Sorry for not getting an update sooner -- I have been working primarily off my mobile phone, which I find challenging for longer projects such as this. I have finally gotten my Surface Pro 3 to work (an aside -- it is way too much technology for me, so I struggle with it regularly), so here I am.
To answer the most pressing question everyone seems to be asking, yes I am feeling better, although today has not been terrific. Once I got past the clear liquid phase, and was able to have yogurt, it helped. I saw my doctor on day 6, at which point he gave me permission to advance to cheese and tofu, so I have spent most of the past week living on that. Whipped cottage cheese has 15 grams of protein per 1/4 cup, and tofu has 2 grams of protein per ounce, so it has been fairly easy to get my 50 grams of protein a day in. As for liquids, I am relying on crystal light lemonade, low sodium V8 juice and water, and most days get close to the 64 ounces I need.
Interestingly, my sense of smell has become incredibly heightened, which has turned out to not be a good thing. As many of you know, I have always been sensitive to smells; I can't wear perfume or use certain soaps and shampoos because they give me migraines, while other scents send me running to the bathroom to vomit. I find it even worse now, as things that never bothered me before send my tummy into an uproar. I am never sure when I will find myself overwhelmed by something no one else can smell.
Foods I loved in the past may have the same impact on me. Already I am finding things to be super-sweet. I used to love Gold Peak Diet Iced tea. I love all my tea sweet (I sweeten it with Splenda). Not any more. I feel as if I can taste the chemicals in the artificial sweeteners. I not only have no desire for coffee, but I am turned off by its smell. A tuna salad sub from Mike's here in Belmar used to be may favorite. I decided to get some of the tuna without the sub yesterday. Three times I ate it, three times I experienced "dumping syndrome" (sort of a very rapid evacuation of the food in your system, accompanied by hot flashes and cramps), so that s no longer an option.
These challenges I was prepared for. Everyone -- friends who have had this surgery, doctors and other healthcare providers, online resources -- all advise of the changes in how your body reacts to and processes food. In fact, one of the reasons the surgeon recommends staying out of work for at least two weeks is to give you time to adjust and figure out how to manage food.
In fact, other than the food issues, which I will figure out, I am feeling really good. I am down 27 pounds, and can easily walk around the block without getting tired or out of breath. Each day I am trying to add more steps and more activity into my routine. Tomorrow, I am going to try yoga.
So, do I regret the surgery? I don't think so. As I am still recovering at the Jersey Shore, I feel like I am still in a bit of a bubble, so the jury is kind of out until I get back to my real life. Juggling food at work will be challenging, s I easily get distracted, forget to eat, and then gulp down whatever I can find. Clearly, that is going to need to change. Same with liquids; I will need to make a conscious effort to stay hydrated throughout the day, instead of drinking water non-stop from the time I get home until I go to bed. One of the benefits of spreading my liquids out throughout the day is that I no longer find myself getting up to go to the bathroom five or six times a night, which means I am sleeping much better.
So overall, yes, I am better off now than before surgery. I just need to find my new normal.
Showing posts with label Gastric Sleeve. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Gastric Sleeve. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 25, 2015
Sunday, August 16, 2015
I call bullshit (sorry, mom)!
I did a lot of research before I had my sleeve. I joined online forums. I talked to people. Everyone said it was great. They made it sounds as if they sprang from the operating table and started running marathons, with no pain, no problems eating.
I call bullshit.
Two days before I was scheduled for surgery, I had stopped taking in any calories at all. Just the thought of food, in any form, made me want to vomit. I still hadn't received insurance approval, and began to think that I was doing all of this for naught. I yelled at the woman in the surgeon's office. I had a crying jag at my desk. I was ready to call it all off. Not because I was afraid of the surgery, but because I was afraid I would never be able to think about eating without vomiting again. I searched all the forums; no one wrote about this, no one complained about it. So I figured, it would pass.
Hah.
