Very recently, I was thrilled to be asked by Fred Koenig to have my bariatric journey featured in an article in the exceptional bi-weekly Missouri Conference UMC newspaper that he edits. Fred was incredibly gracious and his finished product warmed my heart. You are welcome to view the article here.
This week marked the ninth month post-surgery. That is noteworthy to me because in the first half of that time I lost 100 pounds, and in the second four-and-a-half months I've maintained the same weight within a pound or two. It's an incredibly small sample size, but it's a start: I've always said that for me in my life the real challenge wasn't simply to lose the weight, but to keep it off. Bariatric patients are at risk of falling back into old, bad habits. As my bariatric surgeon said at a follow-up appointment not long ago, eventually the constant weight loss will stop and ultimately you'll decide (intentionally or not) how forever you're willing to change your life.
The more times I've been privileged to tell my story, I realize many folks resonate with my rationale for having the surgery. As I shared in the Conference news article, I am a pastor. I've been privileged to work with so many families in the midst of planning and officiating funerals, and never had I officated a funeral for someone who died at the age I aspire to live to who was the size person I was. Quite simply, my physical being had become a barrier to my life's calling as husband, father, and pastor. I feel beyond blessed that this surgery has been transformative of my purpose in this world.
If you're connecting with my blog via the article that's just run, thank you for your interest. Initially, I started the blog as a means to keep connected with family, friends, and parishioners, as well as for my own cathartic outlet. What's grown in these months in me is an earnest desire for my blog to support others who may be discerning the bariatric path. If I can be of any particular assistance, drop me an email.
Friday, November 4, 2011
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Reintroductions
It's been quite a journey to date and I feel some reintroductions are in order: Hello, my name is Eric Moore. And as of today I've lost 100 pounds.
Despite the fact that I step on the scales at least three mornings a week and could see this day slowly creeping toward me, this reality has not yet fully landed upon me. I first met with the surgeon in October 2010, weighing 291.5 pounds. This morning, four months and three weeks post-surgery, this is what the scales say:
For someone prone to verbosity, I don't do speechless well. I don't know what to make of what this feels like. As I've said before, I've been heavy my whole life -- and certainly have not been close to 200 lbs in adulthood. But for the first time in my life, I feel normal. I'm more comfortable in my skin than I've ever been. I find myself bounding far more often than my once-customary saunter. A couple flights of stairs don't wind me. Our four year old fits on my lap in a rocking chair like never before. In just one more week, when the last of the antibiotics for pelvic infection that started this whole thought process run out, the only pills I have to take on a daily basis are bariatric vitamins. Last night, I took the treadmill out for a jog for a few minutes before returning to a brisk walk. And I must admit, I'm pondering my fellow bariatric surgery friend's offer to join him in a "couch-to-5K". I feel like I'm reintroducing myself and family to a future I didn't know possible.
A couple weeks ago, I was at Annual Conference -- the once-a-year gathering of clergy and lay delegates from all United Methodist Churches across the state. Due to geography and that everybody's out doing ministry work in their own place, it's not unusual to go an entire year without seeing most of my clergy colleagues and friends. Honest to goodness, the first day of Conference was a tad unsettling -- more than a few times friends walked by me and didn't speak to me. By day two, I realized what was going on: to some, I wasn't recognizable. Quite literally, reintroductions were in order. As a friend described, Annual Conference was my "coming out party" as it were. I've had similar experiences in the local grocery store, the McDonald's drive-thru (only ordering unsweetened ice tea, I might add), in random encounters at the mall, and even a poignant moment in my church on Sunday when an occasional attender whom I hadn't seen in a while in all seriousness thought we had a new pastor.
If the weight loss ended today, I think I'd be okay with that. And certainly my weight loss has slowed down, as it should. The current challenge is to eat adequately enough (and keep it down, my success rate of which is not yet 100%) to keep the differential between calories consumed and calories burned close to level. My current BMI is about 26, and I'd love to get it below 25 if for no other reason than I will have officially shed the clinical diagnosis of "overweight". But beyond that, a BMI of 25 would mean I would have lost what our oldest child weighs. It's all about perspective, baby.
None of this happens without Molly. I gave her veto rights in October and every single day between then and surgery. She has been unflappable. She's been my biggest support in every way, but perhaps mostly because she's been so willing to fearlessly embrace discovering wherever this new normal would take us. When so much of my life feels like reintroductions are in order, I rejoice that Molly becomes evermore familiar.
Despite the fact that I step on the scales at least three mornings a week and could see this day slowly creeping toward me, this reality has not yet fully landed upon me. I first met with the surgeon in October 2010, weighing 291.5 pounds. This morning, four months and three weeks post-surgery, this is what the scales say:
For someone prone to verbosity, I don't do speechless well. I don't know what to make of what this feels like. As I've said before, I've been heavy my whole life -- and certainly have not been close to 200 lbs in adulthood. But for the first time in my life, I feel normal. I'm more comfortable in my skin than I've ever been. I find myself bounding far more often than my once-customary saunter. A couple flights of stairs don't wind me. Our four year old fits on my lap in a rocking chair like never before. In just one more week, when the last of the antibiotics for pelvic infection that started this whole thought process run out, the only pills I have to take on a daily basis are bariatric vitamins. Last night, I took the treadmill out for a jog for a few minutes before returning to a brisk walk. And I must admit, I'm pondering my fellow bariatric surgery friend's offer to join him in a "couch-to-5K". I feel like I'm reintroducing myself and family to a future I didn't know possible.
A couple weeks ago, I was at Annual Conference -- the once-a-year gathering of clergy and lay delegates from all United Methodist Churches across the state. Due to geography and that everybody's out doing ministry work in their own place, it's not unusual to go an entire year without seeing most of my clergy colleagues and friends. Honest to goodness, the first day of Conference was a tad unsettling -- more than a few times friends walked by me and didn't speak to me. By day two, I realized what was going on: to some, I wasn't recognizable. Quite literally, reintroductions were in order. As a friend described, Annual Conference was my "coming out party" as it were. I've had similar experiences in the local grocery store, the McDonald's drive-thru (only ordering unsweetened ice tea, I might add), in random encounters at the mall, and even a poignant moment in my church on Sunday when an occasional attender whom I hadn't seen in a while in all seriousness thought we had a new pastor.
If the weight loss ended today, I think I'd be okay with that. And certainly my weight loss has slowed down, as it should. The current challenge is to eat adequately enough (and keep it down, my success rate of which is not yet 100%) to keep the differential between calories consumed and calories burned close to level. My current BMI is about 26, and I'd love to get it below 25 if for no other reason than I will have officially shed the clinical diagnosis of "overweight". But beyond that, a BMI of 25 would mean I would have lost what our oldest child weighs. It's all about perspective, baby.
None of this happens without Molly. I gave her veto rights in October and every single day between then and surgery. She has been unflappable. She's been my biggest support in every way, but perhaps mostly because she's been so willing to fearlessly embrace discovering wherever this new normal would take us. When so much of my life feels like reintroductions are in order, I rejoice that Molly becomes evermore familiar.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
From the Wife: Superman
Apparently, I married Superman.
On Friday, Eric went in for a gallbladder-ectomy. We went into the surgery not knowing if it would be a long-term success or not (meaning, we didn't know if the nagging symptoms Eric was experiencing really related to the gallbladder), but all evidence was leading us to believe it certainly couldn't hurt. Surgery went great, and in fact, they found that the gallbladder was riddled with gall stones, so we are even more optimistic that this surgery will provide long-term relief to some of Eric's nagging symptoms since his initial gastric-sleeve surgery.
So anyway, surgery was on Friday. He came through it great - so much so that he got to enjoy a hospital meal of chicken tenders prior to check-out. Yesterday, while Eric was suppossed to be "taking it easy," he did four loads of laundry. Today, barely 48-hours post-op, Eric led worship and preached a full sermon. Apparenlty, gallbladder surgery is a lot easier than bariatric surgery!
Through all the ups and downs of the initial surgery and now this surgery, Eric continues to amaze me. He is determined. He is optimistic. He is grace-filled and humor-filled. When things haven't been easy, he has taken them in stride as a part of this life experience.
In so many ways, Eric is my hero. And while his name isn't Clark Kent and he doesn't sport a cape and tights, he is most certainly my Superman.
On Friday, Eric went in for a gallbladder-ectomy. We went into the surgery not knowing if it would be a long-term success or not (meaning, we didn't know if the nagging symptoms Eric was experiencing really related to the gallbladder), but all evidence was leading us to believe it certainly couldn't hurt. Surgery went great, and in fact, they found that the gallbladder was riddled with gall stones, so we are even more optimistic that this surgery will provide long-term relief to some of Eric's nagging symptoms since his initial gastric-sleeve surgery.
So anyway, surgery was on Friday. He came through it great - so much so that he got to enjoy a hospital meal of chicken tenders prior to check-out. Yesterday, while Eric was suppossed to be "taking it easy," he did four loads of laundry. Today, barely 48-hours post-op, Eric led worship and preached a full sermon. Apparenlty, gallbladder surgery is a lot easier than bariatric surgery!
Through all the ups and downs of the initial surgery and now this surgery, Eric continues to amaze me. He is determined. He is optimistic. He is grace-filled and humor-filled. When things haven't been easy, he has taken them in stride as a part of this life experience.
In so many ways, Eric is my hero. And while his name isn't Clark Kent and he doesn't sport a cape and tights, he is most certainly my Superman.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
The Freebie Surgery
If I had ever heard the link between weight loss and gallbladder malfunction before, I forgot. Well, today I got official word that while I have a gallbladder, mine really isn't doing much and thus needs to come out. In one of those life-is-stranger-than-fiction moments, I'm consulting with the surgeon (my bariatric surgeon fortunately moonlights in gallbladder removal) in the exam room about my recent test results, when an office worker barges in and says, "we have an opening at 10:30 tomorrow". Since the scheduling department apparently knew before I did, I officially felt like I was the very last to know I needed surgery!
I'm not in an emergency situation, at least not yet. But I see no reason to wait for it to become one. I've had a couple of tests -- an ultrasound and a HIDA scan -- and we've determined that while I don't have gallstones, I do have a sludgy (I never knew that was a medical term) gallbladder that isn't functioning properly. My faulty gallbladder is likely responsible for at least some of the nausea while eating, struggle to keep food down afterward, and extremely varying pain under my right shoulder blade. Since a person can live just fine without a gallbladder, I think taking it out is the way to go. And given that this surgery is effectively paid for due to the cost of the last surgery, somehow this is a tad more palatable.
And so, I report at 8:30 tomorrow morning and hope to be in the OR by 10:30 for an hour-long surgery. I should go home in the afternoon and will have my fingers crossed that I'll feel able to cover at least most of my regular worship responsibilities this Sunday morning -- finding a fill-in preacher last minute on a holiday weekend isn't an easy task to pull off, although I shouldn't expect to be at usual speed for a week or so.
If you're keeping score, I'm in Molly's debt yet again. My high-maintenance quotient is off the charts. I can't wait to finally turn the corner into healthier days, and am praying tomorrow is the next important step. At least there are no blizzards in the forecast for this surgery!
I'm not in an emergency situation, at least not yet. But I see no reason to wait for it to become one. I've had a couple of tests -- an ultrasound and a HIDA scan -- and we've determined that while I don't have gallstones, I do have a sludgy (I never knew that was a medical term) gallbladder that isn't functioning properly. My faulty gallbladder is likely responsible for at least some of the nausea while eating, struggle to keep food down afterward, and extremely varying pain under my right shoulder blade. Since a person can live just fine without a gallbladder, I think taking it out is the way to go. And given that this surgery is effectively paid for due to the cost of the last surgery, somehow this is a tad more palatable.
And so, I report at 8:30 tomorrow morning and hope to be in the OR by 10:30 for an hour-long surgery. I should go home in the afternoon and will have my fingers crossed that I'll feel able to cover at least most of my regular worship responsibilities this Sunday morning -- finding a fill-in preacher last minute on a holiday weekend isn't an easy task to pull off, although I shouldn't expect to be at usual speed for a week or so.
