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rings.
    Cheesy broccoli soup. New England clam chowder.
    Double-fudge brownies. Blueberry cheesecake.
    The choices were endless.
    As a teenager I could eat anything I wanted and as much as I wanted. Not anymore. Now I step on the scale every morning and peek at the numbers, hoping they haven’t gone higher than the day before. I’m happy if I haven’t gained and elated if I’ve lost even half a pound. It’s a daily struggle and I’m tired of fighting. I’m even more tired of that word “can’t.”
    There are so many things in life I just can’t control. How tall I am (I always wanted to be short like my sister). My boss (I wish he’d save the big projects for Monday instead of Friday afternoons). The high cost of living (I wonder if I’ll ever be able to retire). I have no power over so many areas of my life. Is there something I could take control of?
    Then the light bulb went off in my head, one of those “ah ha” moments when it all comes together. There was something I could control—my own mind and my own decisions.
    I did have a choice in this one area, the area of what I chose to eat. I could pick something I knew would be good for me, or I could pick something that wasn’t in line with my goals. It was all a matter of choice. And it was all up to me.
    Linda’s voice brought me out of my thoughts. “How about the BLT? Or is that something you can’t have?”
    “You know what? Starting right now, right this minute, I’m not going to say ‘can’t’ anymore.” I sat up straight in my chair. “I’m going to say what I choose to have instead.”
    “Sounds like a good plan to me,” Linda said. “So what are you having?”
    “I’m choosing the Chinese chicken salad and I’m asking for the dressing on the side.”
    “Sounds terrific. But you can’t have a soda with that, right?” she said. “Oops, I said can’t. I’m sorry.”
    “That’s okay; it will take a while to get used to it. But to answer you, I’m choosing ice water with a slice of lemon today.”
    I felt great when I came out of the restaurant after lunch. Not only did I not feel bloated from eating too much, but the salad filled me up just fine. And most of all, I felt more in control of my mind and of my eating habits.
    It was something I could choose, and I love the feeling of power I have in that.
    B. J. Taylor

Whatever I Want
    Y ou cannot make yourself feel something you do not feel, but you can make yourself do right in spite of your feelings.
    Pearl S. Buck
    Two months into my new life as a gastric bypass patient, I have begun a journey into my past to see if I can answer some of the questions I have about what led me to the 385-pound, high-water mark in my life. As this new tool has allowed me to begin shedding the weight, gain confidence and overcome my failure mentality, I have realized that what it hasn’t done is to banish my mental cravings for food. This is not totally unexpected. I knew from the start that weight-loss surgery was no magic pill or sorcerer’s spell that would make all of my fat issues disappear in a puff of smoke. But the hope is always there, isn’t it?
    So, as I sit here, watching the weight disappear, notching new holes in my old belt and trying to ignore the siren song of the kitchen, I’m also looking back over the years to try to find out what hole in my psyche I have tried for so long to fill with food. For years I’ve blamed my hunger on a slow metabolism, super-size stomach and a faulty telephone line between my belly and my brain. Now that my stomach holds no more than a couple of ounces, and I know that I’ve recently filled that with dense protein, any feelings of hunger cannot be related to my belly. In fact, the sense of fullness that I’m feeling even as I type would suggest that, were I to give in to the impulse to grab a snack, I would probably find myself hugging the toilet in the near future, as all engines reversed.
    So, into the past . . . as a child I grew up in a