I finally got insurance approval Tuesday morning. Later that afternoon I received the call that I needed to be at the hospital by 11:30. So I packed up my clothes, my books, my pup, and drove down to Belmar, where I planned to spend my recuperation period. After a fairly sleepless night, I got up, and we headed to the hospital, where I was quickly checked in, given a gown, slippers, and lovely hair net, assigned a bed, and sat. And sat. And sat. Apparently, I was #7 on the docket, so it was after 5 p.m. when I finally went into surgery. When I woke up in recovery, I was in terrible pain. My throat was on fire, I couldn't speak, and my chest was so full of gas all I wanted to do was cry.
After what seemed like hours, I was finally brought to a room. As I was getting settled, there were two small children right outside my door, screaming and running all over the place. My head was pounding, my body ached, and I was done being nice. I asked the nurse to make them leave and close my door. Unfortunately, they belonged to the woman who was admitted to the bed next to me. I wanted to scream. A dose of morphine took care of that.
The following morning, I was feeling pretty good (regular doses of IV pain medicine), and walked around the floor a bit . I was told walking would help with gas, but I walked to keep my mind off how thirsty I was. I was going on 34 hours since my last sip of water, as I waited for my "leak test." They give you a few ounces of a very thick, awful tasting liquid, and then take x-rays to make sure it goes down the way it should without leaking or any blockages. I passed, and my reward was diet lemonade, sugar free orange ice, and discharge.
When we got back to Belmar, I was greeted by my nephew, Alex, three dogs -- Piper, Lola and Brooklyn. It was nice to be "home." Trying to be the good patient, I made a protein shake with diet decaf iced tea and plant-based protein, and nearly threw up all over the place. There was no way I was going to be able to drink any of that. I decided to give up on protein for the night, sip some water, and try again the next day.
Every sip of water that I took resulted in a terrible pressure down my chest, as the water flowed to my stomach. My throat was still sore, gas was building up, and all the pain meds had worn off. An allergy to codeine left me without any pain meds at all. My first day at home ended with dry heaves. Not an auspicious beginning.
The next morning, I tried a few sips of Isopure clear liquid protein drink in coconut; it cam right back up. The pain in my belly was getting worse, and even water was making me nauseous. I was really worried there was something wrong with me; no one else had talked about these issues. Once I asked the questions directly, though, I found that this was pretty common, and decided to just power through it. I decided I would not try to get any proteins in, and would just focus on liquids. Crystal light lemonade became my go-to. For variety, I mixed it with diet decaf iced tea. On the third day, I started drinking V8 juice, and celebrated keeping everything down.
Today is day 4. I was able to have a chocolate-banana protein shake (though it took me almost 2 hours to finish it). I seem to have mastered sipping, and can even get water down again. I've been able to swallow my BP pill (crushing it and trying to take it with jello led to more nausea). And I've been able to walk about 1/4 mile with relative ease.
Am I glad I did this? I honestly don't know yet. I am down 20 pounds from my heaviest, 10 since surgery four days ago. I am feeling better than I did, but am constantly concerned that the next thing I put in my mouth will make me vomit.
I am pissed, though, at all those people who made this process seem like sunshine and roses, because it isn't. I wish had known how hard it would be, because then I would have been able to be better prepared mentally.
I call bullshit.
Two days before I was scheduled for surgery, I had stopped taking in any calories at all. Just the thought of food, in any form, made me want to vomit. I still hadn't received insurance approval, and began to think that I was doing all of this for naught. I yelled at the woman in the surgeon's office. I had a crying jag at my desk. I was ready to call it all off. Not because I was afraid of the surgery, but because I was afraid I would never be able to think about eating without vomiting again. I searched all the forums; no one wrote about this, no one complained about it. So I figured, it would pass.
Hah.
I finally got insurance approval Tuesday morning. Later that afternoon I received the call that I needed to be at the hospital by 11:30. So I packed up my clothes, my books, my pup, and drove down to Belmar, where I planned to spend my recuperation period. After a fairly sleepless night, I got up, and we headed to the hospital, where I was quickly checked in, given a gown, slippers, and lovely hair net, assigned a bed, and sat. And sat. And sat. Apparently, I was #7 on the docket, so it was after 5 p.m. when I finally went into surgery. When I woke up in recovery, I was in terrible pain. My throat was on fire, I couldn't speak, and my chest was so full of gas all I wanted to do was cry.