If you're keeping score, I'm in Molly's debt yet again. My high-maintenance quotient is off the charts. I can't wait to finally turn the corner into healthier days, and am praying tomorrow is the next important step. At least there are no blizzards in the forecast for this surgery!
Friday, May 20, 2011
93,280
I never knew there was no such thing as an overweight New Yorker. A couple weeks ago I was in New York City for a few days as a chaperon of sorts for a Central Methodist University mission trip experience designed as a discernment opportunity for college-age participants to ponder what might be the Christian community's response to immigration. Each day brought a new venue, a new opportunity, a new sight to visit, a new day trip to take, a new conversation to participate within. It was a fabulous experience, envisioned and flawlessly executed by my friend Lucas, the CMU chaplain. And the experience involved lots and lots of walking -- to and from our home base in Greenwich Village, to any number of the church-related institutions we visited each day, through Central Park, to Times Square and a Broadway Show (The Lion King -- awesome!), to Ground Zero and back, around Liberty and Ellis Islands, to and from seemingly a thousand different restaurants and hot dog carts and the famed Magnolia Bakery just up the street. All in all, according to the trusty pedometer I kept in my pants pocket, I walked 93,280 steps in about 100 hours spent in New York.
When I uploaded the rather sophisticated pedometer to the laptop when I got home, taking into account my height and weight, the program calculated that I had walked 43 miles! My mother put it in best perspective: I had walked a marathon and a half! PLEASE hear me say I don't see that as terribly heroic. There are surely New Yorkers who walk further than that weekly; indeed, many of our college student participants' late-night city wanderings probably resulted in twice the steps I walked. But it was a monumental achievement for me. No way could I have done that three and a half months ago when this journey began.
Generally speaking, I am starting to feel like I'm adjusting to this new normal. Food is staying down better, and I've been green-lighted to start weening off the prescription (Reglan) that has helped reawaken my stomach post-surgery. I still find myself staring at the stranger I see in the mirror, and get a chuckle out of the fact that at a recent encounter with a few old friends I hadn't seen in a while, I had to reintroduce myself to some. Neither the surgeon or excellent family practice physician have gotten to the bottom of the sometimes serious pain I'm experiencing under my right shoulder blade -- I had an ultrasound of my gallbladder just prior to the NYC trip and will undergo another test next week to determine whether the gallbladder is even functioning at all. If it's not, well ... at least thanks to the insurance out-of-pocket having been met, the next surgery is a freebie.
Still, there are a few hopes not fully realized, yet. I try not to get overly wrapped up in how much weight loss to go, although I'd be lying if I said I didn't stand on the scales more mornings than not -- I have goals no matter how much I pretend I don't. I tried on suit coats (off the rack!) this morning and discovered that I'm six sizes down from where I was, and yet my new-found vanity kept from seriously considering a purchase -- that suit will look a lot better in one more size smaller! Yet, I still haven't had to take a diabetes pill since the night before surgery, and the doctor just told me I needed to eat more salt due to my now too-low blood pressure.
It's just that I never had the goal of walking a marathon and a half.
When I uploaded the rather sophisticated pedometer to the laptop when I got home, taking into account my height and weight, the program calculated that I had walked 43 miles! My mother put it in best perspective: I had walked a marathon and a half! PLEASE hear me say I don't see that as terribly heroic. There are surely New Yorkers who walk further than that weekly; indeed, many of our college student participants' late-night city wanderings probably resulted in twice the steps I walked. But it was a monumental achievement for me. No way could I have done that three and a half months ago when this journey began.
Generally speaking, I am starting to feel like I'm adjusting to this new normal. Food is staying down better, and I've been green-lighted to start weening off the prescription (Reglan) that has helped reawaken my stomach post-surgery. I still find myself staring at the stranger I see in the mirror, and get a chuckle out of the fact that at a recent encounter with a few old friends I hadn't seen in a while, I had to reintroduce myself to some. Neither the surgeon or excellent family practice physician have gotten to the bottom of the sometimes serious pain I'm experiencing under my right shoulder blade -- I had an ultrasound of my gallbladder just prior to the NYC trip and will undergo another test next week to determine whether the gallbladder is even functioning at all. If it's not, well ... at least thanks to the insurance out-of-pocket having been met, the next surgery is a freebie.
Still, there are a few hopes not fully realized, yet. I try not to get overly wrapped up in how much weight loss to go, although I'd be lying if I said I didn't stand on the scales more mornings than not -- I have goals no matter how much I pretend I don't. I tried on suit coats (off the rack!) this morning and discovered that I'm six sizes down from where I was, and yet my new-found vanity kept from seriously considering a purchase -- that suit will look a lot better in one more size smaller! Yet, I still haven't had to take a diabetes pill since the night before surgery, and the doctor just told me I needed to eat more salt due to my now too-low blood pressure.
It's just that I never had the goal of walking a marathon and a half.
Monday, April 18, 2011
The Man in the Mirror
Recently I was hanging out at church with a few of my favorite folks. As is often the case in these past few weeks, the conversation somehow turned to my surgery and my current place in recovery. One of the fellows mentioned his own specific current weight. It jarred me. I looked up from what I was doing and noticed for the first time that he and I seem the same height -- and apparently we weigh exactly the same.
He would say he wants to lose a few pounds, but I look at my church friend as entirely a size "normal". If he's normal, maybe I'm "normal". What?! I've never been "normal" with regard to my size (or anything else) -- never. Growing up, Mom hung one of those collages on the wall that held each year's school picture from kindergarten through high school and the visual evidence of my heaviness became noticeable about second grade. For as long as I can remember, I've never been normal.
A good friend of mine had a bariatric surgery many months before I did, and I've leaned heavily upon him for guidance and encouragement. I took him to lunch when I started pondering having the surgery, in part because I wanted to pick his brain, and in part because I wanted to see him eat. That lunch was encouraging in many ways, the least of which was I saw him eat a regular meal like a normal person (he just put half of it in a to-go box nearly immediately!). But he said something I found even more intriguing: to paraphrase, he said his body and his brain were adjusting at two different paces -- and while folks around him might see him as a normal-sized person, he still saw himself in the same old light.
Now I get that. Eleven weeks after surgery, my body is transforming into someone "normal", yet I don't feel normal. This has been exciting and disquieting all at the same time. I've never considered myself anything close to a vain person, yet I never pass a mirror by without staring at my reflection. Yes, I've become our oldest when she was a toddler -- anytime she was cranky, we could place her in front of a mirror and she'd stare at herself seemingly for hours. I look in the mirror and don't yet recognize the man I see. Hopefully someday, my body and brain will catch up with one another.
He would say he wants to lose a few pounds, but I look at my church friend as entirely a size "normal". If he's normal, maybe I'm "normal". What?! I've never been "normal" with regard to my size (or anything else) -- never. Growing up, Mom hung one of those collages on the wall that held each year's school picture from kindergarten through high school and the visual evidence of my heaviness became noticeable about second grade. For as long as I can remember, I've never been normal.
A good friend of mine had a bariatric surgery many months before I did, and I've leaned heavily upon him for guidance and encouragement. I took him to lunch when I started pondering having the surgery, in part because I wanted to pick his brain, and in part because I wanted to see him eat. That lunch was encouraging in many ways, the least of which was I saw him eat a regular meal like a normal person (he just put half of it in a to-go box nearly immediately!). But he said something I found even more intriguing: to paraphrase, he said his body and his brain were adjusting at two different paces -- and while folks around him might see him as a normal-sized person, he still saw himself in the same old light.
Now I get that. Eleven weeks after surgery, my body is transforming into someone "normal", yet I don't feel normal. This has been exciting and disquieting all at the same time. I've never considered myself anything close to a vain person, yet I never pass a mirror by without staring at my reflection. Yes, I've become our oldest when she was a toddler -- anytime she was cranky, we could place her in front of a mirror and she'd stare at herself seemingly for hours. I look in the mirror and don't yet recognize the man I see. Hopefully someday, my body and brain will catch up with one another.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Happy New Year!
Yesterday was my birthday. The day began with dozens of virtual greetings from friends on Facebook, and the girls showering me with presents before everyone headed off to school and work. I actually love that birthdays in our family are largely episodes in practicality: From Molly and the girls I got the wallet I've desperately needed (along with a couple movies I wanted but certainly didn't "need") AND a new Mickey Mouse/baseball antenna ball in honor of my beloved Cardinals' Opening Day. From my mothers I received cash and a gift card. But practicality really won the day when it came to birthday dessert. Instead of birthday cake leftovers remaining (and being eaten) over several days, we dipped bites of banana, strawberries, marshmallow, and pound cake into chocolate fondue. A few bites and I was plenty full, and filled with joy in seeing our girls' happy, messy faces. Here's a clip of Norah with a chocolate-covered marshmallow and the hilarious "Chubby Bunny" routine:
But the real birthday surprise came yesterday before I logged into Facebook or opened presents. Sometime shortly after surgery, I set a series of audacious weight-loss goals of targets I hoped to achieve by my birthday (roughly two months post-op), Annual Conference (four months post-op), and family vacation time (six months post-op). Perhaps calling them goals is a bit of a misnomer; "goals" somehow implies I believe I have full control over the outcome, when in reality there's an awful lot of all the change my body is going through that feels beyond my power. Well, I hopped on the scale Tuesday and I discovered I had met my initial goal! I'm not yet ready to share with the world the specifics, not so much because I'm embarrassed where I started (which, honestly, I am), but because I'm still in-process. Like Kenny Rogers says, you're not supposed to count your money when you're sittin' at the table.... Nevertheless, supposedly I'll lose most of my extra weight within six months of surgery.
Of course, I may have gained it all back today. Today is the first day I have been consistently hungry at predictable times. Unlike too many days in the past few weeks, I ate well (a quarter cup of cereal for breakfast, a few bites of soup for lunch, a smoothie in the afternoon, and an ounce of leftover steak for supper) and kept everything down. Not coincidentally, I've felt more joyous and energetic today since this journey began. I'm hoping that on this, the first day of my 38th year, the proverbial corner has been turned. We shall see. Happy New Year.
Friday, March 25, 2011
Off the Rack
Off-the-rack is defined as "clothing made in standard sizes and readily available from merchandise in stock".
I'll be 38 years old in a few days and never have I been an off-the-rack kind of guy. Ever. Rather, I've always been on the low-end of the big-and-tall section, and a shopping experience for me typically involved choosing between the least unpalatable options.
Tonight, I bought off-the-rack. Wow! I found a sale and figured out my size and there were literally dozens of options! Color choices. Plaid, stripes, or solids aplenty. Polo or button-down. I was overwhelmed ... in a good way.
I don't know exactly how much weight I'll lose, and nor do I have a particular goal in sight. I expect eventually my body will settle into a natural weight, and then begins the real challenge to maintain. But while I'm still losing weight, it doesn't make much sense to buy too much of anything -- where I am today may not be where I am tomorrow. I've dabbled a bit in the Goodwill racks but so far have given a whole lot better than I've gotten. As they say, it's a good problem to have ... but make no mistake, it's still a problem.
I'll be 38 years old in a few days and never have I been an off-the-rack kind of guy. Ever. Rather, I've always been on the low-end of the big-and-tall section, and a shopping experience for me typically involved choosing between the least unpalatable options.
Tonight, I bought off-the-rack. Wow! I found a sale and figured out my size and there were literally dozens of options! Color choices. Plaid, stripes, or solids aplenty. Polo or button-down. I was overwhelmed ... in a good way.
I don't know exactly how much weight I'll lose, and nor do I have a particular goal in sight. I expect eventually my body will settle into a natural weight, and then begins the real challenge to maintain. But while I'm still losing weight, it doesn't make much sense to buy too much of anything -- where I am today may not be where I am tomorrow. I've dabbled a bit in the Goodwill racks but so far have given a whole lot better than I've gotten. As they say, it's a good problem to have ... but make no mistake, it's still a problem.
