Mounjaro Solution... ?

Two months ago my doc put me on a new injectable med: Mounjaro. I had never heard of it before, but doc was very excited about it. She said it was a new and really good diabetes med and it had a weight loss side effect. I had heard that before - when I went on Januvia, I was told exactly those things and the only place I lost weight was my wallet. There was another injectable as well, I can't remember the name or be bothered to look it up. All it did was drain my wallet and give me diarrhea. Supposedly this one would be different. Well, I'm always up for shenanigans, so, why not?

My first shock was: insurance paid for it without a peep! I knew this had to be an expensive med, but they didn't say a word. Later, a pharmacy glitch revealed I was correct, this med is $1200 a month!

A couple of weeks after starting this med, and already seeing a few pounds down, I went to see my doc again. We discussed my meds overall. I felt like I had long been battling a particular med: Atenolol. Back when my health went to shit, I had been prescribed Atenolol for heart palpations and high blood pressure. This was around 2007. I also weighed 517 pounds and my sleep apnea was completely untreated. Well, a lot has changed in sixteen years - that isn't me anymore. Further, in 2016, I went off all my meds and lost 50 or 60 pounds across like 18 months without trying. When I went back on the meds, the weight all came back with a few pounds extra. You see, Atenolol have weight gain side effect. The doc looked at my blood pressure, which is controlled, my weight, under 400 and we decided to ween me off Atenolol.
In the two months I have been on Mounjaro and now off Atenolol, I have gone from 399 to 360.

Right?!?!

Now, there are some caveats. I also, after having some teeth extracted, having a cellulitis flare up and spending a weekend in the ER (that's a whole other blog post!) - I lost 16 pounds in four days. Since that weekend, I've also been eating like crap and have put several pound back on. But - that weight loss is nothing to sneeze at.

Now... for the bad news...

I just recently found out that Mounjaro is the perfect drug - for the pharmaceutical company, Lilly. It turns out, and I'm a little disappointed in my doc for not telling me this up front, I will be on this drug for the rest of my life. Apparently, when people go off Mounjaro, they put the weight back on. There had to be a catch, right?

I'm still hoping that maybe, once I get to my target weight, I can be active enough that we can ween me off the drug and that I can keep the weight off. I don't know if that's even remotely possible. I do know, for a fact, that 360 feels way better than 517. I also know that 160 pounds to my goal weight seems far more attainable than 300. If keeping the weight off means staying on a ridiculously expensive drug for the rest of my life, well, maybe I will.

The Other Missing Year

Since, really, I'm the only one reading this, keeping track of what the hell is happening is just so that later on I can recall why I was having so much trouble.

The latter half of 2019 was pretty bad. 2020, the history books will recall, is completely worse.

I was diagnosed with Herpes in August 2019, I thought this would kill my sex life. It certainly hasn't helped, but, alas, the global pandemic foisted upon us by the Trump administration pretty much ended everything. I'm afraid to leave the house. I'm afraid to go on a date. Then, once I do break quarantine, then I have to deal with my Herpes fears, so, yeah, sex is a memory.

I started working from home in March. Only now do they have any real work for me to do. I've been having trouble concentrating, for a lot of reasons. But, it's getting better.

Then, in July, my Mother passed.

She was way too young. I wanted to kill everyone. Why?!

Once I somewhat recovered from that, I had to start dealing with wrapping up her affairs. This part may be worse than watching her die, at least that came to a speedy end.

So, yeah, I binged like there was no tomorrow.

A few weeks ago it occurred to me that this quarantine is going to keep going for a while. I need to stop the attempted suicide by fast food and maybe keep myself from dying young, too.

I'm back to keto. This is Day 23. It's going pretty well. I'm at 416 and my blood sugar is down. I stopped taking the Victoza months ago - I got tired of the constant diarrhea. Now I'm down to just two meds that cause diarrhea. Food is boring and sleep is hard to come by - believe it or not, those are good things!

Here's hoping I make it to Day 30!

The Missing Year

I'm a little shocked at the fact that I missed posting to this blog for over a year.