After what seemed like hours, I was finally brought to a room. As I was getting settled, there were two small children right outside my door, screaming and running all over the place. My head was pounding, my body ached, and I was done being nice. I asked the nurse to make them leave and close my door. Unfortunately, they belonged to the woman who was admitted to the bed next to me. I wanted to scream. A dose of morphine took care of that.
The following morning, I was feeling pretty good (regular doses of IV pain medicine), and walked around the floor a bit . I was told walking would help with gas, but I walked to keep my mind off how thirsty I was. I was going on 34 hours since my last sip of water, as I waited for my "leak test." They give you a few ounces of a very thick, awful tasting liquid, and then take x-rays to make sure it goes down the way it should without leaking or any blockages. I passed, and my reward was diet lemonade, sugar free orange ice, and discharge.
When we got back to Belmar, I was greeted by my nephew, Alex, three dogs -- Piper, Lola and Brooklyn. It was nice to be "home." Trying to be the good patient, I made a protein shake with diet decaf iced tea and plant-based protein, and nearly threw up all over the place. There was no way I was going to be able to drink any of that. I decided to give up on protein for the night, sip some water, and try again the next day.
Every sip of water that I took resulted in a terrible pressure down my chest, as the water flowed to my stomach. My throat was still sore, gas was building up, and all the pain meds had worn off. An allergy to codeine left me without any pain meds at all. My first day at home ended with dry heaves. Not an auspicious beginning.
The next morning, I tried a few sips of Isopure clear liquid protein drink in coconut; it cam right back up. The pain in my belly was getting worse, and even water was making me nauseous. I was really worried there was something wrong with me; no one else had talked about these issues. Once I asked the questions directly, though, I found that this was pretty common, and decided to just power through it. I decided I would not try to get any proteins in, and would just focus on liquids. Crystal light lemonade became my go-to. For variety, I mixed it with diet decaf iced tea. On the third day, I started drinking V8 juice, and celebrated keeping everything down.
Today is day 4. I was able to have a chocolate-banana protein shake (though it took me almost 2 hours to finish it). I seem to have mastered sipping, and can even get water down again. I've been able to swallow my BP pill (crushing it and trying to take it with jello led to more nausea). And I've been able to walk about 1/4 mile with relative ease.
Am I glad I did this? I honestly don't know yet. I am down 20 pounds from my heaviest, 10 since surgery four days ago. I am feeling better than I did, but am constantly concerned that the next thing I put in my mouth will make me vomit.
I am pissed, though, at all those people who made this process seem like sunshine and roses, because it isn't. I wish had known how hard it would be, because then I would have been able to be better prepared mentally.
Sunday, July 19, 2015
Bump in the road
It's a good ting I used to be a long distance runner. The patience, strength and endurance I gained from that has been a great help through the WLS process.
Let me start by saying that I know I am extremely lucky. I work for a company that values my health, and provides me with the Cadillac of health insurances, for an extremely small co-pay. When all is said and done, I will likely be out of packet less than $200 for the surgery and all the pre-op prep. And there is a lot of pre-op prep -- 19 separate doctor's appointments: three with the surgeon, one psych, one nutritionist, one full physical with my GP, two appointments with the gastroenterologist, an endoscopy, an appointment with the pulmonologist, a breathing test, a sleep apnea test, a pre-op educational session, pre-admission testing, and four cardiology visits, including two for a nuclear stress test. It was the latter where the most recent bump in the road arose.
After arriving at the appointment 30 minutes late due to road closures and a lack of detour signs, I waited another 45 minutes to see the cardiologist. It was Friday, it had been a long week, I was tired and already on edge. I just wanted this part over with, so I could have my ultrasound, do my preadmission testing, and get on with my surgery and my life. Silly me for thinking it would be that easy.
After telling me that my heart muscle was very strong (likely due to all those years of running), the cardiologist told me that there was a "shadow" on my stress test that was if concern. He explained something I already knew, but normal-sized people don't ever have to worry about. Because of the excess fat I carry, it can be difficult to get clear pictures of internal organs. That, coupled with the placement of my heart under my breast, which is also on the larger side, the images from the stress test were not clear, and showed a possible blockage in my coronary artery. To know precisely what the issue is, I need to undergo cardiac catheterization.