Monday, March 21, 2011
Second Verse, Same as the First
It's back to the liquid diet again. At least for an indeterminant "few days". That's the plan. At least the plan today. <<insert expletive here>>
This morning I had an esophagogastroduodenoscopy. I prefer to write that simply because I can't pronounce it, and frankly neither could the terrific nurse at the surgery center. But to make the whole consent-signing moment kosher, apparently she had to at least go through the motions. I offered her five bucks to say it a second time, to which she chuckled and reminded me that she was the one with the IV needles. She also gave me the same look my wife often gives me, one that says I'm not as charming as I think I am. So, we'll just call this morning's events an endoscopy, or EGD if you'd prefer.
The procedure was easy and I don't think lasted ten minutes before they started rousing me. My surgeon and I fully expected they'd discover some sort of esophageal stricture that they'd knock out with some dilation. Instead, what they discovered was a more nebulous problem: apparently bile from the small intestine is backing up through the stomach and up the esophagus, caused by the stomach not contracting as it should in digestion. I left with a script for Reglan, which I am to take before each meal and before bedtime, supposedly will facilitate better digestion. In addition to a digestive aid, Reglan is also a treatment for migraines; maybe I'm due for a double benefit. I'll go back to the clinic in six weeks or so to reevaluate, and we'll regroup earlier if need be -- what the docs think today is truly a best guess at the moment.
All in all, I'd call the day frustrating: frustrating that this isn't something that could have been solved while I was under anesthesia ... frustrating that we spent the better part of the afternoon back at the clinic to be only told nothing definitive by the surgeon ... frustrating that the wisest course is to go back onto liquids for several days before slowly reintroducing food once more. The day wasn't a total loss, however, as Molly has the singularly unique ability to make even the crappiest of days a good time -- she has entertained me before by quite literally reading aloud from the phone book and she was a delightful companion today. And, of course, I provided great fodder for her post-anesthesia with my walking and talking like a drunk. She lets me get away with nothing.
This morning I had an esophagogastroduodenoscopy. I prefer to write that simply because I can't pronounce it, and frankly neither could the terrific nurse at the surgery center. But to make the whole consent-signing moment kosher, apparently she had to at least go through the motions. I offered her five bucks to say it a second time, to which she chuckled and reminded me that she was the one with the IV needles. She also gave me the same look my wife often gives me, one that says I'm not as charming as I think I am. So, we'll just call this morning's events an endoscopy, or EGD if you'd prefer.
The procedure was easy and I don't think lasted ten minutes before they started rousing me. My surgeon and I fully expected they'd discover some sort of esophageal stricture that they'd knock out with some dilation. Instead, what they discovered was a more nebulous problem: apparently bile from the small intestine is backing up through the stomach and up the esophagus, caused by the stomach not contracting as it should in digestion. I left with a script for Reglan, which I am to take before each meal and before bedtime, supposedly will facilitate better digestion. In addition to a digestive aid, Reglan is also a treatment for migraines; maybe I'm due for a double benefit. I'll go back to the clinic in six weeks or so to reevaluate, and we'll regroup earlier if need be -- what the docs think today is truly a best guess at the moment.
All in all, I'd call the day frustrating: frustrating that this isn't something that could have been solved while I was under anesthesia ... frustrating that we spent the better part of the afternoon back at the clinic to be only told nothing definitive by the surgeon ... frustrating that the wisest course is to go back onto liquids for several days before slowly reintroducing food once more. The day wasn't a total loss, however, as Molly has the singularly unique ability to make even the crappiest of days a good time -- she has entertained me before by quite literally reading aloud from the phone book and she was a delightful companion today. And, of course, I provided great fodder for her post-anesthesia with my walking and talking like a drunk. She lets me get away with nothing.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Minor Setbacks
I guess it comes as no surprise to say I'd rather just post the good news. And there has been plenty of that. But my intention in blogging has been to document the journey for family and friends, but also for someone who might be on his or her own journey with bariatric surgery. And so, I must be honest.
It's been a tough go of late. I've had two chief complaints -- the first of which being overwhelming fatigue, and which I understand via the excellent clinic nutritionist that is not unusual at this point in the journey. The other complaint has ebbed and flowed -- the general struggle, most days, to keep down what little food has been consumed.
I started struggling with this about the one-month point post-surgery, where the doctor expressed appropriate concern and warned that an endoscopy may be warranted. Perhaps all it took was that gentle threat -- things started getting better. But early last week, the struggles resumed. I spent three days throwing up, and then have had problems intermittently since. My surgery clinic responded very quickly, first sending me to the hospital for an upper-GI, and then a follow-up with the surgeon. While the radiologist determined the test "normal," the surgeon read it and pronounced himself suspicious. His hunch is that my esophagus, post-surgery, is behaving a little like a clogged drain -- there is likely a stricture, one that allows some food to pass through, although not consistently. He is sending me on for an endoscopy, likely involving dilating the esophagus to allow food to pass through. Of all the possible bariatric surgery complications, this is the most common.
So, tomorrow is the day. Molly -- bless her heart -- gets to haul me to the surgery center in the morning where they'll make me snooze and hopefully get to the bottom of whatever is going on. Then we go back and see the surgeon later that afternoon to assess success. I'm hoping by Tuesday I'm a new man, continuing my progression back into normal routines. Stay tuned....
It's been a tough go of late. I've had two chief complaints -- the first of which being overwhelming fatigue, and which I understand via the excellent clinic nutritionist that is not unusual at this point in the journey. The other complaint has ebbed and flowed -- the general struggle, most days, to keep down what little food has been consumed.
I started struggling with this about the one-month point post-surgery, where the doctor expressed appropriate concern and warned that an endoscopy may be warranted. Perhaps all it took was that gentle threat -- things started getting better. But early last week, the struggles resumed. I spent three days throwing up, and then have had problems intermittently since. My surgery clinic responded very quickly, first sending me to the hospital for an upper-GI, and then a follow-up with the surgeon. While the radiologist determined the test "normal," the surgeon read it and pronounced himself suspicious. His hunch is that my esophagus, post-surgery, is behaving a little like a clogged drain -- there is likely a stricture, one that allows some food to pass through, although not consistently. He is sending me on for an endoscopy, likely involving dilating the esophagus to allow food to pass through. Of all the possible bariatric surgery complications, this is the most common.
So, tomorrow is the day. Molly -- bless her heart -- gets to haul me to the surgery center in the morning where they'll make me snooze and hopefully get to the bottom of whatever is going on. Then we go back and see the surgeon later that afternoon to assess success. I'm hoping by Tuesday I'm a new man, continuing my progression back into normal routines. Stay tuned....
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Utterly Random
Lots of random thougths cross my mind each day ... usually the thoughts aren't worthy of a blog post in and of themselves. The jury is still out whether they're worthy of a blog post all lumped together, but let's give it a try.
- It always catches me off guard when folks ask me how much weight I've lost. I say that because I've not ceased to be humbled by the many expressions of genuine care and interest in my life -- it means more than I can adequately express. However, while I don't mind talking about my weight -- and I say this with all possible due respect -- asking about what size pants I wear is a little odd! :)
- A week ago, perhaps in a moment of sheer dilerious longing for spring, I bought a fleece vest. I imagined wearing it on those brisk mornings where an extra layer would be nice, and easy enough to shed in the warmer afternoon. Once upon a time, a 40 degree day would not feel cold to me. Now, I wear the vest indoors all day. It adds a bit of bulk underneath the old winter coat that's far too big, in order to keep the wind from whipping up from underneath. Having been warm-natured my whole life, this sudden change in my internal thermostat may be the oddest discovery to date. I'm grateful for the drawstring of all my way-too-big old flannel pajama pants -- my default wardrobe choice at home.
- Ridding my closet of shirts, slacks, and suits that are far too big to ever consider wearing was more difficult than I ever imagined. I'm grateful Molly and my mother-in-law were able to see around a corner I hadn't -- ridding the closets of summerwear, and from a conversation they had my mother-in-law came up with a plan to transform my short-sleeve Hawaiian shirt collection into a quilt. I'm curious what my new style will become this summer -- because unlike a few leftover long-sleeve shirts I found in the back of the closet from years gone by, I don't own a single work-appropriate short-sleeve shirt that fits.
- Old patterns are tough to break. My whole life, my stomach has deceived my eyes into eating too-big portions. And now, my eyes deceive my stomach: no matter how small the portion I put on my plate, it's too much. You'd think I'd learn, but each time I make the same mistake. On a related note: I'm ready for some creative farmer to figure out how to market half an egg.
- I had surgery six weeks ago. Reality is, I had more energy six days after surgery than I do now. The first week after surgery, I walked 80,000 in six days as part of an employer/health insurance health challenge. That seems insurmountable now. I'm not certain why that is. The nutritionist at the bariatric center says this fatigue isn't unusual, that this is the body's reaction to this "medically-induced starvation". She also says typically surgery patients experience a surge of energy at three months post-op. I'm praying she's right. I can't wait.
- As my body adjusts to carrying less weight, regular visits with the chiropractor have been essential. The chiropractor strongly urges me to consider massage -- something I've never pursued mostly because of my self-consciousness caused by several fatty tumor-like deposits on my back that I've had as long as I can remember. After an adjustment a couple weeks ago, he noticed that all the lypomas are gone! Our best guess is this is an added benefit of the liquid diet-purge of fat stored in the liver. Now all I have to do is compete with Molly for the next splurge on a massage!
- I continue to progress through the reintroduction of food. This next week is the biggest and most varied week so far -- reintroducing chicken, pasta, tomato sauce, bread, raw veggies, beans, rice, and nuts. It's weird what I've missed food-wise and what I have not. My greatest cravings have consistently been for tortilla chips (and queso dip), blueberry muffins, and cucumber -- not necessarily hoping to remedy this craving in the same sitting. Oh, and popcorn. Good grief, I miss ordinary air-popped popcorn. I get it back in a couple weeks. Can't wait.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
From the Wife: The Scone Saga
As Eric has been navigating surgery and life-after, I have been on my own weight-loss journey. For the better part of 7 years, I have been, in one way or another, active with Weight Watchers. I have always appreciated their program and how they go about helping people to lose weight. I think their teachings are solid and I appreciate their support practices. I started with WW after the birth of our first daughter, did well on losing weight- never "achieving goal," but happy with a 30 pound loss of maternity weight. Not long after that success, we moved cities and I didn't plug back into WW immediately -- I thought I could do it on my own. THAT was the moment that the the cycle of up and down began. You know the story -- up a few pounds, down one or two. Up 5 more, down 1 or 2. It just continued to add up. After the birth of our second daughter, I rejoined. After TWO YEARS of being on WW consistently (but sometimes more faithfully than others), I have finally reached WW's big goal of "Lifetime" status. To decode that a bit, I have achieved my goal weight, I have maintained it for 6 weeks, and now, I am a lifetime member who gets the perks of WW without having to pay, as long as I don't go over my goal by more than a couple pounds. Built-in accountability comes in the caveat that I need to continue to weigh-in with WW once a month.
This morning, in anticipation of receiving this award, I decided I would celebrate with a guilty pleasure of mine: a blueberry scone from Kaldi's. I LOVE these things. They melt in my mouth and make me want to kiss the baker. But after receiving my new Lifetime status, I was feeling really good about myself and decided I would "choose wisely" and grab a lower-point Subway breakfast sandwich, which I usually do after weigh-ins. Rather than hitting the Subway by WW, I decided to just stop by the one downtown, close to work. This is where my day turns silly -- as in, "where was candid camera in all of this?".
I just happened to get a rock star parking spot at the corner of Cherry and 9th, so I went ahead and parked rather than park at work and walk the couple blocks. On this particular corner, there is a Subway, a Panera, and my beloved Kaldi's.
But remember... I said no to the scone.
I crossed the street from my car and went to Subway, and they were CLOSED. Apparently, this one doesn’t DO mornings. Rats.
