Looking back at 2016

313,000 words typed this year. Dang. That is quite a few. Like, if those words were put into novels, I would have written a trilogy. In one year. And I used to wonder how Robert Parker managed his output of books...

Seriously, though, 2016 was the year when I finally decided I had something important enough to talk about on a regular basis. In the past, I have written about Epilepsy - which is important to only a very small segment of the world, though I wish it was important to more people. I've written about gaming, which is important to me, but not necessarily the majority of the planet. But, this year, I finally discovered something that was important to me and a good percentage of the world: obesity, and the life-altering methods that can be required to combat it. 

Despite my terrifically bad memory, I can distinctly remember stepping on my scale in February and seeing the numbers "302" appear on the readout. I felt like my heart would stop beating. I don't know why it was that I was willing to previously put up with scale numbers like 280 or even 290. But cresting that 300-pound plateau was just too much for me. I could barely walk down the street and back (2 tenths of a mile) thanks to my blown knee. I couldn't empty groceries out of the car without gasping for air for minutes afterward. The combination of my weight and my seizures was so overwhelming that we finally had to give up being foster parents, since it was not fair to expect my wife to be raising kids by herself as well as caring for me full-time. My life revolved around my shattered dreams of being a parent and a musician, my sexless marriage, and waiting for the next batch of seizures to arrive.

And, of course, food. LOTS of that.

300 pounds is what it took to get me to accept that I had a problem that I was not going to be able to fix on my own, despite years of trying to do so. After abusing my body for 20 years I gave up my belief that it was all somehow temporary and that I could change any time I wanted to. I needed help from an outside agency - drastic, dramatic help that was going to involve radically changing my physiology, and altering my life not for a few days or weeks, but for the rest of my life. Bariatric surgery from Dr. Tyner, and the unflagging support of my loved ones, provided me with the tools I needed to finally make those difficult choices and changes.

And, so far, it is working. I can walk 5 kilometers without falling to pieces afterward. I go to the gym almost every day. I have a social life again. I have a sex life again. My increased health even seems to have had a positive effect on my seizure activity. A year ago, I was sitting around the house waiting to die. Today, I am constantly in motion, and planning for 5, 10, and even 20 years down the road. Obesity was killing me, and I have now sprung back to life.

And, in the place of being passionate about food, I have discovered new passions. I was able to get a quill and inkpot tattoo back in April to celebrate becoming a published, professional writer. I am halfway through writing my first novel. I have begun work on not one but two non-fiction books. I even went so far as to buy a house, fully expecting to be around when it is paid off in my 70s.

97 pounds lighter and 300,000 words later, I am still discovering new things I want to experience.

Thanks For Joining Me On My Journey,

- Jeremy

Wardrobe Malfunction

(Remote Posting Means No Pretty Pictures Today. Imagine Fluffy Kittens or something.)

It was something we were warned about, but I didn't pay a whole lot of attention to. Clothing, that is. All around the bariatric community, there are tips on clothing sales, recommendations for thrift stores, even clothing exchanges - but what the heck did I care about such things? I had a closet full of t-shirts, and a drawer full of "goal" clothes that had been picked up for me by my mother-in-law at garage sales over the years. Surely, I was covered, right?

The first rumbling of potential crisis happened when we met my parents to buy Lor's bike. My mother mentioned that my Dad hadn't recognized me at first, which filled me with pride and accomplishment. Then I was deflated by Mom's next comment - "And that shirt! It looks like a tent on you!"

Meant as a sincere compliment, this dismissal of my favorite t-shirt warned me that trouble was on the horizon. Lor has been telling me for weeks that my existing wardrobe is getting a little too large even for fashion-unconscious me. Later on, at home, I pulled another favorite shirt off a hanger and put it on in front of a mirror. I was startled and depressed to notice it now hit me right above the knees. I looked like I was trying to wear a miniskirt. Clearly, it was time for the wardrobe intervention that Lor had been hinting at.

An hour's worth of trying on clothes later, I was completely disheartened. Fully half my shirts no longer fit me "well". I could hang on to them and accept the "tent" look for now, but I was going to have to start cycling them out. I now had exactly 4 t-shirts that were sized correctly. Dress shirts and sweaters and the like? Not a single one fits me right any longer.

But the really depressing part was the drawer where I keep my jeans. I knew my beloved carpenter jeans would no longer work, because they were 48-inch waistlines. I had cleverly hidden a few 44-inch pants in the bottom of the drawers, planning against today, when I could proudly pull them out and show them to Lor, demonstrating my genius and foresight.

But not a single one of them fit, either. I had missed my window. These brand new jeans I had been waiting to wear for years would have to be worn by someone else - they literally slid right off my hips and onto the floor. I tried on every pair of pants I owned, creating a "donate" pile, and anticipating that I would replace the ones that fit into my drawer.

