The 3-Letter Word

The word we will be addressing today is a versatile one. It is used on playgrounds and in comedy clubs to get an immediate emotional reaction, whether laughter or tears. Dieticians and nutritionists argue its value or worthlessness. It is further broken down into "good" and "bad" versions.  Its presence is lauded in certain cuts of meat and denigrated in the human form.

The word I am referring to, of course, is "fat".

So, what the heck IS fat, anyway? I mean, like, scientifically?

Despite what many trainers and late-night infomercials would like you to believe, fat is NOT actually a poison, out to wreck your health and your life. It is actually one of the three "macronutrients" that your body needs to survive (the other two being carbohydrates and protein.) Did you follow that? Needs to survive. Your body is specifically designed to run on a fuel mixture that includes fat.

So, why no love for fat as a concept, then? Mainly because of what fat is designed to do - act as an alternative energy source for our bodies during periods where we can't get enough carbs or protein. When we were wandering from place to place looking for our next meal of carrion and berries or whatever, this was a good thing - the body's fat reserves kept us going until we found our next source of balanced nutrition.

Nowadays, the nearest source of nutrition is the refrigerator. But no one has told the regulator in our brains that we probably don't need to be storing quite as much fat to make it between meals. Add that to our tendency to overeat and under-exercise, and you have our sudden upswing in obesity, heart problems, high blood pressure, and the like.

Not to mention "fat kid" jokes.

The use of the term "fat" as an insult has reached epic proportions these days. Even I tend to use it on these pages in a negative manner, usually referring to myself. But, the fact of the matter is, the body is doing what is was designed to do: store fuel for use later, as an alternative power source. The fact that our society has turned "rail-thin" into the only desirable body standard means that our biological processes are working against our self-image. It is an ugly, ugly situation.

So, what can we do? Start calling things by their proper names, to start with. "Fat" is not a description - it is a nutrient. Obesity, the storage of unhealthy amounts of fat on the human body, is a medical condition, not a source of material for your stand-up routine. Try making fun of people with breast cancer or stroke victims and see how well that does with your target audience. Obesity is the same thing - an illness, a malfunctioning of the body's natural processes.

For my part, I will endeavor to do the same thing - stop using the term "fat" to refer to myself or my condition. Change begins with ourselves, right? For everyone else, do what you can to set the record straight. Encourage those you know who are suffering from obesity to get help. Refuse to engage in banter abut the personal appearance of others. Teach your children that "fat" is not something that others should be shamed for. We should all do what we can, to convert the 3-letter word back to its appropriate usage, and away from the misleading and abusive form that is has taken. Only when we can take control of the concept again can we begin to re-define the issue.

Self-Correcting Behavior Is Hard,

- Hawkwind

Leaving the Tribe

I spent some time over the last couple days looking at the Obesity Action Coalition, and listening to podcasts by a couple of their members. Something, I am not sure what, set off the "advocacy" switch in my brain recently, and, just like I did with the Epilepsy Foundation, I am wanting to get myself plugged into the larger world of community and political activity around another issue I am personally invested in.

Here's the thing, though: I feel kind of weird getting involved with the OAC, or any other obesity advocacy group right now. Why? Because I am getting ready to have a surgical procedure to begin correcting the condition in a few short weeks. It is as if I was joining La Raza right before I had a DNA procedure that rendered me 100% Anglo - at best I would be a concerned outsider, no longer a real part of the group. I feel like I am about to lose my "tribal" status.

It is hard to describe the importance of self-identification that comes along with a disability like Epilepsy or Obesity.  In many ways, the condition is larger than the person you are. I am not a veteran, but have heard vets talk about how "if you weren't there, you don't understand." That is exactly how I feel about the conditions I have been fighting for most of my adult life - a small group of people really get it, and the rest may be concerned about it, but they won't ever understand what it is like to be a part of the "outsider nation". They won't understand the constant efforts (and failures) to gain control of your health, they can't have experienced what it is like trying to get help through our fractured medical system, they have never been laughed at or shunned for being different the way we have. It is almost a reverse form of class elitism, looking up from the very bottom rungs of society. 

But, if you haven't been through it, you don't understand.