So I crossed to the other corner and go to Panera to get an abeit, less-healthy-but-still-better-than-the-scone, bagel and cream cheese. They were OUT of whole grain bagels for the day. At 8:30am. SERIOUSLY?? Forget this!
I left Panera and I looked to the other corner.
Kaldi’s.
The scone.
That’s right. THE scone.
The very scone I talked myself out of in an effort to be healthy.
I walked in, and yes!, they had the desired and much dreamed-about scone… and damn, if it wasn’t still warm.
AWESOME.
Meant to be? Work of the devil? Who knows. But, WOW... it sure was fine!
I am thrilled to be a Lifetime member of WW, but ever more so that my life, and truly our life as a family, isn't all about what we are allowed or not allowed to eat. It's about how we eat. It's about enjoying the qualities of the food. It's about living with our choices. Eric's freedoms are not as great as mine at the moment, but we look forward to a day when we can both move freely within our comfort-zones of how to truly experience and enjoy food in healthy ways. It IS a life-style. It IS an ongoing challenge. But it is so worth doing.
All that said, I am off to scavenge for those last one or two crumbs that may have escaped from that blessed scone...
This morning, in anticipation of receiving this award, I decided I would celebrate with a guilty pleasure of mine: a blueberry scone from Kaldi's. I LOVE these things. They melt in my mouth and make me want to kiss the baker. But after receiving my new Lifetime status, I was feeling really good about myself and decided I would "choose wisely" and grab a lower-point Subway breakfast sandwich, which I usually do after weigh-ins. Rather than hitting the Subway by WW, I decided to just stop by the one downtown, close to work. This is where my day turns silly -- as in, "where was candid camera in all of this?".
I just happened to get a rock star parking spot at the corner of Cherry and 9th, so I went ahead and parked rather than park at work and walk the couple blocks. On this particular corner, there is a Subway, a Panera, and my beloved Kaldi's.
But remember... I said no to the scone.
I crossed the street from my car and went to Subway, and they were CLOSED. Apparently, this one doesn’t DO mornings. Rats.
So I crossed to the other corner and go to Panera to get an abeit, less-healthy-but-still-better-than-the-scone, bagel and cream cheese. They were OUT of whole grain bagels for the day. At 8:30am. SERIOUSLY?? Forget this!
I left Panera and I looked to the other corner.
Kaldi’s.
The scone.
That’s right. THE scone.
The very scone I talked myself out of in an effort to be healthy.
I walked in, and yes!, they had the desired and much dreamed-about scone… and damn, if it wasn’t still warm.
AWESOME.
Meant to be? Work of the devil? Who knows. But, WOW... it sure was fine!
I am thrilled to be a Lifetime member of WW, but ever more so that my life, and truly our life as a family, isn't all about what we are allowed or not allowed to eat. It's about how we eat. It's about enjoying the qualities of the food. It's about living with our choices. Eric's freedoms are not as great as mine at the moment, but we look forward to a day when we can both move freely within our comfort-zones of how to truly experience and enjoy food in healthy ways. It IS a life-style. It IS an ongoing challenge. But it is so worth doing.
All that said, I am off to scavenge for those last one or two crumbs that may have escaped from that blessed scone...
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Singing a New Song
I'm a pastor. There are lots of other things I was interested in doing vocationally, and perhaps one or two of those things I might have even done well. But for pretty much all of my adult life, when I look in a mirror I see a pastor looking back. The reality of my life is I work Sundays. It took a while for me to discover that Sunday is not my sabbath. Leading worship is work, and -- for me, at least -- I know that I cannot be authentic in what I preach and teach about all of us needing a worship life if I am not constantly discovering avenues for worship for my own soul's contentment. And so, today my soul is fulfilled. Pastoring a church on a college campus has benefits, including opportunities on Tuesday morning to worship among students and staff in Chapel, which affords me the luxury of worshipping without responsibility.
This morning, we sang a new song, or at least one that was unfamiliar to me. I'm not even sure I caught the title. I'm not even sure I consciously was aware of the verse. But as I sang along with the lyrics on the screen, the chorus began to speak to me. Oh, the way you love me ... Oh, the way you call me ... Oh, the way you save me -- I love you. It has stirred in me since. And the extraordinary chaplain, Lucas, has this wondrous audacity to, of all things, preach from Nehemiah. Who does that?! And he did so extraordinarily well, ending his message with the invitation to ponder, "God, will you supply us what we need?". I have been to worship!
It was four weeks ago today that I had surgery. I don't know how Molly feels, but that seems like an eternity ago. For all the reading and researching I've done, the conversations with others who've been down this path I've had, the conversations with doctors and nutritionists I've been a part of, and the processing with Molly every step of the way, I haven't fully felt prepared at any step of this journey. My journey thus far into bariatric surgery has felt a little like growing in faith or falling in love: eventually it ceases to be an academic exercise and requires a leap. Until I jumped off the cliff six weeks ago and began that kooky liquid diet, I never knew I had this inner strength to do what I am doing. My last few weeks testify that, indeed, God will supply what we need.
This morning I stepped on the scales. I only do this first-thing in the morning, in my bathrobe to ensure I'm weighing while consistently wearing the same thing. While this journey got real when the liquid diet began, I regard that initial consultation with the surgeon in October as the beginning of the journey when they took my weight, body measurements, and had me pose for a polaroid. As of this morning, I've lost 50 pounds, all but a few I've lost in the past six weeks. I'm no different than most bariatric patients in that I've done diet programs before and even experienced modest -- although short-lived -- success. This is the most weight I've ever lost and I now weigh less than I ever have in my adult life.
My faith reminds me constantly that I am blessed. Indeed I am. There is no human way I could have done this on my own. Molly has been my rock. Her support, encouragement, and faith in me has been unwavering even when I have been uncertain. Our girls have typified grace in their own beautiful ways -- with compassion and concen and seemingly no distraction from their normal routines, much to my delight. My calling as husband and daddy is the only thing more important than my calling as pastor -- and I give God thanks that God equips me for my role in each. I simply cannot separate my love of them from my love of God -- the hymn of praise to God I sang this morning is the love song I sing to them: Oh, the way you love me ... Oh, the way you call me ... Oh, the way you save me -- I love you.
This morning, we sang a new song, or at least one that was unfamiliar to me. I'm not even sure I caught the title. I'm not even sure I consciously was aware of the verse. But as I sang along with the lyrics on the screen, the chorus began to speak to me. Oh, the way you love me ... Oh, the way you call me ... Oh, the way you save me -- I love you. It has stirred in me since. And the extraordinary chaplain, Lucas, has this wondrous audacity to, of all things, preach from Nehemiah. Who does that?! And he did so extraordinarily well, ending his message with the invitation to ponder, "God, will you supply us what we need?". I have been to worship!
It was four weeks ago today that I had surgery. I don't know how Molly feels, but that seems like an eternity ago. For all the reading and researching I've done, the conversations with others who've been down this path I've had, the conversations with doctors and nutritionists I've been a part of, and the processing with Molly every step of the way, I haven't fully felt prepared at any step of this journey. My journey thus far into bariatric surgery has felt a little like growing in faith or falling in love: eventually it ceases to be an academic exercise and requires a leap. Until I jumped off the cliff six weeks ago and began that kooky liquid diet, I never knew I had this inner strength to do what I am doing. My last few weeks testify that, indeed, God will supply what we need.
This morning I stepped on the scales. I only do this first-thing in the morning, in my bathrobe to ensure I'm weighing while consistently wearing the same thing. While this journey got real when the liquid diet began, I regard that initial consultation with the surgeon in October as the beginning of the journey when they took my weight, body measurements, and had me pose for a polaroid. As of this morning, I've lost 50 pounds, all but a few I've lost in the past six weeks. I'm no different than most bariatric patients in that I've done diet programs before and even experienced modest -- although short-lived -- success. This is the most weight I've ever lost and I now weigh less than I ever have in my adult life.
My faith reminds me constantly that I am blessed. Indeed I am. There is no human way I could have done this on my own. Molly has been my rock. Her support, encouragement, and faith in me has been unwavering even when I have been uncertain. Our girls have typified grace in their own beautiful ways -- with compassion and concen and seemingly no distraction from their normal routines, much to my delight. My calling as husband and daddy is the only thing more important than my calling as pastor -- and I give God thanks that God equips me for my role in each. I simply cannot separate my love of them from my love of God -- the hymn of praise to God I sang this morning is the love song I sing to them: Oh, the way you love me ... Oh, the way you call me ... Oh, the way you save me -- I love you.
Friday, February 25, 2011
More from the Wife: New Realities
Everyday in our house brings a new reality and a new adventure to living. Food re-introduction is not as easy as we had hoped it would be (see previous post), and we often find ourselves reminding each other it has only been 3 weeks since surgery. That said, there are some new realities that we are noticing every day:
1. Eric is cold. Seriously, if you know Eric, you know he is the most hot-natured human around and I am the cold-natured one. As I write this, he is in flannel pants, a sweatshirt, socks, AND slippers. This never happened in our 14 years of marriage prior to surgery, yet happens more and more as the weight melts off.
2. Eric is a cheap date. Since food re-introduction is slow going, about the only thing Eric eats when we are out and about is a baked potato. Most restaurants will serve that for under $3 (Wendy's for $1!). And upon receiving his baked spud, he then has the nerve to only eat half of it. ;)
3. We weren't prepared for the weight that Eric lost to come directly from his fingers and ankles. Within two weeks of surgery, Eric's wedding band was falling off his hand. At this point, he has simply taken it off so he won't lose it (smart man). We'll have to address the long-term remedy to that situation, but not any time in the immediate future. In the meantime, ladies, when you think you see this good-looking guy without a ring, know he is NOT available.
4. You would think that by not having "real food" for over a month, that certain cravings would set in. Cravings for a steak, or a burger or pizza. Yeah, not so much. The one craving I remember Eric mentioning (which is to say there haven't been many), was for cucumber. Seriously?! Yes, seriously.
5. EVERYTHING is different. And maybe that is the reality that is the most surprising. There aren't just one or two pieces of life that are different -- EVERYTHING is. Some of it is challenging, some of it is energizing. While Eric is still too close to the surgery date and too in the muck of recovery to say he is glad he did it, I have heard him say that he feels more like himself. And THAT, my friends, swells this heart of mine beyond measure.
1. Eric is cold. Seriously, if you know Eric, you know he is the most hot-natured human around and I am the cold-natured one. As I write this, he is in flannel pants, a sweatshirt, socks, AND slippers. This never happened in our 14 years of marriage prior to surgery, yet happens more and more as the weight melts off.
2. Eric is a cheap date. Since food re-introduction is slow going, about the only thing Eric eats when we are out and about is a baked potato. Most restaurants will serve that for under $3 (Wendy's for $1!). And upon receiving his baked spud, he then has the nerve to only eat half of it. ;)
3. We weren't prepared for the weight that Eric lost to come directly from his fingers and ankles. Within two weeks of surgery, Eric's wedding band was falling off his hand. At this point, he has simply taken it off so he won't lose it (smart man). We'll have to address the long-term remedy to that situation, but not any time in the immediate future. In the meantime, ladies, when you think you see this good-looking guy without a ring, know he is NOT available.
4. You would think that by not having "real food" for over a month, that certain cravings would set in. Cravings for a steak, or a burger or pizza. Yeah, not so much. The one craving I remember Eric mentioning (which is to say there haven't been many), was for cucumber. Seriously?! Yes, seriously.
5. EVERYTHING is different. And maybe that is the reality that is the most surprising. There aren't just one or two pieces of life that are different -- EVERYTHING is. Some of it is challenging, some of it is energizing. While Eric is still too close to the surgery date and too in the muck of recovery to say he is glad he did it, I have heard him say that he feels more like himself. And THAT, my friends, swells this heart of mine beyond measure.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
The Facts of Life
You take the good, you take the bad
You take them both and there you have
The Facts of Life ... The Facts of Life....