During this process, the doctor will snake a thin, hollow tube from my wrist into my coronary artery. He will inject a contrast dye through the catheter into my arteries, and take x-rays to determine if there are any blockages. In the best case scenario, there is no blockage, the catheter comes out, and I go home.
If there is a blockage, the first step would be to insert a metal stent to open the artery, and put me on blood thinners for four weeks. This would require pushing my surgery date back, at least five weeks from the date of the catheterization, to give time for the blood thinners to do their job, and then wean me off them so I don't bleed out during surgery. Of course, if there is a truly severe blockage, then the intervention would likely be more complex, and I would have other things to worry about.
While the doctor seems to think it is most likely that they will find this is just a shadow, and will not require stenting, we won't know until the procedure is actually done.
So now, I am waiting until the scheduler is back in the office on Monday, to see when we can get the procedure scheduled. Then I need to try to get my pre-admission testing moved up as well, as it needs to be done to clear me for the catheterization.
Did I happen to mention that I work? Full-time? And I commute almost an hour each way to work? And that my doctors, and the hospital, are all about an hour in the opposite direction? What had been a very carefully orchestrated schedule, designed to minimize the disruption to my work schedule, has been blown to pieces. I am trying frantically to get this latest procedure scheduled for next week, so that regardless of the outcome, I can be back to work by July 27, as I am running a major fundraising event on July 30. My sleeve surgery was scheduled specifically so that I would be back to work in time for our October Casino Night -- the second biggest fundraiser on our calendar. There is a real chance that I may not be able to get this all done before then, in which case I would likely need to start all over again from the beginning, as the pre-op testing cannot be more than 60 days old.
So I spent yesterday in bed, feeling sorry for myself. I finally decided to do something about the situation I had gotten myself in, and there is a chance it might not happen. So I am upset and emotional. I do not want to be social. I do not want to deal with food, and clothing that doesn't fit and in which I am uncomfortable.
And I am so darn tired. I find driving absolutely exhausting, and seem to be in the car constantly.
Bu today I am getting in the shower, shaving my legs, and going shopping. I am going to get fruit, fish and fresh veggies, and I am going to plow on, in the belief that this will all work out. Maybe if I believe hard enough, it will come true.
Let me start by saying that I know I am extremely lucky. I work for a company that values my health, and provides me with the Cadillac of health insurances, for an extremely small co-pay. When all is said and done, I will likely be out of packet less than $200 for the surgery and all the pre-op prep. And there is a lot of pre-op prep -- 19 separate doctor's appointments: three with the surgeon, one psych, one nutritionist, one full physical with my GP, two appointments with the gastroenterologist, an endoscopy, an appointment with the pulmonologist, a breathing test, a sleep apnea test, a pre-op educational session, pre-admission testing, and four cardiology visits, including two for a nuclear stress test. It was the latter where the most recent bump in the road arose.
After arriving at the appointment 30 minutes late due to road closures and a lack of detour signs, I waited another 45 minutes to see the cardiologist. It was Friday, it had been a long week, I was tired and already on edge. I just wanted this part over with, so I could have my ultrasound, do my preadmission testing, and get on with my surgery and my life. Silly me for thinking it would be that easy.
After telling me that my heart muscle was very strong (likely due to all those years of running), the cardiologist told me that there was a "shadow" on my stress test that was if concern. He explained something I already knew, but normal-sized people don't ever have to worry about. Because of the excess fat I carry, it can be difficult to get clear pictures of internal organs. That, coupled with the placement of my heart under my breast, which is also on the larger side, the images from the stress test were not clear, and showed a possible blockage in my coronary artery. To know precisely what the issue is, I need to undergo cardiac catheterization.
During this process, the doctor will snake a thin, hollow tube from my wrist into my coronary artery. He will inject a contrast dye through the catheter into my arteries, and take x-rays to determine if there are any blockages. In the best case scenario, there is no blockage, the catheter comes out, and I go home.
