Minus 39 days
(until my gastric bypass surgery)
“Who
Is That Fat Man In The Mirror?”
Only recently have I been able to come to accept that I am one of the
legions
of morbidly obese people in the First World. Despite the
fact that
there are many people as heavy, or heavier than I—somehow I’ve never
identified
with that group until recently. My family is always reassuring me
that I
don’t look that big, but over the last two years my perceptions have
begun to
come into line with the truth. I’m huge. From the front,
it’s not
too bad, but from the side my profile rivals any last term
pregnancy.
I used to tell myself that a lot of American Natives are heavy.
After
all, eating right is expensive, and food has always been one the things
that
comes last on our list of monthly expenditures. Our eating
habits
are generally poor and that is reflected in the pandemic of diabetes
presently
decimating Natives in America. Fortunately, diabetes is not one
of my
particular ailments.
I was always a “big-boned” child but I didn’t really start to get fat
until my
later teens. I never liked cooked vegetables and have
seldom eaten
them throughout my life. I do like fresh vegetables, and where
we’ve been
able to grow our own, I’ve eaten more. But in general, I could
probably
count the times I ate vegetables between 1968 to 1976 on my fingers and
toes.
(During that period, I did eat a lot of natural salads, cooked fruits,
goats
milk products, and natural grains so maybe my previous statement is
misleading. But even to today, though I do enjoy fresh steamed
corn, new
asparagus, broccoli, cauliflower, and green beans, I probably eat
vegetables
less than three times a month.)
Even though I loved
athletics and had a fair amount of natural talent, I didn’t have the
temperament or discipline to deal with hard-ass coaches and schedules
in the
public school, especially after we moved to California from Texas
(where
talented athletes are treated like Gods.) I was a rebel who
resented
authority and fit in perfectly with the late “sixties”.
Since I
wasn’t particularly interested in exercise apart from athletics, I
didn’t
attend school and was fairly inactive most of the time. I was
also
addicted to sugary sweet desserts, peanut butter, milk products, and
other
fatty foods. At sixteen, one of my favorite meals was peanut
butter and
butter on wheat-berry bread, packed with potato chips, and covered in
Cool
Whip. I washed that down with a chocolate milkshake. By 17,
and at
only six feet tall, I ballooned up to 225 pounds. I was
still fast
on my feet but was definitely pudgy and depressed.
In keeping with the times, I began to smoke marijuana and experiment
with
hallucinogens during the last four years of the sixties. I
went out
on the road, hitchhiking all over the country, but even though I went
without
money, I didn’t lose much weight. I’ve never had portion
problems; I just
eat the wrong things at the wrong times, sometimes in excess.
By 1969, I was living in the Berkeley area and working in a Telegraph
Avenue
store during the riots. I didn’t have much money left over
after
rent, and without a car I had to walk everywhere. I ate
only once a
day and slowly began to lose weight.
In the summer of 1970, as
Richard Oakes and the All-Tribes group were occupying Alcatraz Island,
I hooked
up with two brothers from the Pit River Tribe and ultimately became
active in
the Red Power Movement. Food was a luxury. Venison and
potatoes,
squirrel and rice, garlic and beans—these were the main courses we
enjoyed. There was no money for sugar foods and no refrigeration
for milk
products. I was hitchhiking and walking literally thousands of
miles each
year, sleeping outside on the ground, and eating less and
less.
Many nights we hunkered around the fire with plates piled high with
brown rice
flavored with a little mustard. We’d take bites of garlic cloves and
shovel in
the rice with flat bread baked on rocks to moderate the garlic
burn.
Water was our drink, and jerky our snack. For sweets, we’d eat
small
amounts of crystallized honey. In less than a year, I lost
forty-five
pounds and was feeling great.
In late 1970, I contracted
Hepatitis A and my weight plummeted further to 155 pounds, the lowest
weight
I’ve ever been as an adult.
By mid-1971, we were living
in Montana, eating mostly wild meats like elk, moose, deer, bear, duck,
raccoon, squirrel, and even muskrat. My weight climbed back up
into the
180’s. We returned to California in late “71” due to the
difficulty of
finding winter employment.