The theme song of that bad old '80s sitcom that I and others of my generation grew up on rattles in my head sometimes, especially recently. In an effort to be true and real, I can't adequately name life at the moment without acknowledging there's good and bad. Guess those are the facts of life.
Monday began a new stage of food reintroduction. This week is all about toast, cheese, fish, crackers, and natural peanut butter. In two days, all that's stayed down has been a few low-fat Wheat Thins with half a wedge of Laughing Cow cheese and a few bites of peanut butter toast. Everything else has been a fail, as in, if it won't go down it'll only sit in your esophagus so long before it comes back up. (Last week's soft food reintroductions went better, although let's just say that mashed potatoes weren't the friend they used to be during other surgery recoveries.) Of course, this isn't altogether unexpected given the trauma of surgery, and the fact that the main internal surgical line for me is right at the point where the esophagus and stomach meet. Yesterday, anything I ate resulted in hellacious hiccups, which only ceased after food reversed course. Today, I ate nothing the first half of the day due to a funeral I was to officiate -- for me, the nightmare scenario is hiccups while trying to eulogize the communion of the saints' newest member. And after tonight, I don't think I'll be dining on tuna fish anytime soon.
The task for me, I'm discovering, is to not let my mind run too far to either extreme. I'm exactly three weeks post-surgery -- far too early to claim a success, but likewise far too early to run for the hills, either. I'm finding it difficult to be gentle with myself -- I become frustrated by my own fatigue (I went back to work late last week). I try to confine my mood swings to home best I can -- though I'm utterly embarrassed by the numerous times my temporarily misplacing random, hardly-important inanimate objects has left me utterly apoplectic. And I'm cold -- all. the. time. If you know me, you know that's the wildest side-effect of all!
And yet, I'm also full of joy. Last week, thanks to my new pedometer, I jumped headlong into the my employer/health insurance HealthMiles challenge to walk 70,000 steps in seven days. I threw my pedometer in my pocket, loaded my Netflix cue on my iPhone app, plugged in my headphones and jumped on our treadmill. I got to 70,000 steps in six days. I couldn't have done that a month ago. And over the weekend I stepped on the scales and discovered, probably for the first time in my life, that I weigh less than my driver's license says I do! Molly was quick to tell me that I couldn't run out right then and re-do my license, but I assured her I wouldn't be waiting another five years before renewal to update. Yes, I am that vain!
Molly's Aunt Jan dropped me a note yesterday and asked how I was feeling. She caught me between bouts of sickness and I replied about what a sucky day it had been. Her response resonated in me. With her permission, I share a bit:
You take them both and there you have
The Facts of Life ... The Facts of Life....
The theme song of that bad old '80s sitcom that I and others of my generation grew up on rattles in my head sometimes, especially recently. In an effort to be true and real, I can't adequately name life at the moment without acknowledging there's good and bad. Guess those are the facts of life.
Monday began a new stage of food reintroduction. This week is all about toast, cheese, fish, crackers, and natural peanut butter. In two days, all that's stayed down has been a few low-fat Wheat Thins with half a wedge of Laughing Cow cheese and a few bites of peanut butter toast. Everything else has been a fail, as in, if it won't go down it'll only sit in your esophagus so long before it comes back up. (Last week's soft food reintroductions went better, although let's just say that mashed potatoes weren't the friend they used to be during other surgery recoveries.) Of course, this isn't altogether unexpected given the trauma of surgery, and the fact that the main internal surgical line for me is right at the point where the esophagus and stomach meet. Yesterday, anything I ate resulted in hellacious hiccups, which only ceased after food reversed course. Today, I ate nothing the first half of the day due to a funeral I was to officiate -- for me, the nightmare scenario is hiccups while trying to eulogize the communion of the saints' newest member. And after tonight, I don't think I'll be dining on tuna fish anytime soon.
The task for me, I'm discovering, is to not let my mind run too far to either extreme. I'm exactly three weeks post-surgery -- far too early to claim a success, but likewise far too early to run for the hills, either. I'm finding it difficult to be gentle with myself -- I become frustrated by my own fatigue (I went back to work late last week). I try to confine my mood swings to home best I can -- though I'm utterly embarrassed by the numerous times my temporarily misplacing random, hardly-important inanimate objects has left me utterly apoplectic. And I'm cold -- all. the. time. If you know me, you know that's the wildest side-effect of all!
And yet, I'm also full of joy. Last week, thanks to my new pedometer, I jumped headlong into the my employer/health insurance HealthMiles challenge to walk 70,000 steps in seven days. I threw my pedometer in my pocket, loaded my Netflix cue on my iPhone app, plugged in my headphones and jumped on our treadmill. I got to 70,000 steps in six days. I couldn't have done that a month ago. And over the weekend I stepped on the scales and discovered, probably for the first time in my life, that I weigh less than my driver's license says I do! Molly was quick to tell me that I couldn't run out right then and re-do my license, but I assured her I wouldn't be waiting another five years before renewal to update. Yes, I am that vain!
Molly's Aunt Jan dropped me a note yesterday and asked how I was feeling. She caught me between bouts of sickness and I replied about what a sucky day it had been. Her response resonated in me. With her permission, I share a bit:
Truth be told, I don't yet know what picture is at the end of this leg of the hike. I very much feel like I'm meeting my new self each day. Ironically, I feel like more of myself instead of less. The journey's only begun, and surely there will be more bad days as well as good ones. Not to sound too cliche, but I guess those are the facts of lifeI know your girls are your inspiration. You are the little train that could. Isn't life one day at a time anyway? Wrapped in long-term planning? You'll go through periods where you redefine "normal." Each "normal" will be better than the last. It's hard to remember as we look at our feet taking each step that at the end of the hike is the prettiest set of falls. What picture is at the end of this leg of the hike?
Monday, February 14, 2011
Four Weeks
The fast started four weeks ago. On Martin Luther King Day, I ate my last meal, and soon thereafter began the liquid diet. This morning I broke the fast with a scrambled egg, cooked for me by my Valentine. A half-dozen or so bites of egg never tasted so good, and a single grind of pepper never had such a kick. This week I can start eating a few soft-solids: eggs, potato (mashed or baked), oatmeal, yogurt, pudding, and chicken noodle soup. The instruction is to blend before eating -- I'm really hopeful my system will tolerate small, well-chewed bites and that I won't have to break out the food processor, but it's on stand-by if need be. I can also have cottage cheese, but I cannot conceive of starting that trend after nearly 38 years of avoiding the stuff.
Surgery was two weeks ago tomorrow. The so-called post-operative "anesthesia-brain," for me, has been a very real thing. In some ways, it's been the hardest adjustment to make. Holding two congruent thoughts simultaneously has been impossible; at times, formulating a coherent sentence has been like dancing through a minefield. It's also been a real challenge to gain strength given the incredibly limited calorie intake that characterizes the liquid diet -- especially given that I was restricted from milk-based protein the week after surgery and subsisted on sugar-free jello, chicken broth, and Gatorade.
Molly insisted, while totally understandable that I hadn't felt up to writing until now, that I at least needed to jot down some notes in the moment. I'm grateful she had that foresight (and for her excellent blog contributions while I was unable to write), as one of my goals for the blog is to archive the journey in hopes it will help someone else.
And finally, I'll update where things stand at the moment. While I'm down 30 pounds in these past four weeks (and 40 pounds overall since the initial surgery consultation last fall), that's not what delights me most: I haven't had a dose of diabetes medication since the day before surgery, and my glucose scores have remained normal. My prayer is with each passing week and as new, healthy foods are reintroduced, diabetes becomes less an impact on my life. I'm told I already look different. I see the difference in weird ways. I have ankles again. When she hugs me, Molly says my shoulders are smaller and I've had to adjust ballcap sizes down. And my fingers don't look like my own. I found my wedding ring in the big bucket of almonds we keep in the pantry -- I can't eat them yet, but I had gotten a handful out for Josie's snack the other day, and discovered that the ring had slipped off. Nothing fits, and that feels great.
Gotta run. I'm hoping to take my Valentine out for a baked potato.
Surgery was two weeks ago tomorrow. The so-called post-operative "anesthesia-brain," for me, has been a very real thing. In some ways, it's been the hardest adjustment to make. Holding two congruent thoughts simultaneously has been impossible; at times, formulating a coherent sentence has been like dancing through a minefield. It's also been a real challenge to gain strength given the incredibly limited calorie intake that characterizes the liquid diet -- especially given that I was restricted from milk-based protein the week after surgery and subsisted on sugar-free jello, chicken broth, and Gatorade.
Molly insisted, while totally understandable that I hadn't felt up to writing until now, that I at least needed to jot down some notes in the moment. I'm grateful she had that foresight (and for her excellent blog contributions while I was unable to write), as one of my goals for the blog is to archive the journey in hopes it will help someone else.
- Monday, January 31 was the mandatory education day at Missouri Bariatric Services. Class lasted five hours and included a primer on post-operative nutrition, immediate post-surgical after-care, exercise necessities, risks, etc. The day ended with a face-to-face with the surgeon to sign consent forms and ensure that he and I were on the same page with regard to surgery the next morning.
- Tuesday, February 1 was surgery day. If this day sounds familiar to you, it's the day the Midwest Blizzard of the Millennium swept across the country leaving two feet of snow in places that often don't receive that much snow in an entire winter. Our early morning began after a mad-dash trip to a nearby hotel the night before. I was never so glad to see my surgeon walk into the holding room and tell me we were a go. He also told me that I was the only elective surgery who hadn't cancelled that day -- my steadfastness impressed him, although his wife was "pissed off" the hospital hadn't cancelled it as a matter of course, even going so far as to call the Operating Room to verify herself! My first memory in the recovery room post-surgery was intense hiccups, long before I experienced pain or even knew my name. I later learned that my diaphragm had been irritated during surgery and I hiccuped throughout. I hiccuped off and on throughout the day and night.
- Wednesday, February 2 was a little like the old.bad movie "Groundhog Day" -- I kept reliving hiccups over and over again. Blessedly I was sprung from a truly awful roommate situation, which improved my disposition greatly, but did nothing for the hiccups. A round of hiccups Wednesday night lasted well over and hour and I became afraid I would pass out from the accompanying belly pain, and I was given a tablet of Thorazine and an instruction to "just get it down somehow". Somehow I did, and quite literally within seconds the hiccups ended. Knock on wood, but I haven't had them since.
- Thursday, February 3 was moving day. One of the trauma team docs (my surgeon barely made it home after my operation and was snowed in the remainder of my stay) came in early that morning and threatened to keep me if I didn't walk, drink, and pee more. Typically, give me a goal and a roadmap and I'll perform. Molly charted my water intake and I walked the length of University Hospital from one of of 5-West to 5-East and back each hour, and by noon I had the doc paged. We were home by 2:00pm, where fourteen inches of snow had been shoveled off our driveway by still-unknown angels and a path hollowed out to the back door. I never received a sweeter gift in my life and no better medicine than our girls' hugs once inside.
And finally, I'll update where things stand at the moment. While I'm down 30 pounds in these past four weeks (and 40 pounds overall since the initial surgery consultation last fall), that's not what delights me most: I haven't had a dose of diabetes medication since the day before surgery, and my glucose scores have remained normal. My prayer is with each passing week and as new, healthy foods are reintroduced, diabetes becomes less an impact on my life. I'm told I already look different. I see the difference in weird ways. I have ankles again. When she hugs me, Molly says my shoulders are smaller and I've had to adjust ballcap sizes down. And my fingers don't look like my own. I found my wedding ring in the big bucket of almonds we keep in the pantry -- I can't eat them yet, but I had gotten a handful out for Josie's snack the other day, and discovered that the ring had slipped off. Nothing fits, and that feels great.
Gotta run. I'm hoping to take my Valentine out for a baked potato.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
From the Wife: Some of the Nitty-Gritty
Eric has been very forth-right with you about his thought processes and some of the realities that were facing him before the surgery. I know he will continue to do this once he is feeling a bit more up to it. Until then, I shall continue to hijack the blog and share some random details that may otherwise get overlooked.
