Tactical Errors

It was one year ago today.  The rest of mid-Missouri was bracing for the mother of all snowstorms, and Molly and I, having gotten ourselves to a nearby hotel the night before for a fitful night's sleep, found our way to the hospital before the blizzard began.  Mine was supposedly the only elective surgery that took place at University Hospital that day, a fact I was proud to claim for it aptly describes my determination to move forward into healing and recovery mode.  My goals then were to have surgery, begin recovery, lose weight and improve my overall health, and get on with all the joys of life I felt I had been missing.

And I am proud -- enormously proud -- that I've accomplished more physically than I ever dreamed.  Here's what I weighed this morning when I stepped on the scale:

Depending upon when you start the meter, I've lost about 115 pounds, all but the last twenty or so in the first six months.  My BMI is below 25 -- in other words, for the first time in my life I am not clinically overweight -- and I causes me a pride and celebration beyond description.  I've gone from a size 46 waist in jeans to a size 34.  The last suit I carted off to Goodwill was a 54 inch chest, and the overcoat I had to buy at Christmas is a size 42.  Every trip to the men's department store section causes me utter disorientation -- there are suites of dressing rooms larger than the space Penney's and Dillard's sets aside for their 2x and 3x racks of shirts.  Once relegated to the margins where the big-and-tall shop, the freedom to shop any size large off-the-rack in any men's section is something I haven't begun to adjust to. I never thought I would admit it, but the old way was easier.

That's right.  I said it.  The old way was easier.  And I don't just mean shopping for shirts.

That admission comes with an apology to any and all of my loved ones who once regularly read my blog.  Early on, I promised you that I would write about the good and the bad, aspiring to share my truth with anyone who was pondering bariatric surgery.  But I haven't written much in these past several months.  I'm not sure why.  I've just been going through the motions in lots of ways.  Only now I realize I've been more than a little lost, stressed quite a lot more than I'd like to admit by forces both within and beyond my control, and unwittingly withdrawing into my own shell.  Bariatric surgery will change your body and hopefully your overall health profile and can undeniably improve quality of life in innumerable ways -- and it has done so for me and I am beyond grateful.  But I realize I made a HUGE tactical error in thinking that the first year of bariatric surgery recovery is ALL about physical recovery. 

That's where I am today.  I realize that to this point, this has been a journey of the body.  I long for it to become a journey of my soul.  There must be a million books about the physical recovery from bariatric surgery, and they have their place.  Yet sadly, I have yet to find any bariatric recovery books that deal with the emotional and spiritual discovery for the patient, let alone for the patient's loved ones.  Despite feeling so very lost sometimes, I know how blessed I am.  Those of you who know my circumstances intimately know I am bathed in more loving support at home than I deserve.  Molly and both our girls (who blessedly see their Dad as they always have -- as Daddy) embody God's grace more to me every single day.  I am crazy-in-love with all three of them, and I want nothing more than to be for them the whole soul God created me to be.

Catching Up

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.