In 1972, we drove east to
Ohio on an ill-fated attempt to relocate to Canada and ended up
hitchhiking
back through Montana, finally returning to California. My weight
stayed
around 180.
In 1973, I went to Chicago
to rescue my brother and to try and jump-start a music career through a
contact
with Curtis Mayfield’s company. We stayed with a friend who ate
only
fried potatoes and onions, augmented with cheese. Occasionally
he’d eat a
rice cake with peanut butter and honey, but that was it, nothing
else.
Living there, my weight went back down to about 170 pounds. I was
doing a
lot of yoga and achieved the best flexibility of my life.
When we returned to
California, we began living a low cost nomadic life. My
weight
climbed back up to the mid 180’s. Over the next two years of
living in
the mountains, foothills, and deserts of the Western U.S., my weight
stabilized
around 180 pounds. I became addicted to running and often ran up
to five
miles a day.
Since 1971, we had been
participating in regular Native ceremonial life, which involved periods
of
fasting. Going four days without solid food was common and we
made that
sacrifice regularly. In 1973, my brothers and I began
experimenting with
longer and longer fasts. Some months, we fasted every other
day. Some months we’d fast for seven to ten days, drinking only
orange
juice and water. Finally, we began to get used to going without
food for
longer periods. My longest fast was 28 days, with juices.
My older
brother was going to college when he fasted 42 days. He came home
one day
complaining that he could see colors coming out of his professor’s
mouth and
figured he needed to eat again. We broke his fast with a
pizza. One
of my brothers went 60 days. He was still working in Reno when we
caught
up to him. Right away, we could see he was dying. He’d
completely
lost the desire for food, had contracted scurvy, and was living on
shots of 151
proof rum. We forced him to eat, and fortunately, he survived
with no
visible problems. I know it sounds crazy, but at the time
it seemed
a perfect solution to poverty. We didn’t have to spend the little
money
we had on food. We got used to fasting and a lack of desire to
eat.
Perhaps the fasting became addicting, I don’t know.
Some people, particularly
doctors, have challenged my truthfulness, claiming we couldn’t have
survived
those lengths of fasts without visible effects. We know
differently. Not only did we fast those lengths of time; we
stayed active
driving, traveling, going to school, and working. We did notice
certain
disabling effects during the longer fasts, particularly in driving and
other
activities that required broad attention to the surrounding
environment.
In general, though, we functioned perfectly well. After my
brother’s
close brush with mortality, we gave up extended fasting and returned to
a
maximum of four days at any one time. However, we still often
fasted
every other day during some months to try and lose weight. It is
my
belief that though we may not have seen visibly detrimental effects
from this
fasting, we seriously disrupted our body metabolisms by this
abuse—which subsequently
contributed to our gains in weight over the next few decades and our
inability
to regulate or lose excess pounds.
I met my wife, Bernie, in
1975. Though we continued to move around a lot, by the time our
second
child was born in 1977, we were reintegrating slowing into mainstream
society,
becoming more and more sedentary. Other than short diversions to
live in
the deserts of Northern Nevada, southeastern Arizona, and along the
Salmon
River in Northern Idaho, we settled our family primarily in Sonoma and
Lake
Counties of Northern California. Our lives began to reflect the
mundane
qualities of American life, and the pounds began to attach themselves
to
me.
I resumed my teenage habits
and by the early 1980’s gained almost 55 pounds. At a weight of
245, I
decided to do something about it. During a period of
winter-enforced
unemployment (I was now a landscaper), I began to workout 2-4 hours a
day,
including running and martial arts training. I reduced my calorie
intake
to less than 800 per day, using SlimFast, eating primarily yogurt,
cottage
cheese, granola bars, and ½ sandwiches of turkey and chicken
lunchmeats.
At the age of 30, and over a period of four to six months I lost
approximately
60 to 70 pounds to attain my best weight of 180.
I stayed active throughout
the next few years, working at a physically demanding job landscaping,
but
still my weight crept higher and higher.