If there is a blockage, the first step would be to insert a metal stent to open the artery, and put me on blood thinners for four weeks. This would require pushing my surgery date back, at least five weeks from the date of the catheterization, to give time for the blood thinners to do their job, and then wean me off them so I don't bleed out during surgery. Of course, if there is a truly severe blockage, then the intervention would likely be more complex, and I would have other things to worry about.
While the doctor seems to think it is most likely that they will find this is just a shadow, and will not require stenting, we won't know until the procedure is actually done.
So now, I am waiting until the scheduler is back in the office on Monday, to see when we can get the procedure scheduled. Then I need to try to get my pre-admission testing moved up as well, as it needs to be done to clear me for the catheterization.
Did I happen to mention that I work? Full-time? And I commute almost an hour each way to work? And that my doctors, and the hospital, are all about an hour in the opposite direction? What had been a very carefully orchestrated schedule, designed to minimize the disruption to my work schedule, has been blown to pieces. I am trying frantically to get this latest procedure scheduled for next week, so that regardless of the outcome, I can be back to work by July 27, as I am running a major fundraising event on July 30. My sleeve surgery was scheduled specifically so that I would be back to work in time for our October Casino Night -- the second biggest fundraiser on our calendar. There is a real chance that I may not be able to get this all done before then, in which case I would likely need to start all over again from the beginning, as the pre-op testing cannot be more than 60 days old.
So I spent yesterday in bed, feeling sorry for myself. I finally decided to do something about the situation I had gotten myself in, and there is a chance it might not happen. So I am upset and emotional. I do not want to be social. I do not want to deal with food, and clothing that doesn't fit and in which I am uncomfortable.
And I am so darn tired. I find driving absolutely exhausting, and seem to be in the car constantly.
Bu today I am getting in the shower, shaving my legs, and going shopping. I am going to get fruit, fish and fresh veggies, and I am going to plow on, in the belief that this will all work out. Maybe if I believe hard enough, it will come true.
Sunday, June 14, 2015
How did I gain all this weight?
You don't just wake up one day, decide to have weight loss surgery, make an appointment, and go in. Before the surgeon agrees to do the surgery, and perhaps more importantly, before the insurance company approves coverage, you need to go through an extensive battery of tests: blood work, GP, psychiatric consult, endoscopy, nuclear cardiac stress test, pulmonary function test, ultrasound, nutritionist, pre-op educational session and of course, pre-surgical clearance. Managing all these appointments, along with a full-time job, can be tough, which is probably why on Thursday morning I had a total melt down and cancelled two doctors' appointments I had that day.
(Reminder to self, don't ever schedule anything more taxing than a pedicure the week leading up to the biggest fundraising event in our annual calendar. Our golf invitational, which nets over $135,000, is tomorrow. We are over-subscribed, players are changing by the minute, silent auction gifts are still coming on, and, oh, there is a monsoon going on.)
Back to the topic at hand...
Even harder than managing all this is the repetitive questioning, which over time become humiliating: how much do you weigh (too much)? How tall are you (not tall enough)? How long have you been overweight (forever)? When/how did you gain all that weight (I don't know).
That last question has proven to be the most vexing. Before, when I was "normal" weight, I would see obese people and wonder how they let themselves get so big? Didn't they see the scale inching upward? Why didn't they stop? Now, I know.
I didn't see myself getting so big. Sure, I gained weight in college - the dreaded freshman fifteen, and then got back to running, stopped eating every carb offered in the cafeteria. In grad school, where I was absolutely miserable, I stopped eating, ran and did aerobics obsessively. I started working at a local gym, and began weight training, too. I returned to my undergraduate alma mater for a year, working first in the training room and then the alumni office. My roommates were undergrads, and athletes, and our meals were comprised of more junk food and ice cream than lean proteins and veggies, and the weight started creeping back on.
My first "real" job was running a call center for Georgetown University as part of their multi-million dollar fundraising campaign. My compensation package included an expense fund, and my colleagues and I would go to a local restaurant late afternoon every day for a big meal before we started calling at 5:00 pm. We would work until 11 or so, go out for a drink, go home to bed, and start all over again. I started gaining, slowly at first, until I realized I was 30 pounds overweight. By then I had amore normal job, was eating on a regular schedule, started running, and found Weight Watchers. I lost all my excess weight and kept it off long enough to become a life member. I even started leading WW meetings as a sub.
