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.

HFLC Me!

Week three of the latest diet adventure: High Fat Low Carb.

I tripped over this site - and pretty much read the whole thing. It's all about High Fat, Low Carb diets. The idea is that eating sugar, especially in the amount we Americans eat, is bad for us. All of us, but especially diabetics, should be cutting our carbs. They further postulate that adding fat, not removing, will aid in normalizing metabolism. Newer science points to this. This is pretty much the reverse of the 80s & 90s "STOP THE INSANITY!" attitude that you can eat all the baked potatoes you want, as long as you skip the butter and sour cream.

Not sure what the value of a pile of butter and sour cream might be without the baked potato, but I digress.

Back in '09, as you might remember, or as you can read in the beginning of this blog, I tried out Adkins/Low Carb, with some mixed results. It was a long fight, there were positive results, but they were hard won and frankly unsatisfying. I couldn't stick with it. That pretty much began my journey, and a roller-coaster it has been.

However, there were some things I liked about Low Carb. In fact, any time I've "been on" since, I've aimed at low carb. I like meat and veggies, and sure I miss donuts and pizza, not to mention candy and full sugar soda, but it was pretty easy to follow. And, for the most part, wholly ineffective. I kept missing the mark and just blamed myself.

The last three weeks have been different. Biggest difference: no fruit. Totally cut out fruit. The Diet Doctor site above kept calling fruit "candy from nature" - and maybe they're right. I'm sure other people do fine with fruit in their low cal diet, but as a diabetic, I've always been concerned.

Second big change: MOAR CHEESE! I'm lactose intolerant, but I decided to just endure the gas and even diarrhea. Neither has shown up. I'm eating cheese right and left and have had no ill effects, not even gas. Do I know why? No. But I ain't complainin'.

Third big change: OMG Olives! Coinciding with this new diet has been the three hardest weeks at my new job of just under two months. Two weeks ago I worked 60 hours, last week was 75 hours. I essentially live at work. The Diet Doctor site says that you won't need to snack as much - I disagree. Finding low carb, high fat snacks that don't require refrigeration isn't easy. Thus: olives. As a kid I didn't like them, now I'm eating them a cup at a time. Yum! Dill pickles, too.

In all, it's a big change. But, it might be a successful one. In March, I found out I broke the 400 pound mark. I didn't jump on the scale before I started this new deal, but I hopped on today: 380. Don't know if it's what I'm doing or just a continuation of my Misery plan, but something is working. Today I will be ordering test strips for my blood glucose meter - that's definitely a metric I want to follow. I'll jump on the scale again at the end of the month to see my progress.

Wouldn't it be cool to make my first visit to my next doctor be a "Well, you weigh 350, but you're losing weight and your blood glucose and A1C are perfectly normal" visit? Yes. Yes it would be cool!

The Misery Diet

So, for those that don't keep up with my life outside of this blog, since November, 2014, I:

• Lost my job. Again.
• Ran out of Unemployment Insurance
• Moved back to St. Louis where I am sponging off friends who are in even worse financial shape than I.
• Was unemployed until November 2015.
• That contract ended and I am now in my second low pay, high stress job.

In short, I've been pretty miserable. I grew up in St. Louis and for many reasons, not all of them logical, I hate the stinking pit of a town, a place I like to call "Lil' Detroit".

Sponging off my friends isn't good, the fact that they are doing this out of the kindness of their poverty stricken hearts while I bitch about their beloved home town makes me a huge heel.

Because I'm living out of a small room, I really can't have much of a love life. In fact, I've tried and just really can't come up with one. The fact that I left all of my lovers in Seattle makes this even more painful.

In fact, I pretty much feel like a lost teenager. I live out of a small room, I have a crappy job to keep the payments on my car, I have to obey the rules of the house and I don't have a love life. I'm 17 all over again, except fatter and with less hair.

To make me feel even more immature, I vented to Facebook and my own mother told me to grow up. Apparently having feelings AND showing them, not to mention being disgusted with the bigots I'm surrounded by is immature. I will now commence to bottle up my feelings and become a frigid prude like just about everyone else in this town. It's the mature, grown up thing to do!