By the mid-90’s I was
participating regularly again in our Native ceremonial life. I
originally
gave up alcohol in my early twenties, because of similar activities and
encouragement from Native elders. The rigors and responsibilities
of the
Renewal Dance demanded that I give up marijuana and recreational drugs
permanently. I had tried to give them up in my late thirties,
after
twenty years of hiding it from my parents and then my children, but
this time I
was successful. Unfortunately, I was unable (or unwilling) to
give up my
dependence on sugar foods and desserts—my weight continued to increase
significantly.
By the time I was in my
mid-forties I was running my own business and my weight had climbed
back up
into the mid 200’s. It became more and more difficult more
me to do
the harder work demanded by my job. I went to the doctor and got
medicines to control my appetite. I tried all kinds of chemicals and
fad
diets—but I was yo-yoing without any success.
At forty-seven I was
diagnosed with Hepatitis C. I did a year of chemotherapy and
Danced again
and it became undetectable in my blood. Instead of losing weight
from the
chemotherapy, I gained another ten pounds.
Just after my forty-ninth
birthday, I was at my highest weight ever—up to that time—about 290
pounds. I was preparing to fulfill my Ceremonial pledge for my
final
Dance. I worked out every day lifting weights, doing martial arts
and
aerobic kickboxing and lost down to 271. I went to New Mexico to
fulfill
my commitment and returned to immediately gain almost forty-two
pounds.
Now I began to get
scared. I was 313 pounds. I was beginning to doubt my
ability to
drum up enough self-discipline to ever get back down to a livable
weight.
I tried an all-protein diet and lost thirteen pounds only to
immediately gain
back twenty. Every time I tried to get into a routine of exercise
and
reasonable diet, something caused me to stop. My body had begun
to start
breaking down. I had to have both my knees scoped to remove
cartilage
damage. My doctor warned me that one of my Achilles tendons was
ready to
break anytime. My blood pressure went up enough that my doctor
put me on
medication. I began to suffer nausea and dry heaves every morning
and
scared my wife to death when I would almost asphyxiate myself by
breathing my
saliva as I slept. Eventually that started to happen even when I
was
awake. My weight climbed over 330.
I had to sell my business
because I was no longer able to do the work effectively. I felt
terrible,
with extreme fatigue in the afternoons and general malaise. I
passed out
from coughing one night while driving back from the city after having a
CAT
scan of my brain. The scan was scheduled because of a slight
sagging on
one side of my face and the slurring of words when I talked. The
scan
showed no evidence of stroke, but the passing out from coughing
continued.
After twenty-three years in
the same place, circumstances caused us to have to move. The
stress of
moving was tremendous. We were leaving the place where we
had
raised our children. We found a small house in town that was five
times
the monthly rent we’d been paying for more than two
decades.
Fortunately, I also found a job coordinating a language preservation
grant for
a local Tribe. I’d worked outside all my life, getting some sort
of daily
exercise even at these heavier weights. Now I was working ten to
twelve
hours in an office at a computer. My weight shot up to 360
pounds.
I could feel my body dying. I had great bouts of depression and
found it
difficult to walk and do mundane things. I suffered from partial
impotence
and was diagnosed with sleep apnea and suffered at least of two bouts
of
pneumonia, and two of severe bronchitis in those two years.
I saw a TV documentary about
a gastric bypass and began reading about it on the net. I talked
to my
doctor, and though he personally did not approve of my having the
surgery, he
consented to making a referral for me to a gastric surgeon.
I had a difficult time
finding surgeons that took my insurance in my area. The closest,
located in
Santa Rosa, wanted ten thousand dollars up front. For all the
years
before my job with the Tribe, I had never had any private
insurance. In
lean times I had periods of Medi-Cal coverage, but hadn’t had that in
more than
a decade. I found the name of my current surgeon on the Internet
and
initiated the contact for laproscopic bariatric surgery myself.
My doctor
required five thousand dollars up front.