I maintained my weight loss for a good period of time, even keeping it off once I move to New Jersey. I continued to run, started to ski, and even bought a bicycle, which I eventually took to China for a two-week tour with friends. I was active, healthy, and happy. Then things started to break.
First, it was my heart. I had moved to NJ believing that I was in love with a man who lived there, and if we just lived closer to one another, we would marry. Well, that didn't happen, and I didn't take it well. I started drinking (not obsessively, but more than I should), which then lead to my loosening control over my eating habits. And as most people know, when you are drinking, or are hung over, you don't want carrots and celeries. You want McDonald's.
Then I broke my wrist, followed by my hip. While the former kept me out of the gym for several weeks, the latter kept me sedentary for almost two years, between the first surgery to fix the break, and the second to remove the pins. The pounds started coming on fast and furious, and I was soon hovering around 180. I was so excited when a colleague from work, who had lost 60 pounds, told me about phen-fen. I tried it and loved it! I was down 30 pounds before they pulled it from the market. But I had never really embraced healthy eating, so I quickly gained them all back and then some.'
During that time, I was going through a lot of change -- new jobs, new homes, new relationships, and then 9/11. When the planes hit the World Trade Center, I was working as a fundraising consultant for the Red Cross, and was asked to help with the disaster recovery. That first day, I set up a calling center, and all missing persons calls were directed to me. It soon became clear that the calls I was fielding were for people who had been seen last on the higher floors of the Twin Towers. In the months to come, I would check names off my list as I read about them in the New York Times' "Lives Remembered" section.
Those names, and that experience, haunted me, until I had a complete meltdown on an airplane from Newark to New Orleans on my first Katrina recovery trip. I was flying a three-seats-across plane, and had a panic attack that was so severe I asked the flight attendant if they could land the plane and let me off. She had obviously dealt with this before, though, and lined up a bunch of airplane bottles of gin in front of me, even though it was just 9:00 in the morning. A kind doctor in NOLA prescribed me with anti-anxiety meds that enabled me to get on a return plane 10 days later, and see my physician in NJ who prescribed me with PTSD. My way of dealing with that was to eat.
I never went back to running or biking, though I did work with a personal trainer for a while. I climbed Crough Padraig, the tallest mountain in Ireland. I also tore the cartilage in both knees, and had surgery on both, about two years apart. After that, I was never able to really get back on track. I watched the needle on the scale go up, but my everyday life didn't seem affected. I was still, for the most part, able to do what I wanted.
Unconsciously, though, I cheated, using my parents and my cousin Don, who had Parkinsons, as a way to hide whatever limitations I had. I was the one who always stayed with them, walked slower, took cabs, or used golf carts to get from one place to another. Somehow, I didn't realize that I too was now relying on them, not able to get around on my own.
(Reminder to self, don't ever schedule anything more taxing than a pedicure the week leading up to the biggest fundraising event in our annual calendar. Our golf invitational, which nets over $135,000, is tomorrow. We are over-subscribed, players are changing by the minute, silent auction gifts are still coming on, and, oh, there is a monsoon going on.)
Back to the topic at hand...
Even harder than managing all this is the repetitive questioning, which over time become humiliating: how much do you weigh (too much)? How tall are you (not tall enough)? How long have you been overweight (forever)? When/how did you gain all that weight (I don't know).
That last question has proven to be the most vexing. Before, when I was "normal" weight, I would see obese people and wonder how they let themselves get so big? Didn't they see the scale inching upward? Why didn't they stop? Now, I know.
I didn't see myself getting so big. Sure, I gained weight in college - the dreaded freshman fifteen, and then got back to running, stopped eating every carb offered in the cafeteria. In grad school, where I was absolutely miserable, I stopped eating, ran and did aerobics obsessively. I started working at a local gym, and began weight training, too. I returned to my undergraduate alma mater for a year, working first in the training room and then the alumni office. My roommates were undergrads, and athletes, and our meals were comprised of more junk food and ice cream than lean proteins and veggies, and the weight started creeping back on.