1. The liquid diet - pre and post op - is difficult for many reasons for the person who has to partake of it (Eric can give you the details). For the spouse, it is also difficult. I found myself very aware of the foods I was fixing -- worried about them being too fragrant or too tempting for Eric. When it came to preparing meals, I found that I was in a state of mourning. At the end of the day, Eric and I typically cook supper together and catch up with one another. This didn't happen often while the liquid diet was in effect. I certainly don't blame Eric for not "helping out" - that isn't at all what I am saying. Rather, I mourned the time that we shared together over meal preparations. It did, however, lead me to realize just how much we count on food to be the center of our family rituals. Oh, and another thing about the liquid diet: it makes you stupid. Ditzy. Flaky. On a good day, a person may consume 600 calories on the pre-surgery diet. SIX HUNDRED CALORIES. It is easy to flake out with so little feeding your brain. Eric tried to burn down the house (left a stove-top burner on) and tried to asphyxiate me and our youngest daughter by warming up our car in the garage without putting the garage door up. Thankfully, both of those times, I was not far behind him and kept any harm from being done. The liquid diet is NOT for the faint of heart.
2. I was not ready for how pale Eric was going to look post-operatively. He slept much of the first 24 hours after surgery (except for a recurring case of the hiccups - perhaps Eric will share that story with you.), which I was prepared for, but the lack of color to his complexion is what brought home the severity of the surgery that just took place. Then again, perhaps it was less about him being pale and more about the hospital gown not being in his color palette...
3. Eric had an On-Q ball for pain management. Essentially, On-Q is a catheterized pain med that is placed and feeds directly into the surgical location. If you or someone you love ever has one of these, be thankful -- it works wonders. While on the pain ball, Eric's pain was never above a 3 on a 1-10 scale. Once it was removed, the pain hovered closer to 5 and 6. If you have to remove it at home, like I did, know it isn't as scary as it sounds. I am a complete medical wuss -- if I can do it, anyone can (truth: I had my mother-in-law on alert - her sole purpose other than emotional support was to pick me up if I passed out).
4. Follow all the rules. Follow the pre-surgery rules. Follow the post-surgery rules. The rules are truly there for your health and recovery -- not to make your life difficult. If the rules say walk, then walk. If they say don't eat, then don't eat.
5. Our children are resilient. I knew this before, but was reminded of the reality this past week. Not only did they live through Daddy not eating for two weeks, they lived through a week of Daddy in the hospital during a blizzard -- a time when I couldn't even come home to them because the roads were impassable. They survived a week of craziness filled with snow days, Nana days, and missing Mom and Dad. Upon our return, they were gentle, caring, and adoring of their Daddy. They have held up through this ordeal better than I could have ever imagined.
There are other details to be shared, of this, I am certain. But for now, may this whet your appetite until Eric is back. I promise... I shall limit my hijacking of the blog. I don't promise never to hijack it, just to limit how often I do. I appreciate Eric's kindness to allow me to share my voice in the midst of this deeply personal experience.
1. The liquid diet - pre and post op - is difficult for many reasons for the person who has to partake of it (Eric can give you the details). For the spouse, it is also difficult. I found myself very aware of the foods I was fixing -- worried about them being too fragrant or too tempting for Eric. When it came to preparing meals, I found that I was in a state of mourning. At the end of the day, Eric and I typically cook supper together and catch up with one another. This didn't happen often while the liquid diet was in effect. I certainly don't blame Eric for not "helping out" - that isn't at all what I am saying. Rather, I mourned the time that we shared together over meal preparations. It did, however, lead me to realize just how much we count on food to be the center of our family rituals. Oh, and another thing about the liquid diet: it makes you stupid. Ditzy. Flaky. On a good day, a person may consume 600 calories on the pre-surgery diet. SIX HUNDRED CALORIES. It is easy to flake out with so little feeding your brain. Eric tried to burn down the house (left a stove-top burner on) and tried to asphyxiate me and our youngest daughter by warming up our car in the garage without putting the garage door up. Thankfully, both of those times, I was not far behind him and kept any harm from being done. The liquid diet is NOT for the faint of heart.
2. I was not ready for how pale Eric was going to look post-operatively. He slept much of the first 24 hours after surgery (except for a recurring case of the hiccups - perhaps Eric will share that story with you.), which I was prepared for, but the lack of color to his complexion is what brought home the severity of the surgery that just took place. Then again, perhaps it was less about him being pale and more about the hospital gown not being in his color palette...
3. Eric had an On-Q ball for pain management. Essentially, On-Q is a catheterized pain med that is placed and feeds directly into the surgical location. If you or someone you love ever has one of these, be thankful -- it works wonders. While on the pain ball, Eric's pain was never above a 3 on a 1-10 scale. Once it was removed, the pain hovered closer to 5 and 6. If you have to remove it at home, like I did, know it isn't as scary as it sounds. I am a complete medical wuss -- if I can do it, anyone can (truth: I had my mother-in-law on alert - her sole purpose other than emotional support was to pick me up if I passed out).
4. Follow all the rules. Follow the pre-surgery rules. Follow the post-surgery rules. The rules are truly there for your health and recovery -- not to make your life difficult. If the rules say walk, then walk. If they say don't eat, then don't eat.
5. Our children are resilient. I knew this before, but was reminded of the reality this past week. Not only did they live through Daddy not eating for two weeks, they lived through a week of Daddy in the hospital during a blizzard -- a time when I couldn't even come home to them because the roads were impassable. They survived a week of craziness filled with snow days, Nana days, and missing Mom and Dad. Upon our return, they were gentle, caring, and adoring of their Daddy. They have held up through this ordeal better than I could have ever imagined.
There are other details to be shared, of this, I am certain. But for now, may this whet your appetite until Eric is back. I promise... I shall limit my hijacking of the blog. I don't promise never to hijack it, just to limit how often I do. I appreciate Eric's kindness to allow me to share my voice in the midst of this deeply personal experience.
Monday, February 7, 2011
A Few Words From the Wife
My husband is my hero.
He is my rock. He is my inspiration.
And today, as he continues to recover from gastric sleeve surgery, he is more my hero than ever before.
It has been an interesting several months from my vantage point, dating back to that routine doctor's appointment when Eric came home talking about a growing interest in bariatric surgery. Up to that point, the topic had not been discussed, except for noting friends or colleagues who had had one of the procedures done. When Eric shared with me his desire to meet with a surgeon and "feel out the possibility" of surgery, I knew we were going to be in for a wild ride. Had I known that from that day to when surgery happened would be less than 6 months, I might have held on a bit tighter! (who knew that liquid diets could make a person so... ditzy!?)
From October through January, I watched Eric mentally prepare for this change in life. I watched him as he researched and read the pre and post-surgical data. I listened to him as he shared conversations with others who had had similar procedures done. I stood back and let him find his own way through much of it, while trying my hardest to offer my unwavering and prayerful support for what was ahead. With each step he took toward the decision to have surgery, and with each step he took in preparing for those two weeks prior to surgery, he became more and more my hero. Today, having seen him come through surgery and begin to heal, he is evermore-so the one I admire.
I am a firm believer that times of crisis, challenge, and trauma will often make you more of who you truly are. People who are negative become more negative. People who are positive find strength in their positive-thinking. People who are full of grace and hope will continue to exude those qualities, even in the most difficult of times. As we prepared to live at the hospital for several days due to surgery recovery AND a blizzard that was to (and did!) shut down the town, Eric remained positive. As he was in pain and in a difficult room-mate situation post-op, he was gracious and respectful of the nurses. And as Eric grew stronger, and the days ran longer for the snow-bound hospital staff that were working extra long shifts, Eric was full of smiles and kind words. Through this difficult, painful, uncertain time, Eric has become, well, more Eric.
Eric being Eric is very important to me. I fell in love with Eric 16 years prior to this surgery. I fell in love and have grown deeper in love with this man every day of those 16 years in his pre-surgery state. I joked with him prior to surgery that everything was about to change - the way we hug, the way we spoon, the way we hold hands - it would all change as his body changes. I have heard some stories of personalities that have changed in negative ways post-surgery, as well. Thankfully, those stories seem to be minimal and also tend to illustrate my previous point -- that during times of great challenge and change, we become more truly who we are. Already, I am noticing Eric's body changing. The scale is showing it, his clothes are showing it, and yes, our hugs are hugging different. But different is good because in all of this, "my" Eric from 16 years ago, is still "my" Eric. In his relatively short time post-op, Eric continues to be more himself -- gracious and loving towards our girls, kind and loving towards me, and witty, smart, and faith-filled about life in general.
My husband is my hero. He is courageous as he faces this new reality of health and wellness. He is admirable as he has, with a sound mind, researched the options and made a decision that is right for him. And he is quite simply, "my" Eric - my husband. My friend. My hero.
He is my rock. He is my inspiration.
And today, as he continues to recover from gastric sleeve surgery, he is more my hero than ever before.
It has been an interesting several months from my vantage point, dating back to that routine doctor's appointment when Eric came home talking about a growing interest in bariatric surgery. Up to that point, the topic had not been discussed, except for noting friends or colleagues who had had one of the procedures done. When Eric shared with me his desire to meet with a surgeon and "feel out the possibility" of surgery, I knew we were going to be in for a wild ride. Had I known that from that day to when surgery happened would be less than 6 months, I might have held on a bit tighter! (who knew that liquid diets could make a person so... ditzy!?)
From October through January, I watched Eric mentally prepare for this change in life. I watched him as he researched and read the pre and post-surgical data. I listened to him as he shared conversations with others who had had similar procedures done. I stood back and let him find his own way through much of it, while trying my hardest to offer my unwavering and prayerful support for what was ahead. With each step he took toward the decision to have surgery, and with each step he took in preparing for those two weeks prior to surgery, he became more and more my hero. Today, having seen him come through surgery and begin to heal, he is evermore-so the one I admire.
I am a firm believer that times of crisis, challenge, and trauma will often make you more of who you truly are. People who are negative become more negative. People who are positive find strength in their positive-thinking. People who are full of grace and hope will continue to exude those qualities, even in the most difficult of times. As we prepared to live at the hospital for several days due to surgery recovery AND a blizzard that was to (and did!) shut down the town, Eric remained positive. As he was in pain and in a difficult room-mate situation post-op, he was gracious and respectful of the nurses. And as Eric grew stronger, and the days ran longer for the snow-bound hospital staff that were working extra long shifts, Eric was full of smiles and kind words. Through this difficult, painful, uncertain time, Eric has become, well, more Eric.
Eric being Eric is very important to me. I fell in love with Eric 16 years prior to this surgery. I fell in love and have grown deeper in love with this man every day of those 16 years in his pre-surgery state. I joked with him prior to surgery that everything was about to change - the way we hug, the way we spoon, the way we hold hands - it would all change as his body changes. I have heard some stories of personalities that have changed in negative ways post-surgery, as well. Thankfully, those stories seem to be minimal and also tend to illustrate my previous point -- that during times of great challenge and change, we become more truly who we are. Already, I am noticing Eric's body changing. The scale is showing it, his clothes are showing it, and yes, our hugs are hugging different. But different is good because in all of this, "my" Eric from 16 years ago, is still "my" Eric. In his relatively short time post-op, Eric continues to be more himself -- gracious and loving towards our girls, kind and loving towards me, and witty, smart, and faith-filled about life in general.
My husband is my hero. He is courageous as he faces this new reality of health and wellness. He is admirable as he has, with a sound mind, researched the options and made a decision that is right for him. And he is quite simply, "my" Eric - my husband. My friend. My hero.
Post Script: I know you are all eager to hear from the man himself as he recovers. He will be in touch shortly -- once he is able to knock the "anesthesia brain" back into line. Do know that surgery went very well and that he is recovering nicely. I promise you that it won't be long before he is back to the blogosphere to report on his experience.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Go-Time
When given the option of three different surgery dates in February, February 1st seemed relatively innocuous. February 9 posed a problem because it meant being hospitalized during Josie's birthday; February 16 posed a similar conflict with Norah's birthday. Would that the surgery scheduler and I have known three weeks ago what February 1 will hold!