I shouldn't be shocked, 2019 sucked!

I guess the first half of the year was no worse than any other recent year. I'm still old, fat, bald and living in St. Louis. That's not great but it's nothing new.

May, June and July saw me doing better on my diet and going to the gym more frequently. I wasn't perfect, but I was getting better.

On Monday, July the 22nd, I got up early to go to the gym. I was excited that a new medicine, Victoza, was lowering my blood sugar. In fact I recorded my lowest blood sugar reading that morning at 158. A few minutes later, there was a knock at my door. There was rising flood water in the parking lot. A hour later, the water, having entered my apartment, was gone. It had done very little damage to me, it had really damaged others. Regardless, my apartment was condemned by the city and I was evicted. Once again I had to come up with a down payment and am now paying higher rent. I am forever a nomad.

Needless to say, this left me spiraling out of control. Almost immediately my blood sugar was back up and I have yet to be able to recover fully.

In August, I went to see my doctor for my regular check up and I was overdue for an STD screen. My A1C was quite out of whack, but that ended up not being the worst news. I popped positive for HSV1 and HSV2 - Herpes. I immediately disclosed to all my recent partners. Several have tested negative since, which is a relief on one hand, but on the other hand it means I don't know how I got this disease. Having this disease also changed all my relationships drastically - understandably so, considering the stigma around the disease. This sent me into a serious emotional roller coaster. Early on there was even some suicide ideation. It would appear that my sex life, one of the primary drivers of trying to get healthy, is all but dead. I forgot anything resembling diet or exercise.

In December my Mom got sick. She's just now over that. I did a lot of running around trying to help her. I'm considering how I can buy a house and get her, literally lure her, to live with me. Moving once again.

It's only been since the first of the year that I have thought about getting my diet back together. After some false starts, I'm seeing success. I've lost a few pounds and my blood sugar is going in the right direction. As of yesterday, I am 419 pounds and at 176 on the BS meter, down from 427 and 238 respectively in November.

I went to the gym this morning and I have all my food packed for the day. I'm even looking forward to my homemade soup for lunch. Ever forward.

The Struggle is Real

The last nine to twelve months have been a real struggle on the diet/exercise/health front.

Of course I have excuses. But, honestly, it’s been rough. I’ve been through a lot of ups and downs and changes.

A couple of blog posts back I wrote that I had lost a shit ton of weight. I had, it was impressive, it was mysterious. There was no apparent cause. I also wrote in that post that I needed to go see a doctor. I went. She looked at the issues I presented. We did nothing about the hernia, because, in her opinion, until I get my blood pressure under control, hernia surgery, any surgery, will have me stroking out on the table. A few x-rays and the lump on my sternum was ruled a likely calcified cyst. I was patted on the head and told to get back on my meds.

I resumed my meds. The weight came back. Even while I was dieting.

Thus, the meds to help control my blood sugar and lower my blood pressure are putting on weight, thus increasing my issues with blood sugar and blood pressure. I’ve had some short term success with diet and exercise, but, I can’t find a way to sustain it and I’m stuck again at about 430 to 450. As it stands, I’m considering taking the reckless path and going off my meds again. The other plan seems to be wait until I blow past 500 pounds again and end up dead. Either way I’m headed for a whopping big heart attack. So far I haven’t been brave enough to give up the meds.

In November I had cataract surgery in both eyes. I just thought I needed new glasses – silly me! No one can tell me why I was going blind. It doesn’t happen to many people my age. But, there I was, about to go blind unless someone cut into my eyes, ripped out my natural lenses and replaced them with tiny bits of plastic. I wonder now if this wasn’t more results of my meds, no way I’ll ever find out. Ten thousand dollars out of pocket later and I’m no longer going blind. (Yes, that $10k after insurance. Fuck them!) Well, let me rephrase: I’m going blind more slowly. There are deposits forming on my new lenses – apparently it’s quite common after cataract surgery to develop cataracts ….. let that sink in. I’m guessing I’m going to have several surgeries and procedures around these cataracts. That is, if I live long enough. In case you are wondering, this process was kinduva downer.