Having said all of this, the last time I got on a scale, I weighed about 430. Today, in an effort to find that happy sex life (ever the closet optimist!) I went for an STD test. I try to go every six months, but I haven't in two years. Anyway, they got me on a scale:

398

I asked repeatedly if the scale was accurate and was assured it was.

398

I have been trying for nearly a decade to get under 400 pounds. I was so close several times. I have tried every diet I could think of to get past that 400 pound mark. I've tried positive thinking and meditation and anger and, well, it turns out misery was the answer.

It's not even good misery. I mean, I have a roof over my head and a full belly. A very full belly. Food is, as my readers know, my drug of choice. I have been eating a ton of fast food and candy and full sugar soda - so, food, indeed. My needs, for the most part, are being met. I am surviving. It's not like I'm starving or in a war zone or some place I can wear my misery as a badge of honor. No, I feel guilty about feeling this bad because so many others have it so much worse.

I also figured I'd have a huge sense of accomplishment when I crossed that line. But, I didn't do anything. I'm eating crap, I have a membership to the Y that I don't use. I just lived and ate and masturbated. Ta-dah! Thirty pounds gone. A part of me says, yes! Use this! Diet. Exercise. Work it. But, another part of me (an admittedly stupid but none the less convincing part) says, don't do that! You got the weight off by being miserable, don't worry that you've probably lost thirty pounds of muscle and bone mass, worry that the weight might come back! Worry!!!

For the moment, I'm just marking the milestone. I went to Arby's and got two big sandwiches, I went to QT and got a large Iced Tea with Splenda. I went to the grocery store and bought quinoa and cheese puffs. Confused? Yup. I'm working three twelve hour shifts the rest of this week. Maybe I'll go to the gym Saturday.

My poor finger ...

Been about a month since my last entry. Most of that time I spent burning off the remains of my anger & frustration over not getting the surgery.

Purple!

Last week I got my new blood glucose meter. I've had others before, but I rarely used them and by the time the battery died, the strips were impossible find. Heck, half the time the company had gone out of business. So, I decided to get a new in box, but older model of a popular meter off Amazon, the OneTouch UltraMini - in Purple! The strips are still plentiful and I think they will be for a while. I ordered some generic test strips and they seem to work fine. I've been testing my sugga daily, much to the chagrin of my poor left index finger. It only hurts for a few minutes, but my finger has tiny polka-dots. More like poke-a-lots!

I should have listened to my doc a while back and done the daily meter thing sooner. It has been a real indicator of change. So, I started measuring last week, I only managed to get on the treadmill once and I didn't care what I was eating. My numbers were in the high 200s and low 300s - not good. This week, I've been careful about my intake and have worked out three times so far - nothing super awesome, just some walking. However, yesterday morning, right after my walk, not having eaten for 10+ hours, my sugga was 205. I continued fasting and went to the doctor. She measured my sugga at 168. Now, a normal person should be around 100, but I'll take 168 over 300+ any day.

So, that's a metric that works and shows promise. A metric and method that failed was upping my steps per day. The whole 10k steps a day thing has been a popular meme, but it's just not going to work for me. I got this way by having a sedentary job: I sit at my desk, I think, I type, I click buttons and make computers do cool stuff. If I'm up walking, I'm not actually working. I need the job. So, that bit won't work. The pedometer apps for the phone had a variety of issues as well, making the idea of using walking as a metric basically impossible. I am, however, going to ask for a standing desk, at least I'll get off my ass. I may also get an exercise ball to sit on. Do a little shaking and grooving while I sit.

Probably the biggest difference between last month and this is my attitude. Frankly, I've climbed down off my own back. We are our own worst critics. No one has ever given me more crap about being overweight than myself. I'm trying to let that all go. I'm working on my health. I'm making progress. If I can't get over that, if I can't get past the fact that this process is going to take time and on-going effort, then I can kiss my own ass and go straight to Hell! Hmmph!

Okay, off to eat a salad with chicken and a vinaigrette for lunch. Y'all have a good day.

Too Angry to Diet

I'm done dieting.

No seriously. It's pointless. Ten years. One #diet or another, on and off. Where has it gotten me?

It's gotten me angry.

It's gotten me frustrated.

It's made me feel stupid & useless.