We're under a blizzard warning. Understand, I'm a life-long Missourian. Blizzard warnings are what happens in the northeast or in the mountains out west or 800 miles north of us. But not Missouri. In fact, the local news reported it's never happened for Missouri in history. Save for the Mississippi or Missouri Rivers getting out of their banks as they've been prone to do, I'm guessing Jim Cantore hasn't spent much time doing live updates on The Weather Channel from Missouri. All this mess of a snow prediction of apocalyptic proportions has played havoc on surgery plans, but I think all systems are go. The girls are safely at home with my mother, who when the final chapter of this saga is written will have earned her merit badge. Work responsibilities have been handed over, and the automatic work email reply has been set up. Fearing the forecast, Molly and I made the drive through some freezing drizzle tonight and are holed up in a hotel a couple miles south of the hospital. When I saw the surgeon this afternoon ever so briefly, he shook my hand and promised to be there at 6am tomorrow if I would be -- and despite the fact that University Hospital Clinics and the University as a whole is closed, I've been told nothing to contradict the our handshake deal. Molly has packed a sleeping bag and pillow and, thanks to the soon-to-be impassable roads, is with me for the long haul.
So, if all goes as planned, tomorrow is go-time. I've survived two weeks of clear-liquid diet and a near-overdose of strawberry sugar free jello. The last substance I ate was some ice cream on Martin Luther King day. The first twenty pounds has fallen off of me, including seven pounds the first day. I should be hospitalized for two or three days at most, and after another couple weeks of liquids will slowly reintroduce foods according to the strict protocol.
Incidentally, Molly has survived quite a lot more than I have, and I don't just mean my flakiness in leaving the stove burner on, forgetting to put the kids' lunch in the oven, or that inadvertant attempt to asphyxiate her by starting her car and promptly lowering the garage. I can't imagine the journey for her thus far has been a picnic, and the days ahead surely no easier. I gave her full veto rights to nix this whole notion of the surgery before it ever got off the ground, but she has never wavered. Of my love for Molly and our girls, words fail me.
Humbling also has been so many expressions of love and care from so many of you. Facebook posts, emails, phone calls, and text messages have touched me more than I can say. I'll post an update in a few days as soon as I feel able. The journey begins now!
We're under a blizzard warning. Understand, I'm a life-long Missourian. Blizzard warnings are what happens in the northeast or in the mountains out west or 800 miles north of us. But not Missouri. In fact, the local news reported it's never happened for Missouri in history. Save for the Mississippi or Missouri Rivers getting out of their banks as they've been prone to do, I'm guessing Jim Cantore hasn't spent much time doing live updates on The Weather Channel from Missouri. All this mess of a snow prediction of apocalyptic proportions has played havoc on surgery plans, but I think all systems are go. The girls are safely at home with my mother, who when the final chapter of this saga is written will have earned her merit badge. Work responsibilities have been handed over, and the automatic work email reply has been set up. Fearing the forecast, Molly and I made the drive through some freezing drizzle tonight and are holed up in a hotel a couple miles south of the hospital. When I saw the surgeon this afternoon ever so briefly, he shook my hand and promised to be there at 6am tomorrow if I would be -- and despite the fact that University Hospital Clinics and the University as a whole is closed, I've been told nothing to contradict the our handshake deal. Molly has packed a sleeping bag and pillow and, thanks to the soon-to-be impassable roads, is with me for the long haul.
So, if all goes as planned, tomorrow is go-time. I've survived two weeks of clear-liquid diet and a near-overdose of strawberry sugar free jello. The last substance I ate was some ice cream on Martin Luther King day. The first twenty pounds has fallen off of me, including seven pounds the first day. I should be hospitalized for two or three days at most, and after another couple weeks of liquids will slowly reintroduce foods according to the strict protocol.
Incidentally, Molly has survived quite a lot more than I have, and I don't just mean my flakiness in leaving the stove burner on, forgetting to put the kids' lunch in the oven, or that inadvertant attempt to asphyxiate her by starting her car and promptly lowering the garage. I can't imagine the journey for her thus far has been a picnic, and the days ahead surely no easier. I gave her full veto rights to nix this whole notion of the surgery before it ever got off the ground, but she has never wavered. Of my love for Molly and our girls, words fail me.
Humbling also has been so many expressions of love and care from so many of you. Facebook posts, emails, phone calls, and text messages have touched me more than I can say. I'll post an update in a few days as soon as I feel able. The journey begins now!
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Day 5 and Still Alive
Somebody at some point will inevitably say to me that having this surgery was the "easy way out". My sincere hope is that I don't punch them in the face. I've been at the clear liquid diet since first-thing Tuesday morning. It's been humbling -- humbling because of how hard this has been, humbling because I know the process will inevitably get harder. I chose this path with my eyes wide open, fully aware that this wasn't a two-week or six-week commitment, but one that will forever change my life. And quite honestly, I pray it does. In my vocational role I have been privileged to counsel countless folks prior to their elective surgeries, and despite myriad differences, one thing remains common to most all of us: we opt for surgery when the negative aspects of the operation pale with the status quo. I am no different.
Truth be told, I've wondered why the two weeks of liquid diet beforehand. Sure, the paperwork and the nurses and the doctor all say the same thing, that the pre-surgical diet is to minimize surgical risk. I suppose that makes sense: the heavier one is the greater the surgical risk, generally. Also, the no-fat diet causes the body to rely upon the fat stored in the liver thereby making the liver smaller at time of surgery. But there's also a part of me that wonders if at least some of the reason for the liquid diet isn't somehow psychological -- make it these two weeks, big guy, and you can surely make it the rest of the way.
So, this is day five of fourteen days of living only on a clear liquid diet and liquid protein supplements. They say to maintain energy and health I must have at least 80mg of protein a day. So far I've been able to keep at that threshold. I get most of my protein from a pre-made drink that GNC sells called Isopure, along with usually one shake I blend a day from powdered whey protein isolate and skim milk. I've also found low-carb SlimFast and sugar-free Carnation Instant Breakfast to be decent (although much more expensive than their standard, forbidden versions). Additionally, I eat a fair bit of sugar-free jello and chicken broth. My greatest luxury includes no-sugar-added fudge bars. Our kids are helping me eat the fudge bars but flatly refuse to get within five feet of the chicken broth for fear that I'll try and feed it to them.
I think I learned what they mean by "water weight". The first day I lost seven pounds, and have lost about a pound each day since. I suppose I could forgo the surgery at that rate and just opt for the liquid diet for the rest of my life, but then I'm sure I really would end up punching someone in the face.
Truth be told, I've wondered why the two weeks of liquid diet beforehand. Sure, the paperwork and the nurses and the doctor all say the same thing, that the pre-surgical diet is to minimize surgical risk. I suppose that makes sense: the heavier one is the greater the surgical risk, generally. Also, the no-fat diet causes the body to rely upon the fat stored in the liver thereby making the liver smaller at time of surgery. But there's also a part of me that wonders if at least some of the reason for the liquid diet isn't somehow psychological -- make it these two weeks, big guy, and you can surely make it the rest of the way.
So, this is day five of fourteen days of living only on a clear liquid diet and liquid protein supplements. They say to maintain energy and health I must have at least 80mg of protein a day. So far I've been able to keep at that threshold. I get most of my protein from a pre-made drink that GNC sells called Isopure, along with usually one shake I blend a day from powdered whey protein isolate and skim milk. I've also found low-carb SlimFast and sugar-free Carnation Instant Breakfast to be decent (although much more expensive than their standard, forbidden versions). Additionally, I eat a fair bit of sugar-free jello and chicken broth. My greatest luxury includes no-sugar-added fudge bars. Our kids are helping me eat the fudge bars but flatly refuse to get within five feet of the chicken broth for fear that I'll try and feed it to them.
I think I learned what they mean by "water weight". The first day I lost seven pounds, and have lost about a pound each day since. I suppose I could forgo the surgery at that rate and just opt for the liquid diet for the rest of my life, but then I'm sure I really would end up punching someone in the face.
Monday, January 17, 2011
The Last Supper
The real fun begins tomorrow. The liquid diet begins. As the funny pharmacy tech engaged me about all this craziness, I had to tell her unfortunately that doesn't mean milkshakes. She told me she was horrified for me, but she was good to suggest that tequila is a clear liquid!
In truth, it's a high protein liquid diet that I'm to follow for these two weeks prior to surgery. No carbonated beverages and nothing with more than 20g total carbohydrates. And no food whatsoever. I spent an hour or so recently at GNC buying Isopure protein drinks and whey protein powder for mixing in milk. I went to the store and bought a variety of boxes of jello and a bunch of sugar-free popsicles and fudge pops. I also found some Muscle Milk light and low-carb SlimFast (I'm guessing regular SlimFast is creme broulee compared to the low-carb stuff!). And I have sugar-free Carnation Instant Breakfast that I'm to mix with skim milk fortified with powdered milk. I'm to do all this because apparently the weight loss caused by the liquid diet lowers surgical risk. I've taken inventory and I'm as ready as I'll ever be.
And so, tonight was the proverbial "last supper". Fittingly, it was a normal night around here. We cooked a flank steak over the weekend and tonight enjoyed the leftovers alongside baked potatoes and a nice salad. I cannot confirm that there might have been a carbonated "grown-up drink" alongside. Much later this evening, a bit of our favorite holiday peppermint ice cream was the last thing I ate, alongside the last diet root beer in the fridge.
Of course, what I ate tonight I'll eventually get to eat again, though I'm sure only a fraction next time. Slowly I'll get to reintroduce food in the weeks post-surgery. But drinking will forever be different. Nothing carbonated, ever. I'll be able to drink tea and coffee again in weeks ahead, but no longer with a straw, and not within 30 minutes either side of eating food. Inasmuch as there was nothing out of the norm about the night, the present and the future couldn't feel any further apart to me -- and tomorrow is the next big step into this wild, new beginning. I don't expect these next two weeks to be a piece of cake (no pun intended). But not to put too fine a point on it, darkness comes after the last supper. And while I don't yet know the whole story, I know the One who does.
In truth, it's a high protein liquid diet that I'm to follow for these two weeks prior to surgery. No carbonated beverages and nothing with more than 20g total carbohydrates. And no food whatsoever. I spent an hour or so recently at GNC buying Isopure protein drinks and whey protein powder for mixing in milk. I went to the store and bought a variety of boxes of jello and a bunch of sugar-free popsicles and fudge pops. I also found some Muscle Milk light and low-carb SlimFast (I'm guessing regular SlimFast is creme broulee compared to the low-carb stuff!). And I have sugar-free Carnation Instant Breakfast that I'm to mix with skim milk fortified with powdered milk. I'm to do all this because apparently the weight loss caused by the liquid diet lowers surgical risk. I've taken inventory and I'm as ready as I'll ever be.
And so, tonight was the proverbial "last supper". Fittingly, it was a normal night around here. We cooked a flank steak over the weekend and tonight enjoyed the leftovers alongside baked potatoes and a nice salad. I cannot confirm that there might have been a carbonated "grown-up drink" alongside. Much later this evening, a bit of our favorite holiday peppermint ice cream was the last thing I ate, alongside the last diet root beer in the fridge.
Of course, what I ate tonight I'll eventually get to eat again, though I'm sure only a fraction next time. Slowly I'll get to reintroduce food in the weeks post-surgery. But drinking will forever be different. Nothing carbonated, ever. I'll be able to drink tea and coffee again in weeks ahead, but no longer with a straw, and not within 30 minutes either side of eating food. Inasmuch as there was nothing out of the norm about the night, the present and the future couldn't feel any further apart to me -- and tomorrow is the next big step into this wild, new beginning. I don't expect these next two weeks to be a piece of cake (no pun intended). But not to put too fine a point on it, darkness comes after the last supper. And while I don't yet know the whole story, I know the One who does.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Well, that didn't take long
If I've learned nothing in the past three months, it's to answer the cell phone even when the screen says "UNKNOWN." It wasn't that I wasn't hoping for the call, it was that I didn't expect it today. It wasn't that I wasn't hoping to be told what I was told, it was that I never imagined what has become.