My first "real" job was running a call center for Georgetown University as part of their multi-million dollar fundraising campaign. My compensation package included an expense fund, and my colleagues and I would go to a local restaurant late afternoon every day for a big meal before we started calling at 5:00 pm. We would work until 11 or so, go out for a drink, go home to bed, and start all over again. I started gaining, slowly at first, until I realized I was 30 pounds overweight. By then I had amore normal job, was eating on a regular schedule, started running, and found Weight Watchers. I lost all my excess weight and kept it off long enough to become a life member. I even started leading WW meetings as a sub.
I maintained my weight loss for a good period of time, even keeping it off once I move to New Jersey. I continued to run, started to ski, and even bought a bicycle, which I eventually took to China for a two-week tour with friends. I was active, healthy, and happy. Then things started to break.
First, it was my heart. I had moved to NJ believing that I was in love with a man who lived there, and if we just lived closer to one another, we would marry. Well, that didn't happen, and I didn't take it well. I started drinking (not obsessively, but more than I should), which then lead to my loosening control over my eating habits. And as most people know, when you are drinking, or are hung over, you don't want carrots and celeries. You want McDonald's.
Then I broke my wrist, followed by my hip. While the former kept me out of the gym for several weeks, the latter kept me sedentary for almost two years, between the first surgery to fix the break, and the second to remove the pins. The pounds started coming on fast and furious, and I was soon hovering around 180. I was so excited when a colleague from work, who had lost 60 pounds, told me about phen-fen. I tried it and loved it! I was down 30 pounds before they pulled it from the market. But I had never really embraced healthy eating, so I quickly gained them all back and then some.'
During that time, I was going through a lot of change -- new jobs, new homes, new relationships, and then 9/11. When the planes hit the World Trade Center, I was working as a fundraising consultant for the Red Cross, and was asked to help with the disaster recovery. That first day, I set up a calling center, and all missing persons calls were directed to me. It soon became clear that the calls I was fielding were for people who had been seen last on the higher floors of the Twin Towers. In the months to come, I would check names off my list as I read about them in the New York Times' "Lives Remembered" section.
Those names, and that experience, haunted me, until I had a complete meltdown on an airplane from Newark to New Orleans on my first Katrina recovery trip. I was flying a three-seats-across plane, and had a panic attack that was so severe I asked the flight attendant if they could land the plane and let me off. She had obviously dealt with this before, though, and lined up a bunch of airplane bottles of gin in front of me, even though it was just 9:00 in the morning. A kind doctor in NOLA prescribed me with anti-anxiety meds that enabled me to get on a return plane 10 days later, and see my physician in NJ who prescribed me with PTSD. My way of dealing with that was to eat.
I never went back to running or biking, though I did work with a personal trainer for a while. I climbed Crough Padraig, the tallest mountain in Ireland. I also tore the cartilage in both knees, and had surgery on both, about two years apart. After that, I was never able to really get back on track. I watched the needle on the scale go up, but my everyday life didn't seem affected. I was still, for the most part, able to do what I wanted.
Unconsciously, though, I cheated, using my parents and my cousin Don, who had Parkinsons, as a way to hide whatever limitations I had. I was the one who always stayed with them, walked slower, took cabs, or used golf carts to get from one place to another. Somehow, I didn't realize that I too was now relying on them, not able to get around on my own.
Monday, June 8, 2015
Why Sleeve?
Why am I having the sleeve? The answer is both quite simple and quite complex.
The simple answer is that I am morbidly obese, with a BMI of 55, and I ma not ready to die. There is way too much I still want to do in my life, much of which requires me to be able to walk, which is, if I am being entirely honest, not something I can do right now.
And that starts the more complex answer. I have become so heavy that my body no longer works the way it used to. It is very hard for me to walk more than a minute or so without losing my breath and breaking out in a full sweat. My back hurts, my knees ache, my hips are stiff, and all I am trying to do is get from my car to my office in the morning. Exercise, which I used to love, fills me with dread. When I am invited to a professional meeting, social event, trip to the city, or to walk my dog with friends, it is all I can do to not have a full-on panic attack, wondering how close can I park to where I need to be, what will the temperature be (I don't want to walk into a meeting or party a hot mess), or how to explain that I do love my dog, I am not being lazy, but MY BODY HURTS.