I went to my
first
preliminary appointment in late June, knowing that my job—and my
insurance—would
be ending on August 30th. The doctor seemed to be
moderately
convinced that it might be possible to accomplish the surgery by then
so we
started the necessary series of tests required for approval by my
insurance. With my history, I needed to consult a cardiologist, a
pulmonary specialist, and have any number of scans and tests done prior
to a
mandatory psychological review and dietary counseling.
My preliminary pulmonary
tests showed that I might have a problem but subsequent tests showed
the
disease to be in a preliminary stage with minimal damage present in my
lungs. My surgeon had made it clear that he would not approve the
surgery
if I had existing problems that pointed to life threatening
conditions.
He wouldn’t take the chance of putting me on the table if I was just
going to
die in a few years of something else besides obesity related problems.
The surprise came from my
cardiologist. He was tremendously supportive and positive about
me having
the bypass and wished me success when we scheduled my next six-month
checkup. The shock came when my surgeon notified me that my
cardiologist’s report had showed some heart problems and he wanted to
take some
time to review them. By now we were into August and after another
late
notice for another test that had been missed, it was obvious the
surgery would
not occur before my job ended. My employer was going to extend my
insurance for one month past the layoff date so I was covered until
September
30th.
Near the end of August, my
surgeon’s office called me and the nurse made it a point to tell me
that they
were requiring that I keep my insurance current beyond the September 30th
date. Cobra would cost me almost $800 a month at my age and
secretly I
resolved to dump it as soon as possible after the surgery.
Fortunately,
my wife stepped in and had me put on her insurance at a cost of about
$320 a
month. I already was facing the possibility that the costs would
force me
to declare bankruptcy, but the alternative was unthinkable.
I had the final appointment
with my surgeon prior to setting a date for surgery. He informed
me he
was very concerned with the possibility I wouldn’t make it off the
table
alive. I told him that it was an issue of quality of life and
that I
would risk it. He insisted on taking more time to look at my
records, to
consult with the anesthesiologist before making a final decision.
I went
out of his office depressed and slightly angry.
It was almost six weeks
before I finally got the go-ahead and the date for the pre-op
appointments and
the surgery itself. The pre-ops would be November 3rd
and the surgery November 22nd. I was going to spend
Thanksgiving in the hospital. To be honest, I was looking for
another
doctor who could do the surgery and not charge me the $5000 up front,
but the
only one I could find was busy and wouldn’t do it laproscropicly.
I just
didn’t have the energy to keep looking. After all, I had/have a
date and
we’ re prepared to spend all our savings.
So now, we’re up to
date. We’ve been homeless since the end of August and had been
living in
our kid’s apartments. My wife is commuting to work and I’m still
producing and editing a historical documentary a few days a week.
Unemployment’s paying me pretty well, but not enough to really save
anything. According to my doc’s instructions, I have to
lose more weight.
He’s put me on more meds to open my lungs, and bring down my pulse
rate.
I’m ready. My family is prepared—kind of—for whatever might
happen.
I know they’re not really ready. No one’s family is prepared for
death.
Myself, I’m ready. For fifty-five years, I’ve eaten what I want
to.
I’m prepared to give that up. I want to run again. I want
to wear
something other than shorts and moccasins. I want to be able to
put on my
shoes, clip my toenails, and wipe my ass without feeling like I’ve run
a
marathon. I want to make love to my wife normally and not have to
take a
handful of pills every day. Yeah, it is selfish I know. But
I am a
child of the sixties—indulgent and self-centered. I’m ready to
begin
living again—not just waiting to die early. I want to be my
shadow.
Hoka Hey!
Minus 39 days.
I’m happy to have
started this journal. I’ve been thinking a lot about how I’m
going to get
into eating three or more times a day. For years, I haven’t been
eating
or even drinking anything all day until late afternoon. Today I
hadn’t
eaten anything other than an English muffin till the pizza at 5
PM. I
guess I’ll have to buy a watch and set timers to remind myself to eat
and drink
on time.