I have a surgery date. February 1. It was, for me, a "say that out loud" kind of moment. (I personally believe we could advance public discourse light-years if more people spoke out loud to themselves first before they spoke out loud publicly, but if that were true then neither candidate would have spoken at the last Vice-Presidential debate.) I said it out loud again and again, although the surreality never lessened. The issue for me is timeline in which two competing ethics are at play: if we're gonna do this, let's do this sooner rather than later, and yet both of our daughters' birthdays are in February and I find quite unsavory the prospect of being in the hospital on either of their special days, so neither other proposed February surgery date was an option. And yet, from my first phone call as an inquiring patient last fall to this very moment, my interaction with the surgery center has been limited to a doctor's appointment, two blood draws, and numerous phone calls and emails. And as I also learned today, all of my learning about the surgery, the prep, and the aftermath will take place in an eight hour marathon session on January 31 -- the day before surgery.
Understand, this is entirely of my own doing. I signed up for it, and beyond a few wistful "what the hell am I thinking?" thoughts, I have no reservations. But I never imagined the timeline would be this crammed. So, the whole liquid diet thing -- that starts Tuesday. I'm sure I'll have something more to say about that soon, but for now my day off tomorrow includes a trip to GNC to investigate liquid protein supplements. *shudder* And my tomorrow night may include weeping and gnashing of teeth.
And so, in the midst of a busy workday, I burned up the phone lines talking things through with Molly (she and I don't even work in the same area code -- how did we live before unlimited cell-to-cell minutes?), made a half dozen calls to nurses in the bariatric center as well as general practitioner, informed my mother of the sudden clarity of timeline, touched base with a couple of trusted friends who've been down the bariatric surgery path simply seeking assurance that I wasn't crazy to agree to surgery so soon, checked in with my boss (for those who speak my language: the District Superintendent), and secured needed folks to be on-call for me and preach for me while I am away from church duties for surgery recovery. That last part all worked out very, very easily -- astonishingly so -- so I'd like to think God is blessing this whole situation from the start.
The last piece of the puzzle that needed to be placed today was to have a conversation with our oldest, our almost-nine-year-old. Josie is the type of kid who can seemingly adapt to anything so long as she knows about it in advance. We knew she'd need to fret and stew and ask questions, both tonight and in the future. It's fascinating the capacity kids have; she was appropriately curious and concerned and wanted to know what the surgeon was going to do and if any of this was going to affect bedtime "snuggle-time" down the line. And then she wanted to know if I was going to be in the hospital on her birthday.
I have a surgery date. February 1. It was, for me, a "say that out loud" kind of moment. (I personally believe we could advance public discourse light-years if more people spoke out loud to themselves first before they spoke out loud publicly, but if that were true then neither candidate would have spoken at the last Vice-Presidential debate.) I said it out loud again and again, although the surreality never lessened. The issue for me is timeline in which two competing ethics are at play: if we're gonna do this, let's do this sooner rather than later, and yet both of our daughters' birthdays are in February and I find quite unsavory the prospect of being in the hospital on either of their special days, so neither other proposed February surgery date was an option. And yet, from my first phone call as an inquiring patient last fall to this very moment, my interaction with the surgery center has been limited to a doctor's appointment, two blood draws, and numerous phone calls and emails. And as I also learned today, all of my learning about the surgery, the prep, and the aftermath will take place in an eight hour marathon session on January 31 -- the day before surgery.
Understand, this is entirely of my own doing. I signed up for it, and beyond a few wistful "what the hell am I thinking?" thoughts, I have no reservations. But I never imagined the timeline would be this crammed. So, the whole liquid diet thing -- that starts Tuesday. I'm sure I'll have something more to say about that soon, but for now my day off tomorrow includes a trip to GNC to investigate liquid protein supplements. *shudder* And my tomorrow night may include weeping and gnashing of teeth.
And so, in the midst of a busy workday, I burned up the phone lines talking things through with Molly (she and I don't even work in the same area code -- how did we live before unlimited cell-to-cell minutes?), made a half dozen calls to nurses in the bariatric center as well as general practitioner, informed my mother of the sudden clarity of timeline, touched base with a couple of trusted friends who've been down the bariatric surgery path simply seeking assurance that I wasn't crazy to agree to surgery so soon, checked in with my boss (for those who speak my language: the District Superintendent), and secured needed folks to be on-call for me and preach for me while I am away from church duties for surgery recovery. That last part all worked out very, very easily -- astonishingly so -- so I'd like to think God is blessing this whole situation from the start.
The last piece of the puzzle that needed to be placed today was to have a conversation with our oldest, our almost-nine-year-old. Josie is the type of kid who can seemingly adapt to anything so long as she knows about it in advance. We knew she'd need to fret and stew and ask questions, both tonight and in the future. It's fascinating the capacity kids have; she was appropriately curious and concerned and wanted to know what the surgeon was going to do and if any of this was going to affect bedtime "snuggle-time" down the line. And then she wanted to know if I was going to be in the hospital on her birthday.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
A New Beginning
Well, I did it. I’ve made the calls and shared the news with all my folks. I’ve started sharing with colleagues and began planning how to make work work while I am away. More calls, more plans, more arrangements are in store before it can happen. It feels a little surreal. I’m finally at the crossroads and ready to take the plunge into bariatric surgery.
I’ve never thought much about bariatric surgery before. But about 18 months ago I became quite ill — easily the sickest I’ve ever been — headaches, fatigue, and excruciating pain in my lower back and groin. It took months to form a diagnosis of chronic prostatitis, only after an MRI, sleep study, EKG, cardiac stress test, trips to the neurologist and endocrinologist, and blood work — lots and lots and LOTS of blood work. After all those tests the answer seemed quite simple: the prostate was infected (not enlarged), which inhibited testosterone production, which caused then the pituitary gland to underfunction, and thus cause the headaches. Further, the infection spread to my pelvis and created significant pain in my lower back and hips. I’ve discovered first-hand the wisdom of my urologist: prostatitis is an insidious infection, extremely difficult to effectively treat, and has a high likelihood of recurrence. I’ve been on antibiotics more days than not in these past 18 months (Levaquin, Doxycycline, and Bactrim), to only moderate relief. The tipping point came this past fall when my really, really good general practice doctor and I began talking about my health, generally. My weight and type II diabetes weren’t the cause of my infection, but they were certainly factors inhibiting overcoming the infection.
With Molly’s blessing, I made the phone call to Missouri Bariatric Services. I watched their online video and took the virtual quiz and made the appointment with Dr. Richardson. Missouri Bariatric Services require a sleep study and a cardiac stress test — fortunately I’d recently had both. They also require consultation with a psychiatrist, so I made that appointment, too. In November, I began nutritional supplementation, per doctor’s orders. In addition to a quality multivitamin (I currently use GNC’s ”mega-man” formula which includes additional thiamine/B-1), I take 1000mg of calcium, 1000mg of sublingual B-12, and 4000mg of vitamin D. I was off and rolling.
That was the fall of 2010. In the past couple days, the final piece came into play — I’ve been approved by my health insurance carrier for surgery. Say what you want about United HealthCare — and I can say plenty about their runaround and idiotic delay tactics (they wanted five years of clinic notes and weight history — and when they initially only received 4 3/4 years’ worth, they rejected approval and the process had to start from scratch) — when push came to shove they approved the surgery several other carriers won’t cover.
I’ve been approved for gastric sleeve surgery (also called sleeve gastrectomy). Until I met my surgeon, I hadn’t even heard of the surgery. Basically, the stomach is surgically modified — made radically smaller — but doesn’t require re-routing/bypassing or installing a band. In the end, to me gastric sleeve has more appeal over the far more common lap band and gastric bypass. To each his or her own — and for certain I didn’t want to be beholden to occasional adjustments (“fills,” I guess they’re called) as in lap band that I knew my insurance wasn’t going to cover. I could totally have lived with gastric bypass, but the upside of gastric sleeve surgery appealed to me most, especially the nutritional malabsorption issues common to other bariatric surgeries. (I hope to write more in the future about what I learn about gastric sleeve — in the meantime, I found this link especially helpful for its simplicity: http://www.yourbariatricsurgeryguide.com/gastric-sleeve/ .)
At the moment, my file is undergoing final evaluation at Missouri Bariatric Services, and I hope by the end of the week to be told a surgery date. A day of classes at the center awaits sometime soon, as will an appointment with the anesthesiologist. I’m told we’re talking surgery within weeks, not months — so we’ll see.
I’ve never thought much about bariatric surgery before. But about 18 months ago I became quite ill — easily the sickest I’ve ever been — headaches, fatigue, and excruciating pain in my lower back and groin. It took months to form a diagnosis of chronic prostatitis, only after an MRI, sleep study, EKG, cardiac stress test, trips to the neurologist and endocrinologist, and blood work — lots and lots and LOTS of blood work. After all those tests the answer seemed quite simple: the prostate was infected (not enlarged), which inhibited testosterone production, which caused then the pituitary gland to underfunction, and thus cause the headaches. Further, the infection spread to my pelvis and created significant pain in my lower back and hips. I’ve discovered first-hand the wisdom of my urologist: prostatitis is an insidious infection, extremely difficult to effectively treat, and has a high likelihood of recurrence. I’ve been on antibiotics more days than not in these past 18 months (Levaquin, Doxycycline, and Bactrim), to only moderate relief. The tipping point came this past fall when my really, really good general practice doctor and I began talking about my health, generally. My weight and type II diabetes weren’t the cause of my infection, but they were certainly factors inhibiting overcoming the infection.
With Molly’s blessing, I made the phone call to Missouri Bariatric Services. I watched their online video and took the virtual quiz and made the appointment with Dr. Richardson. Missouri Bariatric Services require a sleep study and a cardiac stress test — fortunately I’d recently had both. They also require consultation with a psychiatrist, so I made that appointment, too. In November, I began nutritional supplementation, per doctor’s orders. In addition to a quality multivitamin (I currently use GNC’s ”mega-man” formula which includes additional thiamine/B-1), I take 1000mg of calcium, 1000mg of sublingual B-12, and 4000mg of vitamin D. I was off and rolling.
That was the fall of 2010. In the past couple days, the final piece came into play — I’ve been approved by my health insurance carrier for surgery. Say what you want about United HealthCare — and I can say plenty about their runaround and idiotic delay tactics (they wanted five years of clinic notes and weight history — and when they initially only received 4 3/4 years’ worth, they rejected approval and the process had to start from scratch) — when push came to shove they approved the surgery several other carriers won’t cover.
I’ve been approved for gastric sleeve surgery (also called sleeve gastrectomy). Until I met my surgeon, I hadn’t even heard of the surgery. Basically, the stomach is surgically modified — made radically smaller — but doesn’t require re-routing/bypassing or installing a band. In the end, to me gastric sleeve has more appeal over the far more common lap band and gastric bypass. To each his or her own — and for certain I didn’t want to be beholden to occasional adjustments (“fills,” I guess they’re called) as in lap band that I knew my insurance wasn’t going to cover. I could totally have lived with gastric bypass, but the upside of gastric sleeve surgery appealed to me most, especially the nutritional malabsorption issues common to other bariatric surgeries. (I hope to write more in the future about what I learn about gastric sleeve — in the meantime, I found this link especially helpful for its simplicity: http://www.yourbariatricsurgeryguide.com/gastric-sleeve/ .)
At the moment, my file is undergoing final evaluation at Missouri Bariatric Services, and I hope by the end of the week to be told a surgery date. A day of classes at the center awaits sometime soon, as will an appointment with the anesthesiologist. I’m told we’re talking surgery within weeks, not months — so we’ll see.
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