The crux of my problem is this: I will always self-identify as a person with Epilepsy (or as "an Epileptic", on bad days.) There is no cure for it, no process exists to remove Epilepsy, or place it into remission. Even if I should ever enjoy 100% seizure control, it will be through surgical implants, daily applications of mind-numbing drugs, and constant vigilance - not because I wake up one day and have been cured. I will remain a part of this tribe forever - advising newcomers and their families, staying on top of news about developments and potential treatments, driving my elected representatives crazy by staying plugged into the politics around research and treatment.

What happens, then, when I take the "off-ramp" from obesity via bariatric surgery and the lifestyle changes that accompany it? Am I still suffering from the condition? Am I moved over into a "Veterans" or "Survivors" group - still having something relevant to add to the community? Or am I simply now someone who was a part of the community, but left - a person who joined the ranks of those who don't understand what it is to be Obese?

There is nothing wrong with being active as an advocate for a group you are not a part of. It is an important part of education and empowerment for those whose voices are not being heard. But it still feels to me, right now, that I am going to become external to the experience. American skinny culture, fat shaming, and bullying of obese kids are no longer going to be my issues, but the issues of a group I happen to care about. I will be standing with a group, but I will no longer be a part of it.

One of the first things a good doctor will tell you after your diagnosis of a disability is some version of "Don't let your illness define you." It may not be my definition, but it most certainly has shaped my community. And I feel very strange about potentially leaving the community I have been a part of for 25 years.

Wondering If I Have To Surrender My Tribal Membership,

- Hawkwind

Seeking: One Fat Hero

Photo Credit: Tolagunestro via Compfight cc

In the time when I am not gaming, creating blog articles, or reading, I write fiction. Like, quite a bit. Since being fitted with a C-PAP a couple years back I tend to have incredibly vivid dreams, and the last ones before I get up in the morning always seem to involve the same set of characters. So, I have created a mythology of sorts around these characters, and write little vignettes involving them. But, after I woke up and wrote down my notes this morning, it struck me - there are no overweight characters in these stories.

For that matter, I am hard pressed to think of overweight central characters in any story I have read, and I read a lot. I can think of fat and jovial innkeepers, large menacing bikers, and a bunch of lazy and obese programmers - but not a single overweight hero. It is as if the burden of carrying the story forward is so great that it acts like a constant cardio workout for these people, ensuring that they stay slim (or, in some cases, muscular.)

Even the oversized secondary characters in most stories aren't treated well. They are frequently used as a kind of comic relief - a mental visual gag if you will: Let's all laugh at the fatso as he tries to run away from danger. (Example: Any "slasher" horror film ever made.) Other times heavy individuals are used as more sinister characters: the overweight person is too lazy to achieve his goals as normal folks do, so uses treachery instead - the mercenary programmer from Jurassic Park is an excellent example. Very rarely, obesity is treated as a threatening quality - the previously mentioned "huge biker" would qualify. The original "Kingpin" character from Marvel comics comes to mind in this category. (Though a fine actor, Vincent D'Onofrio can hardly be described as obese, so his depiction of the Kingpin does not qualify here.)

In a sense, I get it. When we experience stories, especially when we read, we want to idealize the characters. We want to take their positive characteristics and find them reflecting off the fractal planes and edges of our own lives, hoping to recognize something "heroic" in ourselves. We do not necessarily want to see that which we don't like about ourselves highlighted in our entertainment. But seriously - in the "real world" of the United States more than half of us are overweight. Why don't the demographics of our entertainment reflect that?

More to the point, why don't my demographics hold up? Why are my stories filled with active, muscular men and size 6 women? In real life I like large women - I do not prefer the body style that "looks like a teenage boy with plums in his shirt pockets." (Spider Robinson) So, why am I not creating these characters? What flaw lies in me, and apparently in other authors, that does not allow for the creation of more realistic body types?

I am still troubled by this, and still don't have an answer yet. But, the next time I sit down to write, I know I will be aware of my previous failures here, and hopefully can begin to correct them. Maybe spotting this weakness now, before any of my fiction is ever published, is the best outcome I could have hoped for.

Still Angry At My Subconscious,

- Hawkwind

PS - Just thought of an obese central character: Don Corleone, from The Godfather. But he isn't exactly heroic, is he?