It also gets in my way. Once, riding in a taxi in NYC, I couldn't put the seatbelt on because it didn't fit. I actually own an airline seatbelt extender, because up until recently I was a frequent traveler. Going out to eat is a horrific experience -- what if I can't fit into the chair/booth? What if the chair breaks beneath me? Yes, I have had that happen.
Sometimes when I drop things, I leave them there because I can't bend down. If the book I am looking for at the library is on the bottom shelf, I don't get it. Same with items at the grocery store. My stomach gets in the way. Shoes with shoelaces? Gave them up ages ago.
So, I stay home. I skip social outings unless they are places I know well and can navigate. I ask colleagues to cover meetings for me if they require too much walking. Can't remember the last time I went to the city to wander around, something I love doing. Haven't been to one of my nephew's baseball games since late fall. I am already wondering how close we can get to my niece's graduation venue.
I haven't ever told anyone this. I have been embarrassed. Somehow, it has been better for people to think I am anti-social than to tell them the truth, which is that I am afraid that I won't be able to do what they've invited me to.
I am tired of being afraid. I am tired of sitting at home. I am tired of missing out on so many things I love, and avoiding old friends who I haven't seen in decades, because I know they will be horrified by my morbid obesity.
You see, I wasn't always like this. I was never skinny, but I was normal. I ran. I could run forever. Same with walking. I've walked entire European cities on my own. I know what the possibilities are, and I am doing what I need to to return to them.
This blog will document my journey, and explain how it is I got to where I am, and how I hope to get to where I am going. I am grateful to have you join me.
The simple answer is that I am morbidly obese, with a BMI of 55, and I ma not ready to die. There is way too much I still want to do in my life, much of which requires me to be able to walk, which is, if I am being entirely honest, not something I can do right now.
And that starts the more complex answer. I have become so heavy that my body no longer works the way it used to. It is very hard for me to walk more than a minute or so without losing my breath and breaking out in a full sweat. My back hurts, my knees ache, my hips are stiff, and all I am trying to do is get from my car to my office in the morning. Exercise, which I used to love, fills me with dread. When I am invited to a professional meeting, social event, trip to the city, or to walk my dog with friends, it is all I can do to not have a full-on panic attack, wondering how close can I park to where I need to be, what will the temperature be (I don't want to walk into a meeting or party a hot mess), or how to explain that I do love my dog, I am not being lazy, but MY BODY HURTS.
It also gets in my way. Once, riding in a taxi in NYC, I couldn't put the seatbelt on because it didn't fit. I actually own an airline seatbelt extender, because up until recently I was a frequent traveler. Going out to eat is a horrific experience -- what if I can't fit into the chair/booth? What if the chair breaks beneath me? Yes, I have had that happen.
Sometimes when I drop things, I leave them there because I can't bend down. If the book I am looking for at the library is on the bottom shelf, I don't get it. Same with items at the grocery store. My stomach gets in the way. Shoes with shoelaces? Gave them up ages ago.
So, I stay home. I skip social outings unless they are places I know well and can navigate. I ask colleagues to cover meetings for me if they require too much walking. Can't remember the last time I went to the city to wander around, something I love doing. Haven't been to one of my nephew's baseball games since late fall. I am already wondering how close we can get to my niece's graduation venue.
I haven't ever told anyone this. I have been embarrassed. Somehow, it has been better for people to think I am anti-social than to tell them the truth, which is that I am afraid that I won't be able to do what they've invited me to.
I am tired of being afraid. I am tired of sitting at home. I am tired of missing out on so many things I love, and avoiding old friends who I haven't seen in decades, because I know they will be horrified by my morbid obesity.
You see, I wasn't always like this. I was never skinny, but I was normal. I ran. I could run forever. Same with walking. I've walked entire European cities on my own. I know what the possibilities are, and I am doing what I need to to return to them.
This blog will document my journey, and explain how it is I got to where I am, and how I hope to get to where I am going. I am grateful to have you join me.
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