In another week or two I’ll
start looking for the containers, measuring cups, and foods I’m going
to need
when I get home from surgery. I’ll have to change the way I eat,
the way
I drink, the way I chew. But I won’t be alone, you’ll be right
there with
me. So I’m gonna wrap this up for tonight, get something to drink
and
take my evening meds before bed. I found some calorie free
flavored
waters that I’ve been drinking but I ran out yesterday. I hate
city tap
water. My wife is working late tonight. Later…
Minus 38 days
Minus 37 days
Today I’ve really been
depressed again. Lying around watching the tube, not doing
anything. Sometime I’ll write a little about the issues that are
causing
this depression but not today. I can’t seem to write at
all. It’s
even hard to write in this journal. I didn’t walk again.
Minus 36 days
The little house we move to
in town was OK. Small and convenient. It cost us eight
times what
our country house did. We were spoiled. When my job ended
with the
Tribe, we couldn’t afford to rent it anymore. Being homeless at
55 is
different, but it’s harder on my wife than it is on me. I was
used to
moving all the time. Leaving the place on Scotts Creek was tough
for her,
even though her health improved. All the mold in that old house
was bad.
I did most of the moving to
the house in town. Same when we had to leave there. Took me
about
ten weekends to put most of our stuff in storage and we got rid of a
lot.
I’m tired of moving stuff. It’s hard with this second me hanging
on my
back. I’m looking forward to being able to do things like that
again
without feeling like it’s too much.
Don’t know if I’ll have the
energy afterwards to walk. That’ll be three days I missed.
Guilt is
a bitch.
My wife and daughter are
leaving this evening to take my grandson for his eye operation in
Davis.
I could go but I’m just not real big on hospitals right now and I like
them to
have a chance to be together. If anything goes wrong during my
surgery,
they’ll need each other. I am worried about my grandson
though….
Time to take my meds and start moving.
Minus 35 days
The recent depression was mostly about the work I’m trying to do.
Making
a documentary is always filled with problems, but two weeks ago we had
a
computer glitch that wiped out about three full weeks work. So
instead of
being able to start the second segment with a lot of images ready to
place on
the timeline, we’re faced with having to go back and recapture and
import
everything from scratch. Until today I just haven’t been able to
face
it. I started looking for more funding—as of right now; neither
of us is
being paid!
I also have to look for a
job, which doesn’t seem to make much sense when I’ve got surgery coming
up next
month. Still I’m happy there’s unemployment or we wouldn’t be
covering our
bills right now.
Minus 34 days.
not much better to read! At least I’ve
been
drinking water again at night. The C-Pap’s been giving me
problems at
night and I haven’t been wearing it more than four or five hours.
Can’t
figure out what the problem is.
Walked two point seven today. Felt real good again. Think
I’ll bump
it up to three plus miles soon. Took care of business but forgot
to eat
all day. Been playing a lot of Texas Hold-em on the Net.
Just can’t
seem to write for any of the projects. Hope that changes soon!
Minus 33 days.
Took my truck to the dealer
to have the recalled ball-joints replaced. I was going to walk
but ended
up reading a magazine instead.
About ten PM I remembered that I hadn’t eaten or drunk much. I
had a
Snickers Bar and a bag of Cheetos around noon. Then I had a cup
of coffee
around six PM. I was going to eat, honest—but I was in a great
poker game
online and…the time just kinda slipped away. Tomorrow I promise
to eat,
drink and walk!
Minus 32 days.
I couldn’t get the rep
on the phone again so I called the General Manager’s Office. His
Sec asks
what it’s about. “I have a question about policy”, I
say. She
says he’ll call me back. A few minutes later I get a call from my
wife. “Are you trying to get me fired?”
I get a little
carried away sometimes. My problem is that I just don’t recognize
a chain
of command. As far as I’m concerned, if there’s a problem you
just go
right to the Big Dog… the Head Cheese… the place where all bucks
stop!
Unfortunately, most department heads don’t like that. If it’s me
fighting
the battle, I don’t care—but my wife just hates that kind of
stress. I
promised her I wouldn’t do it again and got the letter they
needed. Now
my doctor’s office has to wait until the new paperwork gets processed
so they
can apply for the surgery under the new numbers. Hopefully that
won’t
affect the date.