Top 10 Things I Won't Miss About Being Obese

"Normal-sized" people, you might just want to skip ahead a couple of paragraphs. You are totally not going to get this. And, also, easily offended or delicate people might just want to wait for tomorrow's post. 'Cause I am about to get uncomfortably real in here.

My fellow members of the Fat Person's Association, have you ever pulled that trick where you put both hands under your belly fat, lift it up, and then rest it on a convenient table/bar/desk? Don't you just revel in how good it feels on your back and shoulders not having that weight there for just a minute? Yeah, me too. Pretty sure Lor has never done it, and I certainly wouldn't do it in front of her since I would then have to spend the next hour disinfecting whatever surface I had performed this on. But, man, for just a moment it feels less painful to be obese.

This morning, after I (hypothetically) performed this maneuver so I could breathe for a minute, I was struck by how weird it was. And how much I am not going to miss doing this, and so many other weird things I only do because I am fat. Which leads me to...

Hawkwind's Top 10 Things I Won't Miss Post-Surgery

10. Tying Shoes: If you are of a normal size, this is something you probably don't give a moment's thought to. The shoe is untied, you bend over, tie it up, and you are on your way. Doesn't work that way for me. I am so overweight that I can not see, much less reach my toes. I also have two arthritic knees. So, tying shoes for me involves sitting down, lifting a leg as high as I can, stretching my arm down to grab it by the ankle, then lifting it up to rest over one knee. THEN I can tie a shoe. Repeat for the other side.

Mostly, I wear slip-ons these days.

9. Creaking Furniture: Getting into a piece of furniture designed for a normal human frame is a challenge. I lower myself ever so gingerly onto whatever I am sitting down on, listening to the creaks and groans of structure not designed to hold this much weight, hoping it doesn't buckle and leave me on the floor in a pile of wood fragments.Getting into bed is even worse, as my bedframe screeches and groans like an F-150 being used to transport a killer whale.

Those computer desk chairs that are supposed to last 10 years? I've been through 3 of them since 2010.

8. Gasping For Air: The story is the same, no matter where I am. Walking the dog. Getting groceries from the store to the car. Walking from one end of the house to the other (and we have a SMALL house). I am invariably gasping and wheezing as if I had a 20-year long 2-pack-a-day smoking habit. Any exertion at all and I am gasping like a fish, huffing and puffing like an old steam locomotive. Yes, I know I live at 5,500 feet, but once upon a time I didn't have this problem.

7. Living In The Slow Lane: Speaking of walking the dog, I used to think there was nothing worse than walking the chihuahua and not being able to keep up with her. I was wrong. Now that Lor is walking as well, I have two expectant faces looking back at me from half a block away, waiting for me to catch up. No matter where I go or with whom, you can guarantee I will be the caboose, trying valiantly to catch up and failing. 

6. Not Looking In Mirrors:  As I detailed yesterday - when you are in my condition, mirrors are not your friend. You look away, you focus on another part of the room, you do whatever you can to avoid seeing yourself by accident. Whatever it takes, I do not look directly at the melting snowman covered in flesh that I have become.

5. "I Can't Believe I Ate The Whole Thing": Fellow members of the FPA, you've all been there with me. The entire bag of Doritos. The whole Chocolate Cream Pie. The 5th trip through the line at your favorite all-you-can-eat place. Followed immediately by the soul-crushing guilt. How did I eat all that? What is wrong with me? The astonished looks on the faces of your dining companions don't help, so we tend to do this kind of thing at home. In front of the TV. In the dark. With the blinds closed. At least we can go to bed afterward and tell ourselves that "Tomorrow I'll do better."

But we never do, do we?

4. Eye Contact: Once upon a time, before I became a code monkey, I was a hell of a salesman. Firm grip, sincere tones, and most importantly - solid eye contact. When the potential customer had to look away from my gaze, I knew I had won.

Yeah, I let Lor handle our face-to-face negotiations now. Because I can not maintain eye contact with anyone for any length of time. I see the disgust, or the loathing, or worse yet the pity reflected in their eyes. "Poor guy - if only he would learn to put down the ice cream and pick up a barbell." Yeah, I know you are thinking it, buddy. I want to grab them by the shoulders and yell "It's not that simple!"

