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.

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.

Every day it gets better, a little easier, and more familiar.  I can't wait for summertime fresh foods and opportunities to be more active.  While I have no particular ultimate destination in mind nor a timeline of when I expect to get there, I have reason to hope I will have lost most of my excess weight by the end of the summer.  No, this hasn't stopped feeling surreal.

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. 

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.