All the money I've spent on this gadget & that product have made me poorer.

What I haven't gotten is lighter or healthier. Not a bit. All of the above stress, all the anger at my inability to win this fight - a fight with my own body. I feel like a big pile of fail. A Fail Whale indeed.

Then, we find the fight is rigged. Read this article. I'll wait.

That's not the first time I've heard this kind of thing. I've heard this a few times. Certainly my anecdotal evidence backs it up. Even the numbers I got out of the weight loss surgery seminar were telling. On average, at the five year mark, people that get WLS have kept off 70 to 80% of their goal weight. The numbers on average at the ten year mark are 60 to 70% of their goal weight. At the time, those numbers sounded fab. But, spending tens of thousands of dollars and still, in my case, being 100 pounds overweight sounds, now, in the cold light of day, utterly ridiculous. At the time I was thinking, well, heck, there are 50% of people above that average that lose a lot more, right? The problem is that there are 50% below that average, too. Imagine the soul crushing horror of taking off 250 or 300 pounds only to watch it all come back.

I can't be that guy. I refuse to be that guy.

I haven't been able to lose weight. The game is rigged, I likely can never get down to my goal weight. What's left?

I see two options:

Option 1
Eat donuts until I explode.
Option 2
Do anything but Option 1.

Option 1 sounds like it would be fun in the very short term. Frankly, I think mostly due to my recent, but failed, Anger Diet, I have shrunk my stomach significantly. The mere thought of a dozen donuts is nearly nausea inducing. I cannot commit "donut suicide" with three Krispy Kremes ...

That leaves us with Option 2. What exactly is Option 2?

I've spent most of this week eating everything in sight, making myself sick (seriously shrunk my stomach!) and considering the above question.

Yesterday, Friday, I came to a conclusion. As we said above, I can't commit donut suicide and go to donut heaven. Further, I don't wanna die. I want to hang onto my life, such as it is, for a few dozen more decades or more. Being alive is all I know and apparently I'm a glutton for mediocrity. Losing weight, as we discussed above, is also a bit of a far fetched idea. So, all that is left is health.

That's right. Health.

For ten years I've been chasing the number on the scale. Every time some restrictive diet fails to give Instant Gratification Lad (that would be me) huge, lasting results, I give up and go eat everything. I've been on this stupid roller-coaster for far too long. Look at this blog. What's at the top? Before any content, there is a weight tracker - obviously I'm a bit obsessed. I'm tired of chasing the number. The scale has made me nothing but unhappy.

What makes me happy?

I have to admit, not that I haven't admitted it here before, but I like to go to the gym. The getting up early is the part that sucks. But, when I am done, the rest of the day usually feels a hell of a lot better. And going to the gym later in the day never seems to end well, if it happens at all. I like eating right. I usually feel better, well, after my body gets past some of the gastrointestinal issues of upping one's veggie intake. I like doing active things, I just hate the aches and pains, sometimes severe, that show up afterward. Going for a walk sounds like fun, until the skin on your sole separates and turns into a giant blister that keeps you off your feet for a day or two.

Oh, yeah, what makes me happy ... right! Eating right, going to the gym and being active. Losing weight, like a donut, only feels good for a moment. Eating right feels good all day, having gone to the gym does, too.

So, to sum up, here's the new plan:

1. Tell my brain, over and over, that losing weight, chasing the number, is a bad plan. Reduce looking at the scale to once a month. I think the end of the month. I may not even set a day.

2. Eat. Just eat. Lean meats. Veggies. Fruit. Small portions. The Big-ish Breakfast, Big-ish Lunch, little-or-no dinner thing has been good in recent attempts. Usually when I do this, I can barely choke down 2000 calories. If I fall off, get back on. Not the following Monday, but the following meal.

3. Gym. Lots of it. Really ramp up the gym attendance. Five, six, seven times a week. And why not? Just do it. I'd like to get back to Simple Cardio Monday, Wednesday & Friday with Lifting Tuesday & Thursday and a Cardio, Lifting & Swimming thing on Saturday and/or Sunday. Lots of gym time. Nothing that will kill me, just regular, everyday movement. Slowly ramp up the cardio & weight. I am envious of people with muscles, not to mention useful, flexible bodies. I want that. I can give myself that.