I said there were “ups”- in late November I met a very nice woman and we have settled into a boyfriend/girlfriend dynamic. We met and are dating another couple. These are good things and have buoyed me. While this has been an emotional lift, the fact that I don’t have the sexual stamina to fulfill my girlfriend’s needs, not to mention that I have so much fat around my cock that I can’t have intercourse with her - let's just say it isn't perfect. I love her and I love being with her. It’s good – just as long as I don’t think about sex. Of course this is a sore subject between she and I, she blames herself. The couple we’re dating, well, I haven’t been very sexual there, either. The guy of the couple is skinny with a huge cock – I pretty much never want to be naked in the same room as he. As if I didn't have performance anxiety before! But, thankfully he’s doing most of the sexual chores that I cannot perform. I’ve officially outsourced my sex life.

In January, I added to my money woes by buying a newer car. I needed it, I was tired of worrying about the other car falling apart.

I’ve gotten my own apartment. It wasn’t too hard, but it makes saving money harder. That eye surgery and car purchase re-opened the hole in my credit card I had been trying to fill. I had maxed out the card again by the time I was moved in and I still needed furniture and so many things I gave away when I left Seattle. I still don’t have any living room furniture. On the bright side my place can remain a cesspit because no one comes to visit the man with no place to sit.

Just as things were getting to something resembling normalcy, and as I was about to buy a couple couches, I t-boned an SUV in the new-to-me car. I walked away with a single, tiny burn (of course it was on my belly! Right above my hernia!). I was lucky, I was very happy it was that car instead of my older, falling apart car. I was alive and only down a car. For once, the insurance company came through, the whole process was fairly painless. This again emptied out my credit card.

In all, going to the gym and dieting have fallen by the way. Every Monday I say I’m getting back on the wagon, and by Friday (frequently by Monday afternoon) I’ve got a pile of junk food in front of me. I should probably cancel the gym membership and use the $50 a month to save up for a couch.

My love life gets better and my body and circumstances conspire to make sure I can’t enjoy it. I’m just waiting to lose my job or some other new horror to get me back to 2009 levels. I’d say a fatal heart attack doesn’t sound so bad, except I know that my body would figure out a way for it to be mostly fatal; ya know, just kill me financially and emotionally, leave me alive but fucked beyond reason.

Whatever. As if I have any say in any of this.

The Fear

I must not fear.
Fear is the mind-killer.
Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.
I will face my fear.
I will permit it to pass over me and through me.
And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.
Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.
Only I will remain.
- Bene Gesserit Litany Against Fear


God created Missouri to train the faithful.
- Mid Western Fremen Proverb

I have learned a lesson in the last few weeks. A lesson that has been working its way through my conscious mind for the last couple of months.

A few months ago, I took advantage of money from my employer and got a certification I've long wanted and talked about getting. I made every excuse to not get it. The excuses cleared, the money was there and once I decided to do it, the certification came easy. I already had the knowledge, I just had to prove it and pay for it.

The last couple of weeks, I've been studying a computer programming language; Java. For a couple of years, decades depending on what you consider a "language", I've been wanting to learn to code. I always got bored and stopped. No, not bored - afraid. I said I was bored. I made myself think I was bored. I blamed the fact that I'm all about instant gratification and that the learning wasn't coming fast enough. But, the truth was, I was afraid. Afraid I couldn't do it. Afraid I would fail. In the last couple of weeks, I have picked up a lot of Java. I have written working, clean, functional, useful code. I've written fun code. Once I decided to do it, once I gave myself permission to suck, it came fairly quickly. And, honestly, it's been fun. I've dived in and really explored. I've only scratched the surface but I want to learn more. I want to put "Java Developer" and "Test Automation Engineer" on my resume.

Why am I writing about this on my diet blog? I want to talk about The Fear. I literally want to confront my fear of The Fear. I'm not a confrontational guy. Never have been. I'm most likely to just walk away than fight. If I'm yelling at you, it's because I feel cornered and don't see a way out. I'm really good at walking away, figuratively and literally.