But I don't. 'Cause, you know, eye contact.

3. Dressing: Oh my God, where to even begin here. My wife is a clothes hound. Color, form, and fit - these things are so important to her. But, unlike me, she still has a figure. I look like a potato with legs. So, I wear the loosest pants I can find (so I can breathe). I no longer tuck in shirts, accepting looking like a slob in the hopes that this will help disguise my fat. (Hint: It doesn't work.) I don't worry about colors, or fabrics, or matching - I care only that I can fit things around my corpulent frame. Lor constantly tries to convince me that I would feel better about myself if I worked more on my personal appearance.

I constantly tell Lor that you can't shine shit.

2. Going to the Bathroom: This might be a good point to get young children and easily offended people safely moved to other activities. Because going to the bathroom in my condition sucks. As a man, you're supposed to be able to urinate standing up. As a morbidly obese man, this becomes an issue. Why? Because your fat obscures your genitalia, that's why.  If you urinate standing up without making some pretty serious weight-bearing adjustments, you will be peeing on the back side of your fat pouch. Not fun.

So, no matter what operation I am performing, I have to do it sitting down. Now, have you ever been in the position of estimating the opening on a toilet? Because I certainly have. With so much mass it is very easy to "miss" your placement and make a mess at the front end or back end. I do everything I can to just take care of my business at home.

Plus, not all toilets are terribly stable. See issue # 9.

1. Fat Person Sex: Oh, man. The sexual life of an obese person is not a happy one. When you lay 300+ pounds on top of another person, it is not commonly thought of as pleasurable. Mostly it is thought of as "death by asphyxiation". Flip things around, and your partner gets to listen to you wheezing like a dying animal while watching waves of fat rippling across your body like sand dunes being blown across the Sahara. Sounds really sexy, right? Yeah, not to mention the fact that male obesity also carries along with it depressed testosterone levels - not only are you less interested, but you are less able to do anything about it when you are interested.

Yeah, not going to miss that one bit.

Many people I have chatted with pre-surgery are still on the fence about the whole process. They worry about reduced diet, about social stigma, about being killed or damaged on the operating table. And, while their concerns are valid, I am ready to get going on this surgery thing, even considering my fear of hospitals.

Becuase I am mainly worried about leaving fat residue on the kitchen table from "resting" there for a minute.

Breaking Out The 409 ('Cause Lor Is Gonna Read This),

- Hawkwind

Missing Men

Photo Credit: dadadreams (Michelle Lanter) via Compfight cc

In my never ending quest for new blogs to follow (and perhaps share) I stumbled upon a site labeling itself the "Top 10 Bariatric Bloggers". Feel free to take a look, it won't take long. Now, the site itself is a bariatric surgery clinic in Lithuania, and they are certainly free to determine whoever they think are the most relevant of those of us who blog about this. But, looking over their list, I can't help but notice something...

Every single one of these bloggers is a woman.

Now, good on you gals, for being willing to share your experiences with the world. But, once again I must ask - where the hell are the men?

Now, science is not on my side here - according to UC San Diego, only 20% of the patients undergoing bariatric surgery are male. But, shouldn't that mean that at least 1 or 2 of the top bloggers are men? What the heck, dudes - are you too ashamed to talk about it? Obesity is an epidemic that is killing both women and men in our country - why are only the women doing something about it?

I wonder if it has something to do with "power culture". Men in our society are conditioned to not acknowledge pain and suffering, and obesity certainly comes with plenty of that. Also, men are still allowed to project power even if they are overweight - James Gandolfini in the Sopranos and Vincent D'Onofrio in Daredevil spring immediately to mind in terms of recent media portrayal of big, powerful men. So, if size projects power for men, maybe men don't want to talk about becoming smaller?

Hell, I don't know. I am way in over my head with this psycho-analysis stuff. All I know is I am unhealthy, and talking about it on the Internet. Every day I see lots of other men who are also obese - some larger than me, hard as that is to believe. But I am not seeing my half of the species representing out here in the blogosphere. I don't know why that is, and, frankly, it makes me a little uncomfortable. When you have been as fat as I am for as long as I have, you have some pretty serious questions about your masculinity due to the side effects of your weight. Maybe I am only blogging because I am lacking in some other masculine virtue that would otherwise tell me to keep my mouth shut?