4. Activity. Go be active. Go swim after work. Go for a walk. Why am I watching six TV shows back to back? Go walk!!! Already went to the gym today? So?!? GO WALK!!!

5. Measure. My metric up to this point has mostly been weight. I have been good on and off keeping track of what I eat, but, frankly, it was a pointless chore. When I am careful, I eat about the same stuff everyday, I was just cutting and pasting from the previous days in my diary. Not to mention, it all felt like guess work. Was I eating 100 calories of grapes every time? Not likely. It was annoying. I think I'm gonna drop that. But, I am going to buy myself a new blood sugar meter or two. I need to get my sugga down. That will get measured and tracked daily. I will certainly track my exercise. I may not track my activity. So what if I went for a walk after work? If I am just out walking, looking at stuff, stopping here and there, that's not really organized effort. It's just being active. I want "being active" to be fun, no stress, just something I do because I can. I think I may try to keep myself active at work, maybe track my steps, try to spend 10 minutes out of every hour standing, stop being a lump in a chair.

If weight comes off, great. If not, I don't want to care. If I am still 450 pounds, but can walk 4 miles in an hour, I'll be a heck of a lot better off than I am now. That's new hotness: Health.

I'm pretty sure that if +Tonja Davis  is reading this, she's thinking "Told you so!", likely +Advocata Vasquetzl as well. Well, sometimes I'm slow, it takes a while for the wisdom to sink in. But, here I am, older & wiser.

Sick; As Predicted.

I hate this.

Every time I start a new diet, it seems like about a week in, I get sick. Some kind of sick. Never the same type of sick, but it always seems to derail me.

This time was pretty bad.

Ever had a sulfur burp? An egg burp? A burp that smells like rotten eggs? You feel bloated. There might be some diarrhea? Yeah ... it's a common problem with high protein diets. The protein doesn't get digested properly and causes a sulfurous gas to build up. There is bad stomach cramps and diarrhea. It's only happened to me one time before. But, yesterday, it started early. I had a lot of protein on Saturday, so no shock. It wasn't too bad at first. I drank a lot of water to flush my system. It seemed about done. So, I ate some eggs. Essentially I threw fuel on the fire. It got really bad. The eggs came back up. I was up every hour, running for the toilet. This went on all night. By 10 AM this morning, everything was back to normal, except I was weak as hell. I feel better now.

I got on the scale. 436. I lost 15 pounds. Mind you, a lot of that is likely dehydration. I bet if I got on the scale tomorrow I'll have put five pounds back on. Either way, that's the number. We'll see where we are next week. I plan to keep going with this diet for as long and as far as I can. At least a couple more weeks with this big calorie reduction. This is the lowest I have been in four years.

400 pounds has been a long term goal for me, pretty much since I started dieting. It's as much a physical barrier as it is a psychological one. No diet that I have been on in the last ten years has gotten me below 400. The closest, and this weight was also aided by being sick, was 418. That was also about four years ago. Here I sit, just 36 pounds from 400. I want it this time. I want it hard.

Still Angry

So, here we are, Day 3 of The Anger Diet. As a #diet goes, it's not so bad. Three shakes, one meal and an empty stomach. There have already been changes. The first day, Tuesday, I was pretty hungry. I kept looking at food and denying myself. Yesterday, I wasn't hungry. Sure, the stomach was empty and food felt good, but there were no pangs. Food came when it was due, just not in the huge amounts or the constant flow my body is used to.

This morning was a little different. When I woke up, I thought about food and the thought kinda sickened me. The thought of a large meal nauseated me. It occurred to me that if I did decide to go back to my old habits, after such an extreme change, I would make myself sick. I'm surprised, this has happened in such a short time.

I'm not looking forward to the next few days. Fridays, the boss buys us lunch. If I can manage a low cal meal out of it, I'll be fine. But, if not, I may have to ditch the office, which will be easily observable. It's a small concern, but no one makes a tempest in a teapot like I do. I have social engagements this weekend, lots of food land mines. Luckily it'll be with people that get it, but it's still not going to be fun. Gotta get through the weekend.