Confronting The Fear is hard for me. But, I need to do it.

I don't think I ever learned how to fail. I'm not blaming anyone for that, who teaches their kids how to fail? There are no classes, no Learn to Fail 101. But, I think a lot of people learn to fail naturally by doing stuff, failing, surviving and doing it again. I never did anything. I have no real accomplishments. I barely tried in school, barely passed because people thought I had potential and I had natural brain power, used or not. I didn't get a degree because I didn't ... hell, I don't even know why. I know now that four years is not an eternity and while my generation might be the last that having a degree means something, it really would have served me. My work history is fraught with unemployment and mediocrity at best because I didn't have any proof I was useful at anything because I never did anything but scrape by.

It goes beyond that. I never figured out what I want, who I wanted to be. The few times I tried to figure that out, The Fear kicked my ass. As a youngster, I wanted to be an Astronaut. My plan was heavy on STEM in school, let the Navy pay for college, with even more STEM. NASA is a civilian agency, but most of the Shuttle pilots and previous program crews were ex-military with a lot of emphasis on carrier landings, so I wanted to be Naval Aviator. The rest would be easy enough, right? Okay, I know I had way too much Star Wars and Top Gun in my skull, but it wasn't a bad plan. The only problem was I sucked at Math and Science - because I really didn't apply myself. Why? Fear of failure? Likely. Regardless, when the Navy told me that 6'2" and 230 pounds was way too big to be a fighter jock, I was angry, but I had a way out. I could let the dream die and it wasn't my fault - look at how unfairly life had treated me! There were other options, I even knew about them. I said stuff like "Mission Specialists are just cargo." What a jackass! If I had buckled down and done the homework, maybe I could have gotten somewhere. Certainly further than I got.

A school guidance counselor turned me on to the idea of being an archaeologist. I had seen Indiana Jones, I was hip. Off to college I went, with visions of digs in my future. A professor says "the science only has about thirty years left" - The Fear says "See? Loser!" I flounder and flunk out. The professor was wrong, by the way. But, I had my out. I didn't have a chance to fail if I didn't try. Somehow my brain, that thought four years was an eternity, also thought that a career that might extend to 2015 or 2020 was unsustainable. See? Bad at math!

I told myself around 1999 that by the time I was 35, I would be a freelance writer. Yeah! As if! I barely write in this blog! I've always loved the idea of learning to play drums. I currently have bongos in the back of my car. Bought those in 2008. Do I know how to play them? Nope. I'm sure by now you see the pattern.

The Fear has ruled my life. I've allowed that to happen.

My health has followed the same pattern. My family is obese and has heart issues, they all die relatively young, why even try to be healthy? Sports are hard, TV is easy. The gym is hard, sleeping is easy. Some of this just sounds like laziness, but I'm starting to see that laziness is a great disguise for The Fear. I was even able to hide it from myself, and mentally kick myself for being a lazy loser in the process.

I've previously talked about giving myself permission to suck. But, this is going deeper. I have to give myself permission to TRY. To TRY AGAIN. Maybe it's not permission, maybe it's kick-myself-in-the-ass to TRY. I dunno. This is all new. I'm still mulling it around. Success of any kind is kinda new to me.

Why didn't I know these things at 17? At 20? Would I have been smart enough to listen?

Healthy Paranoia

New Year's Resolutions? It's always the same:

• Lose Weight.
• Get Healthy.
• Get my shit together.
• The "shit" and my current definition of "together" are the only variables.

So, as per usual, I couldn't even get to like the second or third day of the year before anything resembling resolutions were a thing of the past. The good news about me is that my "New Year's Resolutions" are pretty much the same things that "I'll start on Monday."

This being Monday, I managed to actually get up at 5 AM and hit the gym. I know! I'm as shocked as you!

After my little hike on the dreadmill, and a well deserved hot shower, I slithered to the scale and stealthily climbed its heights. If I sneak up on the device, I can fool it into thinking I weigh less - right?

