. He has shopped for, prepared and served all of his own meals; and then cleaned up, to help me stay away from food. (Even garbage seems tempting now.)

I’m very grateful, but two things bother me. He’s lost three pounds eating what he wants; and he tells everyone, “I never ate so well.”