My big concern right now isn't food or calories or even exercise. My current concern is longevity. How long can I keep this diet going? My habit usually sees the death of any diet in very short order. A week is the average. Two weeks is a good stretch. Three weeks is nearly unheard of and the crazier the diet, the shorter it lives. So, how does one sustain a diet based on anger?

Add more anger, of course!

Like any fire, when it begins to die, heap on some fuel. Enter my boss.

Don't get me wrong, I like my boss. He's a straight forward guy. He knows he's an opinionated dick. His words! I admire someone who knows themselves well enough to be able to declare such things. Doesn't make dealing with him much easier. But, in the end, he is a known quantity - you are getting exactly what it says on his smug, diminutive package.

Last night I hung out at work, doing laundry (the machine is free and better than the ones in my complex!), he happened by. He's aware of my situation since we discussed the insurance issue. We started talking and this began a two hour lecture on my weight, my health, my finances and my life choices. This is typical of the guy, not unexpected. But, by the end, I had a whole new basket of anger. Now I want to shove my diligence and resolve in his FUCKING FACE!

That should get me through the weekend.

Don't Diet Angry!

Today begins what I have been calling "The Angry Diet." Holler out if you've heard this song before:

I am SOOO-OOO-OOO sick of being fat!

Okay! Okay! Stop shouting. Of course you have heard it before, if not from yourself than certainly here on this blog from me. This blog chronicles five years of frustration. I have tried nearly every #diet and everything else I can think of and have not been able to find the diligence or the discipline to stick with anything for very long. Not getting the #gastric-bypass is something of a last straw. I'm just sick!

In the materials for the surgery, there is a pre-op diet. The diet is intended to shrink the fat around the liver and the stomach to give the surgeon better access. The diet is intended to last two weeks and is VERY low calorie. If my calculations are right, less than 1000 calories. As in, three 200 calorie shakes and one 300 calorie meal, like a Lean Cuisine. Bam! That's all.

Okay, well, I'm not going to do that. But, I thought, what if I got close to that? Really cut my calories. Just for a while, say a month? What would that look like?

I put together a shake. A scoop of egg white protein powder and 16 ounces of soy milk. That's 330 calories, so three of those a day, about 990 calories.

Then, a meal. Something simple. Chicken breast or fish with veggies. Today was a can of tuna, a bit of kinda-fresh broccoli and some baby carrots. A tiny bowl of food that I generously call 200 calories. Tasted like a steak & baked potato by the time I got to it.

Being a little short, I went with a bag of peanuts as a snack for 290 more calories.

My calculator calls that 1480 calories. I was aiming for 1500, so not too far off.

Before you ask, yes, I've been hungry all day. But, frankly, I'm getting high quality food, I'm not starving, just hungry. And, well, I have my anger to stuff into my empty stomach.

Can I pull this off for a month? Not likely. I was eating 2500 calories a day and couldn't stick to that for two weeks. But, I'll give it a shot. When it fails, hopefully my anger will be beaten down and I'll do something more sensible, albeit as likely futile.

On a good note, of sorts, the lady who handles our benefits at work is working with the insurance company to see if we can get gastric bypass coverage added to our policy. We renew our policy in September. She talked to me late last week. No word yet. I'm not hopeful, but we'll hold out and see.

Five Dollar Hypnosis

I've exchanged calls back and forth with the Overlake people. They have confirmed that there is no insurance option. There are no other financing options. They should be selling financing like car places do! $25k is the price of a nice used car, they could chuck in GAP insurance & everything. Whatever. Until further notice, there are no plans for surgery. I want to say it was a waste of time, but, in many ways it wasn't. I'm looking at my weight in a slightly different light.

This outlook was aided by yesterday's activities.

I mentioned in yesterday's post that I was looking into hypnotherapy. I mentioned that the doctor I looked at had MP3s for like $300. It occurred to me after I wrote yesterday's post that there HAS to be others slinging hypnotherapy CDs, right? Off to Amazon - and, yup, there are plenty! Left, right & center. Well, the highest reviewed, most popular must be the best, right? Not necessarily, but I'd give it a shot. The highest rated is also one of the cheapest - ah, the free market! Anyway, Roberta Shapiro's disc was only $10. From $25,000 to nearly $4000 to $10 - the path to complete weight loss is getting cheaper all the time.