If that is the case, so be it. I will happily join the ladies who are brave enough to take charge of their health and talk about it to the rest of the world. This disease is killing just as many men as it is women, and only a fraction of the guys are investigating and implementing bariatric surgery as a solution. So, seriously, hermanos - if you have any questions about this whole Gastric Sleeve thing, slip me an email here at tjeremyschofield at gmail.com. Take charge of your health. I promise it'll be our little secret.

Waiting For The Overflowing Mailbox,

- Hawkwind

The Paralysis of Choice

I have sat here for an hour this morning, head in my hands like the Stormtrooper in the "Regret" poster, attempting to get my brain to fire up. It is slow going today, I must admit. No witty observations, no heartfelt revelations. Just sitting here staring at the wall, noting where I need to do some touch-up painting.

It is kinda strange, really. I am currently busier than ever. Blogging fills (most of) my mornings, doing some work out on MTurk is generating some Amazon credit for us, I've even discovered a "piece writing" site (Text Broker) that will actually pay real, live money for small articles. I have plenty to do. Today I just can't seem to get myself moving in order to do those things.

It is easy enough to blame my second day of caffeine withdrawal. But I am beginning to think that the real problem is choices: all of the sudden I have some options, and I am having trouble choosing between them. I am not really used to the concept. For years, my days consisted of getting up, gaming while hoping I didn't have seizures that day, going back to bed. Now, suddenly, there are options: Do I write a post? Do I go exercise? Do I get online and work for a little while? All this while feeling that my brain is turned off still.

In many ways, it feels very similar to the years when I was suffering from serious depression - then, I would see the things that I could be doing, but didn't care enough to do them. What would be the point? Now, it is almost a paralysis, like a child in a candy store, overwhelmed by too many options. My heart knows that I would be better off choosing something, but my mind can't seem to make that connection.

Six months ago, if you have told me I would be overwhelmed with options today, I would have laughed at you. My obesity and my epilepsy between them create a very firm anchor, fixing me in a very small space - a room with windows, but no doors. Today, I am still obese. I am still epileptic. But today, unlike 6 months ago, I have hope - hope that by this time next year weight-loss surgery may actually allow me to be taking my first, tentative steps again through life, instead of merely doing laps inside the walls of my twin disabilities. And no one ever warned me that hope is a paralyzing agent.

My hands are warmed up now, the blood seems to be flowing to the brain again. Out there is Real Life, streaming by outside my window like a busy freeway. Within these walls there are things I can be doing to prepare myself for the possibility that I might someday rejoin that flow.  I guess I better get to it.

Daring to Hope,

- Hawkwind

The Big Green Monster

Every time I hobble through the kitchen in my home, I have to turn my head away from the window so that I will not catch a glimpse of my nemesis. It is big, it is green, it is frightening, and it is NOT going to go away. But maybe, just maybe, if I don't catch a glimpse, I won't be overwhelmed by my feeling that I should be doing something about it.

My arch-enemy is not a big green snake. It is not Oscar the Grouch, or Kermit the Frog. It is the huge, weed-infested yards that surround the home we currently live in. You see, our home was built in the 1950s, and is therefore not restricted by the Xeriscape requirements that most homes here in Albuquerque are. (Xeriscape is landscaping designed around low water use. Think cactus and rocks.) However, by the time we moved into the house 3 years ago, no one had bothered to do anything else with landscaping the home for years. So, when the weather starts warming up again, we wind up in a home surrounded by huge patches of weeds. Where there are not weeds, there is simply good old-fashioned dirt.

In my head, I am the kind of guy who is out every weekend working on his perfectly manicured yard -  a couple of small lawns, some fruit trees, even a garden for fresh veggies. In reality, I am disabled, mobility-impaired, and know nothing about yard care in the first place. So, I should just farm the work out, right? Last week, I attempted to do just that - I spoke with a handyman here in our neighborhood about what it would cost us to rein in my front yard. He took one look at my yard, filled with two-foot high weeds punctuated my 3 dead 10-foot tall trees that would have to be chain-sawed and removed, and quoted me a reasonable price - $60.

