For anyone who has had gastric banding, following the low-carb lifestyle is a logical choice. For those of you who are not familiar with the band, like my colleague who told me that she didn't know how I could breathe with that band around my waist, the process is simple.

An adjustable band is placed around the top part of the stomach, which is the part containing the nerves that tell the brain, "Enough already!" A tube is attached to a port, which is sutured into the abdominal wall a few inches up and to the right of the belly button. The surgeon can adjust the tightness of the band by injecting saline into the port. At this time, the width of the stomach, or opening, between the two parts of my stomach, is about that of a pencil eraser. And let's face it: Some things will not go through that tiny space.

When I eat too fast, or eat something that I shouldn't, the food gets "stuck." During this process, I sound like a cat with a monstrous hairball. There is also an event called "sliming," which I refuse to address in detail. For those of you with inquiring minds, imagine being on the set of Alien. I'll leave it at that.

For the banding patient, the low-carb lifestyle is a blessing. The foods that get stuck are ones like bread, pasta, crackers, tortillas, rice, potatoes, and other foods that get "gluey" when eaten. I have to take my time, think about what I'm eating, and chew well, habits that lend themselves to weight loss. These habits also keep me from having to dash to the restroom when we're eating out, only to find the one-holer occupied. Most unpleasant.

There is a caveat to this, though. Milkshakes and candies go down with no problem at all. The low-carb lifestyle helps with this, too. I treat sugar like the intrusive house-guest. Perhaps twice a year, I will have some dessert like tiramisu, which is relatively low-sugar, but I rarely finish the serving. End of story. Finished. Done. See you in six months. As with annoying family members, a brief visit is enough to get reacquainted, but not long enough to look like I'm offering a permanent living arrangement. 245, for me, is how fast I would like to drive in my new sports car, not see on the digital read-out of my scale.

Reference: www.examiner.com