Then it struck me: it's the 21st century and I'm looking at Amazon, physical media is so pre-millenium! I clicked around for the best MP3s on Amazon. Who'd a thunk! Same Roberta Shapiro recording, and this time for $5. Comparatively free!

I downloaded it to my phone yesterday afternoon. Quick as a wink I had my own hypnotherapist on my phone. Last night, I lay down in bed, a bit before my usual time and started the recordings ...

This is where shit changed.

In all seriousness, it was very relaxing. Her voice is relaxing, the music is relaxing, and once I decided to open up and give it a chance, I did fall into a deep relaxation. It was quite pleasant.

I went along for the mental ride. I followed the guided walk through. I followed the later meditations. I don't know if I was hypnotized. I do know I was very relaxed. I do know I have very vivid memories of the places I was guided to. I also know that when I was guided to surround myself with people I loved and that I knew supported me, I saw several people there, and when I saw my mother, well, I started crying. Not a small, single, manly tear. Nope. Big, heaving sobs. (I'm choking up writing this. When did I become a crier?) It felt good to let go, embarrassing, but good. I think I have a lot more emotion tied up in my weight loss than I have been aware.

I also had a moment where I was guided to envision my goals. I saw my scale at 190, and that is important. But, I also saw myself running. Running! I saw myself enjoying a run. Not out of breath. Running because it felt good to run! It brought me again to tears, tears of pure joy. What a joy it must be to just run - without worrying if you are going to break something or have a heart attack. Just feeling the world rush past, the wind in your face. I miss that so much. I haven't run since I was a kid. Just a few quick steps and I'm winded. FUCK THAT!!!! I want to RUN! I want to jump. I want to play. I want to use my body as something besides a place to shove food, a place to dump meds, a device for breaking furniture. I want to walk into a restaurant and not have to ask for a table, a booth will be fine. Sitting at the fixed chairs at the bar sounds good. A tiny car? No problem, I'm just one of the gang, not a burden to my friends and family.

... speaking of emotion!

Anyway, I feel pretty good this morning. Placebo or not, I feel good. I plan to use the recordings more. Maybe I can get good at this whole thing. Maybe I can finally find a diet and the motivation to go to the gym for more than a week.

Hypnotically Angry

So, my weekend was pretty much spoiled by my brooding over the surgery and insurance not paying for it. Blah. Blah. Blah. I'm no worse off than I was a month ago. Pull it together, Fat Boy.

Since I wasn't pulling it together, I had time to think about lots of, likely stupid, alternatives.

The doctor that does this surgery hands out a pre-surgery diet. It's mostly liquids. Very low calorie. I have thought very hard about just starting that diet and riding it for all its worth. I mean, if I can lose 300 pounds doing 1500 calories a day, more power to me, right? Because all the stupid diets I've done up to now have worked so well, haven't they?

I started thinking about hypnotism. I know I laughed about it before. What stopped me from laughing too much was when my doc mentioned a hypnotist in the same building as her offices cured her migraines.

I mean ... !!! ... wow.

She is a very smart lady and a good doctor, could she fall for some snake oil? She also mentioned his price, about $150 a session, per week. I laughed hard at that. However, now I'm thinking "How many sessions?" Maybe it's worth $1500 or $3000 - if it works. I looked the guy up, he has a book & CDs (of course he does!). There is also a .PDF version of his book and MP3s of his CDs. The MP3s are like $300. The book is $15. I think I'll give the book a shot and see where it gets me. Even if it's just the placebo effect, a stupid plan that works (and only costs $15 bucks) isn't a stupid plan.

The hospital called me this morning to schedule an initial consult. The first space they had available was a month from now! Well, I guess I have time to research all the angles. I mentioned that insurance won't pay - I could hear the panic in the voice of the woman I was talking to. She took my info and said she would look deeper, whatever that means. We'll see how it goes.

Regardless, I'm still pretty angry. There is a little part of me, a little Emperor Palpatine, whispering in my head: "Good! Use your feelings, boy. Trust your anger. Strike out with all your might and your voyage to The Skinny Side will be complete!" I don't know if that will help me lose weight. It does sound like a quick way to the Looney Bin!