Remember last night when I
said I’d walk, eat, and drink today? I lied. I didn’t mean
to,
honest. It’s just that I went back to working on the documentary
and
skipped my walk. After that I picked my wife up and after
getting
gas, took her to her physical therapy session. Sat in the truck
for
another hour and ½. By the time we got back to Ukiah it was
almost seven
PM. I hadn’t had anything to eat or drink so we stopped at
a
restaurant and ate. I had a sandwich, a few fries and a salad.
I told my wife I was a
little worried about how I was going to break the habit of not eating
or
drinking all day for so many years. Guess we’ll have to buy a lot
of
little containers and I’ll have to carry them with me wherever I
go. Only
a week and a few days to go until my pre-op appointments.
Minus 31 days.
And I walked three
and ½ miles after that. Started out feeling pretty poorly, but
finished
strong. I hope to be walking four miles by next weekend.
I got a good idea for a
stage performance using some of my stories, poetry and music
today.
Hopefully, I’ll actually work on it instead of having it stand in line
with all
my other dormant projects! Not too long ago I outlined a
screenplay that
I think would be great—then I found out that I knew nothing at all
about
writing screen plays! After reading a screenplay competition
critic’s
reviews of those submitted to a certain competition, my enthusiasm was
dampened
significantly. Before I could start the thing I’d need to spend
quite a
few hours looking at other successful projects and studying the basics
of
screenplay creation. I need a few clones. Actually I
imagine that
this will end up just another half-finished project. Lack of
discipline
and too many interests make a poor partnership for success. I
just don’t
have the energy to master the many disciplines I aspire too. The
old
“Jack of all trades…” adage is my anthem.
Minus 30 days
I played some poker and won
big only to have my computer freeze up mid-play all my winnings
disappear. Good thing I don’t use real money. Still, it
always
pisses me off when technology fails and I wish for my old life free of
such
“conveniences”.
The sole on my shoe has been
flopping when I walk lately. Reminds me of the circus clowns I
saw as a
kid. My son says I need to get new shoes but I just can see that
with so
many other expenses coming up. Basil’s web journal reminded me of
all the
things I have to get together before the surgery. My pre-ops are
next
week. I need to start keeping a list of questions for my
doctor.
I’m living about three hours from the hospital and my doctor.
What
happens post-op if I have an emergency? I can’t quite figure out
why I
haven’t already asked these important questions. I guess the
reality that
it’s all really gonna happen is finally hitting home. I haven’t
been
over-eating at all lately, but neither have I been eating that
well. We
had tri-tip sandwiches tonight.
Minus 29 days
a walk, a little over three miles. All
my back
pain is gone now when I walk. I don’t know if I’m losing any
weight, but
I definitely feel better and should be a lot stronger for the
surgery.
It’s been more than two years since I got this much exercise.
I read through the GBS manual that my doctor gave me again. I
need to
find the protein powder I’m going to use. After I finish writing
today,
I’m going to start that list of questions for my doctor.
I realized we’re going to
have to move back to my son’s after the surgery. I’ll have to
negotiate
the outside stairs, but I’ll need the real bed and my lazyboy
chair.
Plus, my son may be able to take me to the gym every day, especially
when it’s
raining.
My daughter is getting
serious about having the surgery herself. She’s only 28, but her
weight
is already a serious problem for her. I feel a lot of guilt
about
not having lived a better lifestyle so my kids might have developed
better
eating habits. Most of my daughter’s problems have to do with
portion
size, and eating the wrong thing.
I’m a little worried about
the fact that I’m eating so little now that the new post GBS diet won’t
be that
much of a change, but then I remembered that my body won’t absorb as
much
either. Also the total absence of sugar and reduced carbs
should
make for some success. I hope I’m not one of the percentage of
people who
don’t lose more than 40 percent of their excess body weight. Just
roll
the dice, baby.
Minus 28 days.
Minus 27 days.
Minus 26, 25, 24, 23 days.
Minus 22 days.
Minus 21 days.
Minus 20 days.