But, no matter how I tried, I could not squeeze another $60 our of our household budget. Social Security Disability keeps our household held firmly below the poverty line, and leaves no money for things like contractor yard care. Discouraged, I decided to tackle the problem myself. I spent two hours with a weed trimmer engaged in combat with the front yard. The end result? I was laid out for 3 days from injuring my back and knees. And my front yard is just as ugly as it ever was - now filled with dirt and dead weeds, over which still tower my deceased trees.

So, here I sit, crippled by my two disabilities - the one that keeps me from working (epilepsy), and the one that keeps me from moving (obesity). Between the two, I feel effectively trapped - and that gigantic patch of weeds in the back yard just keeps growing. Unless the Xeriscape Fairy arrives, I can expect that the situation is never going to change - even if I had the energy to take down all those weeds (which I don't), I still wouldn't have the money to replace them with something else. The circle of life continues.

Now, the odds are good that weight loss will give me back some mobility. There is even a chance (not a guarantee, but a chance) that weight loss will increase the efficacy of my anti-seizure meds - maybe even to the point where I could look into beginning to work again. But until that day arrives, I will just have to keep on waiting for the willpower to charge out into the back yard and injure myself again reining it in. Knowing all the while that the front yard is once again getting over-grown...

Sighing and Trying Not To Look Out The Windows,

- Hawkwind

The Times, They Are A Changin'

Here it is, already Wednesday, and I am only now putting up my first post for the week. There has been some household stuff to deal with, but mainly I have been running around town dealing with various medical appointments. Let me fill you in.

A little over 10 years ago I was happy with my physical condition. I practiced 2 to 3 hours a day (you better believe that being a musician is aerobic exercise), lifted weights 3 or 4 times a week, and was constantly on the go. Sure, I was overweight thanks to a rich diet and ingesting a couple of cases of beer a week. But I could still load out all our gear, play a 4 hour gig, load everything back in, and make it to work a few hours later. My 240 pound frame was solid - I looked very much like a fire hydrant. I used to tell people that I was the strongest fat man they knew.

Then, Epilepsy happened. Depression, lack of physical activity, and weight enhancing medications like Depakote ballooned me up to 280 pounds within 6 months of my diagnosis. Over the years I have fought my weight with med changes, failed diets, and attempts at various physical activities that always wound up with me injuring myself, having seizures, or both. Now, at only 45, I have high blood pressure, arthritis in both knees and one hand, and serious respiratory problems.

My "Come to Jesus" moment occurred about a month ago, when I stepped on a scale and weighed in at 302 pounds. I had never been over 300 before. 296, sure, but somehow 300 seemed so much more significant and real. I had to do something. I went in to talk to my regular doc, and she suggested that my BMI of 48.8 ("normal" is 18 - 24) indicated that I look into bariatric surgery. There was one catch, though. As someone with intractable seizures, I was going to also have to get my neurologist to sign off on the idea of bariatric surgery as well, before I even consulted with the surgeon.

The appointment with my Neuro is today, a few hours from now. I am incredibly nervous about the whole thing. What if he says yes, and I have to have a big section of my stomach removed? What if he says no, and I am stuck here in Jumbo-size Land? The thoughts chase each other through my head like a demented carousel. I haven't slept more than 5 hours a night in quite a while.

But, the truth is, I can no longer be passive about this. After Lor had me watch "Fat, Sick, and Nearly Dead" a couple weeks ago I at least have a backup plan if surgery is a no-go. I have to have something that will get enough weight off my frame so that I can actually start exercising again without injuring myself. If it takes surgery to do that, fine. If it takes a short term 100% juice diet, fine. I am just going to have to grit my teeth and push myself through the eruption of seizure activity that occurs whenever I start losing weight. It is a very different mindset for me, as I have spent twelve years trying to avoid seizures. But I do not want the moment to arrive when I step on a scale and see "350", and am going to have to make avoidance of that my focus.

So, fair warning to everyone, there will be some health and weight loss posts scattered amongst the gaming articles from here on out. If I do end up going through with surgery, I will also start video blogging about that as well, since several video blogs have been so helpful to me in educating myself about this whole process. I am a big believer in "paying it forward" these days. I can't afford not to be.

Feeling Really Large And Frightened,

- Hawkwind