Not Covered

I was under the impression that I had a Cadillac insurance plan.

Guess not.

Just spoke to a very nice lady who has the misfortune to work for Premera. She was able to inform me that Bariatric Surgery is not a covered benefit under our plan. I asked a few more questions and she told me that it isn't covered under most plans. I would guess that means Premera goes out of its way to make the coverage for this very effective procedure too expensive for the average employer to buy for their employees. Have I ever mentioned how much I hate insurance companies?

Bariatric Surgery is covered under Medicare. One more reason I say: Medicare for All!

So, no, I'm not sure of my next step. I'm sure there is one. I'm sure there is some overpriced way to cover the surgery. Someone will loan me a big wad of cash at an outrageous interest rate. I'm sure there is a next step. I just honestly allowed myself to believe that a fucking insurance company would give a crap for once. I'm a moron.

Did I mention Medicare for All? May the insurance companies die in a chemical fire, over-paid executives first!

The Seminar

I went to the informational seminar at Overlake last night. It was interesting. And, if nothing else, the ball got rolling.

I met the doctor. He is a nice enough guy. He was sharp, never fumbled for an answer. He has that dry sense of humor one might expect from a man who gets paid to cut into the hopeless day in, day out.

Looks like I'll certainly be going for Gastric Bypass. I knew that going in, but it was confirmed. However that wasn't the interesting part, the numbers were.

The first number that struck me was a 0.3% 90 day death rate from the surgery itself. This is a national average. The doctor told us he has done 300+ surgeries with no deaths. However, I can do math. If he will do 1000 procedures in his career, he's about due for someone to die. I managed to keep my mouth shut and not blurt this out, no need to scare the others in the room who can't do math.

Next was the recovery time. I had been told two to three weeks. With my diabetes, I heal slow, I was afraid I might take even longer. The doctor listed two weeks. I voiced my fears. The doctor told me that if the surgery involved a large incision, this might be an issue. However, with it being a series of small incisions, it'll take two weeks to heal. Impressive! I asked if he would still back me up with the four week number with my boss and he assured me he would.

I knew that losing the weight will likely clear up my diabetes, sleep apnea and high blood pressure issues. However, it was also mentioned that there is a 70+% chance of clearing up my gout. This gets better by the minute! At the end of this, I could be med free. I'll happily trade vitamins and nutritional supplements for Beta Blockers and other expensive pills with all their side effects. Not to mention, NO CPAP!

The last number isn't as good. It proves this isn't a cure all, that I will still have to work. After two years, the average weight loss is only 70 to 80% of what you want to lose. The ten year number is between 60 & 70%. So, yeah, I'll still be going to the gym - forever. Luckily I like going to the gym and being 200 pounds lighter will make it just that much easier to go.

Now: to pay for this. More to come there.

I just found out there is a chance of hair loss with this surgery. In my case, that's pure hilarity!

Who the hell am I?

Saw the doc this morning. I told her that I have gotten the ball rolling for surgery. She felt that plan was "wise" - of course she did, it was her idea! Heh! She cracks me up.

Tomorrow night is the seminar on the surgery. I have a metric ton of questions. I'm sure they'll cover most of them, it's not like I'm the first fatty to get this surgery. They likely have a near assembly line.

Two nights ago I was driving & thinking and something occurred to me. Something startling. I've been thinking that this will be relatively cut & dried; I've been trying to lose the weight for a decade, getting the weight off is the goal, once the weight is gone, the problem is solved. Right?

The thought that occurred to me last night shook my certainty. In fact, it has lowered my confidence and at the same time hardened my resolve to got through with this surgery. The thought was this:

I've always been "The Fat Kid" or "The Fat Guy" - who will I be when I am no longer fat?

On the surface, the question seems silly. But, honestly, it struck deep. The more I thought about it, the more layers the onion revealed. It was a pretty big and stinky onion, too.

