The Long, Dark Tunnel

Yesterday's article on "Fatbrain" led to some interesting discussions about how major changes in our health can lead to corresponding changes in the character of our lives. Whether the negative effects of a major illness, or the positive effects of recovery from a condition like chronic obesity, the wellness of our bodies has a direct relationship to who we are as people.

I probably have a better understanding of this phenomenon than most. 12 years ago, I developed adult-onset epilepsy. This led to some immediate physical changes, of course: seizures, diminished mental function, and the steep decline into my struggles with obesity, to name a few. But it also led to some very significant changes in who I was as a person. Where previously I was outgoing, I became quiet and reserved. I used to be a performer - a musician, in fact. Post epilepsy I lost all my creative impulse. I used to be fairly confident (some might even say arrogant) about my intellect. Spending years not being able to complete a coherent sentence cured me of that as well. The person that I was before my illness developed was entirely different - my entire personality shifted.

I have recently been able to experience the opposite side of that coin, as the results of my bariatric surgery continue to take hold. This time last year I spent probably 10 or more hours a day in front of my PC. Today that number is closer to 2 or 3 hours a day on average. I had no creative outlet for a very long time - today I am writing on a daily basis. Where I used to never leave the house, I now have a calendar filled with at least one social gathering every single week. Then, I did not exercise: now, I do not drive to any destination within two miles. Another sea change is taking place, once again changing not only my health, by but character - my identity, if you will.

I described the phenomenon to Lor as feeling like I am riding a train: 12 years ago, I entered a railway tunnel as a certain person. I was a musician, an IT guru, divorced, healthy, and financially well-off. Then the lights went out.

Twelve years later, I am no longer any of the things that I was when I entered. The person I will see when the metaphorical lights come back on will be a stranger to me, an entirely new person that I will have to get to know like I would any other new acquaintance. Sure, there is a little fear about this developing relationship. But I think I am more excited about its potential.

In short, the thing I am choosing to focus upon is not that I have been in the tunnel for so long. It is the fact that I can finally see a light at the end of it. And from what I can see as the lights get brighter, I think I already like this person better than the one I left behind all those years and miles of darkness ago.

Not All Change Is Bad,

- Hawkwind

Clothing: The Struggle Is Real

The ever-shrinking wardrobe problem continues: on a daily basis, Lor and I keep getting rid of clothing and not replacing the donated items. Finally, in desperation, we went shopping for clothes yesterday.

And left the store without a single item of clothing.

Here's how it went down: we had a small clothing budget, so we decided to diligently look through sale and clearance price items only. Lor was immediately faced with a supply problem: it seemed the only sizes available were Small and below, or XXL and above. After finally finding a couple of items that might work, she tried them on. Both were rejected and placed back on the racks.

My problem was a little different. I found a few items that would probably have worked, but they were either too expensive ($20+), or too hideous. Camo-pattern jeggings? Not in my closet.

I finally decided to just grab some sweats and call it a day. I found some lightweight sweatpants I could use for exercise going for only $6. And immediately met resistance from Lor, of all places.

Lor: "Those sweats are too small."

Me: "Too small? They are size Large! I am wearing baggy XLs right this second!"

Lor: "The ones you are wearing right now are old, and stretched, and have been worn more than once. The Large ones are too small."

I would've argued the case, but the Regrettable Haircut Incident was still fresh in my mind. Lor tends to be right, I tend to be wrong. It's a thing. So, I put the sweats back on the shelf, and we left the store.

Why didn't I just get a set of XLs, you ask?

Because buying an XL felt like a failure. It made me feel like I must still be "fat". (Word used on purpose, with all negative connotations accepted.) Even thinking about it now makes me feel like I am moving backward.

It is an astonishingly silly way to feel, I know. But I am still looking at my body and focusing on flaws. My previously beach-ball sized tummy has shrunk to about the size of a volleyball, but it is still there. Previously solid muscle still wobbles. And my hair loss...well, you all know what happened there.