Minus 19 days
My pre-op appointment went
well. My nurse, Linda, made every effort to answer any questions
I had,
plus giving me the best description of what to expect I’d been given so
far. I’m paraphrasing her, with a little embellishment of my own
of
course—but basically she said they were going to stab me deep a couple
of times
and rearrange my insides. If I think about it like that, I
realize how
serious it us and I’m ready for all the complications, pain, and
discomfort
that comes with it. That’s OK with me. I appreciate the
honesty. They can talk about laproscopic surgery as being the
least
invasive all they want, but the truth is they stab you deep and
rearrange your
insides. It’s just neater than a knife blade and they sew you up!
On the down side, she
couldn’t find my most recent blood panels, so when I went to the
hospital
afterward for my pre-op appointment they had to stick me again in both
arms. There was also a mix-up with whether or not I could get the
lab
work without registering for an out-patient service. Fortunately,
for me,
they went out of their way to make it simple for me and just took the
blood and
sent me on my way. It seems like a pretty good hospital. I
finished
all my appointments in three hours and was on my way for the long drive
home. I’m supposed to be taking my vitamins already—so I’ll pick
‘em up
tomorrow.
Minus 18 days.
Later my wife and I had
dinner at the show—two hot dogs, popcorn, and lemonade. It’s been
a
really long time since we’ve been to the show on Friday, even if it was
only a
matinee. We enjoyed the show and the previews too and decided we
should
go more often. Nothing like the big screen! I haven’t been
as
depressed as I was. I guess things are accelerating fast enough
toward
the surgery now that I’m getting more philosophical.
Minus 17 days.
My publisher’s husband, who
is a doctor, offered to buy my post surgery supplements at
wholesale.
That should save me at least one hundred dollars a month.
He also
offered to teach me a method of teaching my body to obey commands to
help with
the habit and behavior modifications and management I’ll need to
master.
When that happens I’ll write about it. I picked up my wife from
work at
about 9:30 PM and we drove back to Mendocino County.
Haven’t walked in
well over a week now. I’m wondering if I’ll actually start again
before
the surgery. With all the rain, it ain’t easy.
Minus 16 days.
The whey protein powder
seems to be easy to find but I can see I’ll have to reduce the amount
of fluid
I mix with it to keep my fluid intake in line with 80-90 grams of
protein and
less than 48 ozs of fluid. That’s going to make the drinks a lot
thicker—and probably a lot less tasty as well. Somehow I don’t
think I’m
going to care much about that at the beginning.
I hope.
Minus 15 days.
Minus 14 days.
Minus 13 days.
Minus 12 days.
Minus 11 days.
Minus 10 days.
We rushed home when my wife
got off and had a great dinner with all the family. It was very
nice. I didn’t overeat and the food was great! These kinds
of meals
I’ll miss.
Minus 9 days.
Minus 8 to 4 Days
My daughter took her kids to
see the new Harry Potter movie and I stayed home to watch my grandson,
Hvshi. My wife was working. He threw up the entire time and
wasn’t
feeling good but as soon as his mom and brother and sister came home he
perked
right up. Kids!
Minus 3 Days.
We’re setting up to scan
digital transparencies of Grace Hudson’s paintings of Pomo people for
use in
our documentary. The Sun House in Ukiah is graciously helping
us. The paintings should really make a difference in the
quality of
the documentary. On the down side, our camera has been
malfunctioning and
a full day of shooting left us with only a few usable clips. As
of today,
I’m forgetting about all that until I’m recovered enough to get back in
the
saddle.
I’m wondering whether to go
out and buy some books for the hospital. I just don’t know if
I’ll be up
to reading them. Other than that, I’m just focusing on
appreciating the
world and all that’s in it. My wife is getting a cold, but so far
I’m
well. I hope hers doesn’t get too bad--hanging out in the
hospital isn’t
fun if you’re a sick visitor. And since she’s taking her vacation
to be
there, she’ll only have work to come back to! She’s a wonderful
person.
Minus 2 days.
Poor woman. That’s the story of
her
life. So they’re sick and I’m eating my last meal… . I had
watched
the movie “Chocolat” and craved some real cocoa. I made two cups
and
savored them. Tomorrow is the dreaded “bowel cleansing
regimen”. Oh, I forgot. I walked yesterday. It
was nice
but I only went about a mile and I was exhausted. I’ve lost all
the
strength I gained.