The first layer was simple: My short label is "Fat Guy." As in "That Fat Guy over there." or "Which guy? The Fat Guy?" But, if I'm not fat, then what will my simple label be? Sure, most of us hate labels, but, let's face it, we all use them. "The Blonde Chick." "The Black Dude." "The One with The Nose." When I go to the Sex Positive Pool Parties, where just about everyone is over weight and naked, quick labels are useful. "The Tall, Balding, Fat Guy with a Beard & Glasses" describes about four regulars at the parties, we're all pretty chummy, too. Hmmm ... maybe that's a bad example. But you get the idea. What will people pull out about me? I doubt I'll ever be "The Skinny Guy." For a while I'm sure I'll be "The Dude with the Waddle" as the weight loss surgery will leave me with a lot of loose skin. But, really, what will people pick out that will mark me out from the crowd?

This layer gets thicker. This has a lot to do with identity. A lot of who I am is wrapped up in being fat. As a kid, I was picked last for teams and stunk at sports because I was fat. I didn't date much in high school or college because I was fat. I dress a certain way because I'm fat. There are lots of things I do, some I'm not willing to admit to, and I do them because I'm fat.

The next layer, the next thing that occurred to me, really kicked me in the soft stuff. This surgery has a 90+% success rate. 9 out of 10 people lose a large amount of weight after this procedure. I am really likely to lose the weight, at least for a while. If I put my back behind it, I'll have a good chance of keeping it off. This surgery will most likely work and work well.

Honestly, this is the first time I have really had to worry about my identity. I always knew I'd fail before. And, to prove myself right, I did just that. Okay, maybe that's not entirely true. Maybe a little harsh. But I'm sure in my heart of hearts, losing 300 pounds has always been daunting to the point of being overwhelming. Now? A day of surgery and observation, three weeks of recovery at home and bam! The weight is melting off simply because I'm burning more than I'm in-taking. It will be nearly impossible to keep up the 3000 to 4000 calories needed to upkeep my current weight. Add a little exercise and it becomes just that much more drastic.

I'm the Fat Guy, but only if I stay fat and this time the plan might just work, it only has a 90% chance of success, after all. When the weight comes off, who the hell will I be? I realized while this was buzzing around my head that it wasn't just about a quick label, or even surface identity, this was about the core of my being. Every summer, as far back as I can remember, even when I tried to tell myself I was comfortable with my body, I would think "By Fall, I will have taken some weight off." and I have failed like 25 or 30 times. For the last ten years, every few weeks I would start dieting, only to fall back off the diet and stop exercising only to restart a few weeks later. This blog chronicles five years of that!

Now here I am. I can still hear the voice in my head saying "SOMEONE has to make up the 5 to 10% of failures, ya know." I don't want to fail this time. It's going to be a lot of pain & trouble and bullshit just to have the surgery and survive the process. I want to be in the 80th or better percentile - I always tested well.

I don't know who will be living in my body at the end of this process, but I want to meet him. Waddle & all.

Cutting In

On April 14th I went to the doctor and we discussed my options. I have been struggling with my weight for over a decade (that Throwback Thursday post really drove that home for me.)

To begin, I asked straight out "What are my chances of seeing 50?" The doc said: "Pretty good, your heart is good. 60? Not so much." That kinda puts it in perspective, huh?

Next, we talked about what I can do since apparently I have no discipline. We looked at drug options, nothing seemed worth the side effects. She mentioned hypnotism. When I stopped laughing, she revealed the expense and it seemed a lot for the possibility it might work.

Then, we talked weight loss surgery. I raised my fears. I've watched my friend go through it. I watched her have surgery after surgery. I watched her put weight back on. She is worse off after the surgery than before she started. I have another friend that has lost a ton after the surgery ... and now she is putting weight back on. I've heard of the ways you can cheat your surgery. I'm an addict - an addict will do anything to get their fix.

But, when it comes down to it, I'm 42, I'm scary heavy. It's not getting better. Gotta do something.

I have no idea how to pay for it. I talked with a few friends who tell me it's not as expensive as I thought. It seems like my last option.

The doc suggested getting serious about dieting and going to the gym. Think about the surgery. And she wanted to see me back in a month.

• The first week I screwed around. I was shocked to still weigh 450.
• The second week, I lost 6 pounds.
• Last week, I screwed around and I gained 7 pounds.

I went to the gym this morning. I see the doc next Monday. Next Tuesday I go in for a class on the surgery.

I can't believe it's this bad. But, it is. It just is.