After all I have been through, I am still focused on failure, and paying scant attention to progress.

I am not sure how to beat this, in all honesty. I have a very real fear at this point that I will get all the way down to my goal weight, look in the mirror, and think that it was a wasted effort. I simply can't shake my mental identity of obesity yet.

And meanwhile, thanks to the ongoing clothing drama, there is a very real threat that I will show up to Thanksgiving dinner next week naked. 

Now THAT ought to put a damper on everyone's appetite.

Combating Obesity Through Nudity,

- Hawkwind

Neither Hide Nor Hair

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Though the benefits of our surgeries have been awesome, there is no denying that bariatric surgery comes with a few, shall we call them, negative effects.  And, since we are all humans being, we tend to spend a LOT of time discussing those effects. Remaining positive does not seem to be built into the human consciousness for some reason.

Now, the #1 topic for freaking out about post-surgery, by a large margin, would have to be the infamous "OMG I'VE STOPPED LOSING WEIGHT WHAT DO I DO????" But, beyond that particular issue, there is a host of others we tend to bitch about. Dumping syndrome. Dehydration. Exercise. Lack of family support. Malnutrition. And...hair loss.

Really? Hair loss?

Though temporarily losing your hair may not seem significant to most, it is actually a serious topic, tying into things like nutritional health, self-esteem, and post-surgery relationships. The combination of surgical trauma, greatly reduced protein intake, and (in some cases) vitamin deficiency can lead to serious and heavy hair loss. Though your surgeons and nutritionists will try to reassure you that all will be set right within a year (or so) of surgery, the focus remains throughout the community on what can be done to reduce hair loss, how best to disguise what is happening, what headgear is currently in season...

Oh, excuse me. You thought I was talking about my hair loss, didn't you? Yeah, no - not so much. I have been losing my hair since 2004 or so, with the hairline receding and a thinning spot expanding on the crown of my head. Whenever the two areas meet, I will simply shave it all off. No big deal.

No, the real issue here is Lor's hair loss.

For a couple of weeks now, she has been mentioning it. She has always had long and beautiful hair, and now it is starting to leave her. She is diligently removing clumps of hair from the drain after every shower. Biotin got quietly added to our daily vitamin regimen. And now, even I am starting to find long, auburn strands of hair in random places around the house. We are quickly approaching a crisis. Despite my encouragement and visual evidence to the contrary, she is positive that she looks half-bald. And, of course, she is convinced that she will be the one bariatric patient whose hair never returns after the body gets used to its new protein intake.

So, Lor has come up with a plan: she is going to cut her hair. Like, waaayy short. In the 30-odd years I have known her, Lor has never had hair shorter than shoulder length - frequently even longer. To offset her current hair loss, she has selected an extremely short "pixie" cut. Knowing that she has always loved her hair length, I must admit to some misgivings about this operation, but the appointment is on the books for Friday, and we are going to proceed. I can only cross my fingers and hope for the best.

She keeps asking me if I will like her "better" with short hair, but the fact of the matter is that I would find her exceptionally attractive even if she shaved her head entirely and went with the "Britney Spears circa 2007" look. So, no, I won't like her better, per se. I will like her just as much as I always have. And I get the impression that this is NOT the answer she is hoping for from me. 

The pixie cut approaches - only time will tell if it will be a rousing success, or if she will ask why I didn't talk her out of it.

A post-bariatric patient's lot is not always a happy one.

A Pair Of Scissors This Way Comes,

- Hawkwind

I Have Been Measured...And Found Wanting

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We're a week into our new resistance band exercise regimen, and someone who shall remain nameless came up with the idea that we should start logging our body measurements.The idea was pretty simple: The scale is not a reliable source of information about our weight loss. But physiological changes will be taking place whether or not the scale moves, right? So why not start tracking that info?