Umm - yes, yes apparently, I can.


365


That's 15 pounds since October, 33 pounds since March of 2016.

What's my secret? It certainly isn't diet nor exercise. Perhaps it's still the Mystery of Misery at work? Maybe. I've shoved enough candy and full sugar soda in my face to get me through the death of the only real father figure I ever known, not to mention the holidays - so, no, certainly not diet. I was sick for a few days, but I doubt I was 15 pounds sick. In short, I don't know.

And, not knowing is starting to scare the hell out of me.

I'm guessing my lack of gym attendance has lowered my muscle mass and bone density. Buuut - what if that's not all?

After a good bit of gym time last year, I noticed a lump in my belly button. My innie was becoming an outie. It never progressed beyond half filling my belly button and there was no pain. I didn't have health insurance, so I ignored it. I've got a dull ache from it now. It's likely a hernia.

About the same time, I noticed a growth on my chest. Just below my sternum - it almost connects my ribs together. Every now and then I get a sickening "click" between it and my right rib. My brain immediately went to "bone cancer!" and a dozen other nightmare scenarios. It's likely a calcified cyst.

Both are likely going to require surgery, especially if they are NOT what I think they might be. I also think both are the result of a sedentary 40-something going back to the gym, doing as many as 10 push-ups, All At The Same Time! Health through exercise! Bah!!

Buuut - what if that's not it at all? What if it is cancer ... or something worse? It would explain the unexplainable weight loss. I can hear a bunch of you screaming "Go See a DOCTOR!"

It's not that easy.

This is the first time in my life I'm afraid to go see a doctor. Seriously, genuinely afraid. I mean, yeah, my paranoia is, in general, out of control on this point, I get it.

Even without that, this will be a brand new doctor. I was spoiled with my last doc in Seattle. I loved her. Too many horror stories from my friends about asshole doctors. I have a story myself, that asshole has given cardiologists a bad name in my book. I really don't need judgement and bullshit from some local Trump Voter with an MD!

Even if it isn't cancer, two surgeries is going to be a shit ton of pain and trouble, not to mention piles of money. I'm just now crawling out of the money-pit I've been living in since 2009.

Wouldn't it be easier to just let my Malaria induced AIDS/Cancer kill me in my sleep? Or waste away to nothing over the next year? I know; no, it won't be, because long before any of that I'll be just another fat bastard with a frightfully painful strangulated hernia.

I'll call someone tomorrow. Fuck.

The Disappointment Factor

My recent mental monologue has looked a lot like the following:

"Look at that treat! I so WANT that!"

"No you don't."

"Wha ... ? Why?"

"Sure it looks good, but it's a couple of bites, it won't taste as good as it looks, it won't entertain you for more than a moment, there is no sexual satisfaction in that treat, that treat has more calories than a whole meal and you'll just end up disappointed."

"Oh. I don't want that."

"Right."

This isn't a new phenomenon. A while back I found myself in the cookie aisle in the grocery store on a Friday night. I put up a pic on Facebook with a caption that said there was no entertainment or sex in that aisle. I was lonely, horny and bored, not hungry. Since then, I've frequently had the thought, but just went ahead and fed my addiction and proved myself right.

The last few weeks, the Disappointment Facor has kept me pretty close to perfect. I've had some fruit a few times, but I haven't had candy, cake or real sugar soda in working on five weeks. I think I'm just really tired of eatting a bag of garbage, then being disappointed, then being angry with myself for having done it.

However ...

I eat a lot of fast food. This diet accommodates that very well, you just have to be prepared to ask for no bun and eat your burger with a fork. Extra mayo & pickles & bacon - Yay!

But, no fries? That sucks. No fries, no potato cakes, no hash browns nor tater tots. No Fries!! I've eaten a ton of Wendy's chili recently. Wendy's fries dipped in their chili is about perfect! I nearly broke the other night. I wasn't proud when I left, I was angry and breathless - those fries called to me that hard!

No fries. Sigh.