That drawer now stands completely empty, by the way.

Thank goodness it is summer and I can still wear shorts. We went to the local (bariatric group recommeded) thrift store and were able to find a few pairs of 40-inch waistline shorts. (Bafflingly, 40-inch pants did not fit, but shorts did.) The fact that I was now within 2 inches of my decades-long goal of a 38-inch waistline was not as nearly as exciting as it should have been - it was more than offset by the fact that I was having to go clothes shopping - and I knew that, within a few weeks, I was going to have to do it again. I was not buying these clothes, really. Just sort of renting them.

Thanks to my LootCrate subscription, I can count on one new geek-themed shirt a month, but I can only wear a shirt so many times in a month before it develops holes. The same vanity that used to force me to only wear sweats rather than buy 50-inch waistline pants is now operating in reverse - I refuse to buy sweats to wear instead of shorts or jeans. What is the point of losing weight just so I can wear nothing but track pants?

Or shirts that fit like tents for that matter?

Cursing The Day I Became Fashion-Aware,

- Hawkwind

Independence Day

Photo Credit: vpickering via Compfight cc

Happy Independence Day to all my U.S. readers!

We are today at the 240th anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence. The whole "anniversary" concept has me thinking this morning, about the timeline we have been experiencing as we move up to (and in Lor's case through) bariatric surgery and the lifestyle changes that go along with it. I am left to kind of scratch my head and wonder: where are my anniversaries going to be?

Will I celebrate next January 11, the anniversary of the day where I stepped on a scale and saw 302 pounds displayed? The actual "moment of clarity" where I realized that I was no longer in control of my own weight and my own life, and needed to do something about it?

Or maybe, instead, I should note February 28 - the day of Lor's first Bariatrics appointment. Though my own appointment with the bariatrics team at  ABQ Health Partners was not to arrive until March 3rd, the day that Lor went in to meet with her surgeon and decided to move forward with surgery is the day that this process really got started - where we made the team commitment that, whether or not we were both approved for surgery, we would both go through the lifestyle changes together.

Another possible "independence day" anniversary would be June 1 - the day Lor started her liquid diet phase. Her preparation for surgery had a very profound impact on my own diet and lifestyle as well. It represented, for both of us, the day our old lives ended and our new relationships with food began. 

Or, I could just go with the old standard, and choose my upcoming surgery date as my "new me" anniversary date. On the 25th of July, for every year from here forward, I can look back at the hideous self-portraits I keep on my phone and be reminded of what I do not ever want to return to. 3 weeks from today (not that I am counting) I pass the Rubicon - the point past which there is no return.

So many transition points to reflect on and the year is only half over. I am also looking forward to dates like:

• My first sub 250-pound weigh-in.
• The first day I can fit into a 38-inch waistline.
• The day I can bench press 145 pounds again.
• My first Christmas with both sides of the family after our surgeries.

And so on. Man, I could be giving myself anniversary presents for all of next year.

Enjoy your holiday!

Looking Forward To Personal Fireworks,

- Hawkwind

The Last Stand of Carbohydrates

Photo Credit: tik_tok via Compfight cc

We spoke earlier this week about our unscheduled trip to the grocery store due to poor dietary planning on my part. But, what was coming down the pike for today was an even bigger trauma - today is the last "real" trip we will be making to the store. Like, ever. The ultimate food funeral is about to commence.

In 10 days, everything changes. Lor enters her pre-surgical liquid diet, and I pass into my "baked chicken and steamed vegetables" phase. (Unlike some members of the household, I have no problem eating the same thing every day.) While Lor is dealing with the low energy and food cravings of the all-protein-shakes-all-the-time-diet, I am showing solidarity by making sure I don't eat anything Lor would find amazingly tempting.

It's either that or eat in the garage.

Accordingly, Lor is working diligently over our meal planning for the upcoming week, making sure that she inserts healthier versions of our previously favorite meals into the menu. It is still critically important that we maintain the < 45 grams of carbs per meal cutoff, so we don't end up sabotaging ourselves in the process. Weight gain before surgery is a no-no, But, we are still going to be performing one last week-long food funeral, albeit a low-carb one.

It is simultaneously exciting and depressing - never again will I eat sausage lasagna, but I also am able to bend over and touch my toes for the first time in about 20 years. I will never enjoy a few beers again, but I will be able to shop at stores without a "big and tall" section. In life, we make choices. Bad choices got me to obesity, good choices will hopefully return me to a healthier life. It is as simple (and as complex) as that.

In the meantime, we're off to the store for our final week of not protein-centric grocery shopping, One last blaze of glory before life turns into all protein shakes and yogurt, all the time. Everyone have an awesome weekend, and we will catch you all here on Monday.

Regretting That There Is No Such Thing As A Low-Carb Chocolate Cream Pie,

- Hawkwind