It seemed like a valid idea, and it probably is, but taken as a whole the first set of measurements didn't do anything but make me depressed. Since the baseline is being set now, I have no idea what kind of progress has been made over the last 4 months. Mainly what I have demonstrated to myself is that I have got so far to go that it isn't even funny.

Take my waistline, for example. I clocked in at 47 inches. 47!! I have been shopping for 48-inch waistline clothing in FatLandia for as long as I can remember, so apparently I have managed only a single inch of loss in 4 months. Well, yes, I can now get into 46-inch pants, but only because my beach-ball belly has deflated a bit, and slid further down my abdomen.

My chest was close to what it used to be - 47 1/2 inches. Back when I was attending a gym regularly I used to clock in at a 48-inch chest. The difference is that then I had pecs - today I have breasts. They are not the size that would excite the typical teenage boy, but I really could get away with wearing a bra. After some of my more strenuous workouts, I actually kind of wish I had put one on before I left the house.

But the really depressing numbers were my arms: a measly 12.5 and 13 inches. Back in the day, I had 17-inch biceps. Mind you, this was back when I was doing things like 235-pound bench presses as part of my normal workout routine. Were I to try to bench 235 today I would likely drop the barbell and cut my own head off. I have had big plans for years for a 3/4 sleeve tattooed on my left arm, centered around a scene on a beach. I can't fit a beach scene on this arm. Maybe a single palm tree. As long as it is a skinny palm tree, anyway.

Now, yes, a certain amount of this is nothing more than "The older I get, the better I was." But mainly it is disgust at how far I have let myself slip over the years. I don't think of myself as terribly vain, at least not about my appearance. So it was really surprising to me how strong of an emotional reaction I had to these numbers. It was as if every negative thing I have ever said about the way I look was being documented in black and white - the opinions of those who have tried to encourage me over the years being proved wrong once and for all. See? I have proof.

A month, or 6 months, or maybe a year from now, these numbers will demonstrate something about how far I have come at that point. For now, they've just bummed me out.

Avoiding All Reflective Surfaces,

- Hawkwind

Bloated Zombie

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Have you ever had one of those "lucid moments"? Where you look through all the chaos and distortion of perception for one second, and see things how they really are? I had one yesterday, and it was really unsettling.

We were up North, visiting my in-laws, and I was placed on a tech-support task that had been waiting for me to come visit. (We need to visit more often.) While on hold with a tech rep talking about their balky modem, I kept walking back and forth in front of a pair of mirrors - on one wall was a mirror on top of a dresser, on the wall to its right was a full-length mirror. Now, for a very long time, I have avoided looking at full-length mirrors - I tend to subconsciously avert my gaze whenever I am around them. But something (maybe boredom, I was on hold) made me look. It was pretty startling.

Directly in front of me was the scarred face and broad shoulders that I glance at every morning when brushing my hair. To my right, in the full-length mirror, was that profile glued on top of a sagging chest, a hugely expanded waistline, and an ass that looked like a beanbag chair. I was suddenly startled - Is this really what people see when they look at me?

I have seen pictures of myself (though I try to avoid those as well), but seeing this in the moment was somehow different. I felt like someone had taken my face and put it on a bloated, decomposing zombie body from a video game. I can look at the photo of myself from our hike a few weeks ago and think "I don't want to look like that." Somehow, yesterday, seeing it in shifting perspective made it real to me: I do look like that. Like, all the time.

I admit that I am now dreading my weekly check-in with the scale later today. We had a LOUSY week last week, what with car accidents, and insurance adjusters, and not having enough to buy a car (then finding enough) and whatnot, and our eating reflected it. We'll get back on that horse this week, of course, but I know the numbers aren't going to be good for today. I am just now suddenly understanding why all the friends and loved ones who I thought were going to be surprised when I told them about gastric surgery instead nodded their heads and said: "Of course you're going to do that." Like they had all been waiting for me to arrive at this conclusion for quite a while. A bit sobering, being the last one to the "self-realization" party.

Avoiding Mirrors For REAL Now,

- Hawkwind