Minus 1 day.
Day 1
An hour later the Dr
arrived to ask if I had any questions. He was smiling, positive
and
confident. The anesthesia specialist arrived next. He was
wonderful—humble, soft spoken but self-assured, compassionate and
competent. I was especially grateful for his warm assurances to
my wife
that they would take good care of me. The rest of the surgical
team
introduced themselves and told us the expected duration of the surgery.
Next came the IV and the
initial shots and pills to get things underway. I wasn’t nervous,
just
ready to go. By 7:45 AM they wheeled me toward the OR. I
don’t even
remember going in the door, I was out that fast. I didn’t wake up
at all
in the immediate recovery room that I remember but I do remember waking
up in
Intensive Care. My doctor assured me that everything had gone
perfectly
and I drifted in and out of consciousness for the next five or six
hours.
My wife went to get something to eat. They weren’t able to find a
fold-out chair for her but provided her with blankets and pillows in
the ICU
waiting room. She was still feeling pretty poorly and went to bed
early. I began to wake up around 9 PM. My throat was really
sore
from the breathing tube in place during the surgery. Fortunately
it was gone
by the time I woke up. The catheter was really
uncomfortable as
well. This was my first time suffering that intimate
imposition.
Hope it’s my last!
I still wasn’t allowed any
water to drink but was give a sponge on a stick to swab my cotton mouth
away. Occasionally the catheter would begin stinging terribly and
I knew
I was urinating. I was pressing my pain button about every
fifteen
minutes. During one hour I pressed it about every eight
minutes.
Finally the ache in my stomach went away and I managed to find a
position where
the catheter didn’t sting.
Around 10 PM I felt
good enough to start reading one of the two new books I’d purchased on
Saturday. I never get to buy books so I was really looking
forward to
it. I didn’t have my glasses but the print was just large enough
at arms
length that I could make it out. Getting older is a bitch!
I read
until midnight and then fired up the old C-pap machine and
crashed. Oh, I
forgot, I also got a breathing machine I was supposed to use
every 30 minutes.
Actually, it was just a tube that lifts a plastic disc to measured
lines in
another tube. It’s supposed to help get the lungs functioning to
avoid
pneumonia—something that I do need. I’m prone to pneumonia.
It’ll
probably be the bug that eventually takes me out. I began to use
it
faithfully.
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
Day 2
Around three AM I really
started to sleep well, but by seven I was awake again. My sore
throat and
the stinging of the catheter were my main complaints. The pain
medication
seemed to take care of the incision pain, knocking it down to just a
soft dull
ache. I was given a few ice chips to suck on and that helped my
throat
some. Around 8 o’clock my day nurse arrived and I began to
concentrate on
the real process of recovery, breathing into the lung tube every 30
minutes,
limiting my pain medication, keeping an eye on my heart rate, blood
pressure,
and oxygenation. Around 9 AM she got me out of bed to sit in a
chair for
two hours. I wanted to walk but had too many wires tethering me
plus the
damn catheter. It was driving me crazy! My nurse began the
process
of finding out if we could remove it, especially since I’d been on my
feet
already. It took three more hours but by then I was making real
progress
on the breathing tube, increasing my lung function substantially.
About
Noon she got the permission to remove it. Now that was
painful!
Since my Doctor was off
today, another Doctor was supposed to come and check on me to give me
permission to leave the ICU and go downstairs to the regular recovery
stations
where I could begin the Stage One Diet and Walking. He finally
made it
around 1;30 PM and by 2:30 we were saying our goodbyes in the
ICU. I was
very impressed by the professionalism, attentiveness, and compassion of
everyone working there. I vowed to send them all a card, and a
couple of
them a present. At 6:15 PM I was in the wheel chair heading
downstairs.
By 2:45 we were led into
room 111 downstairs. It was a fairly good sized room with 2
beds—both
empty. We unloaded our stuff and the wheelchair attendant helped
me into
bed and hooked up my oxygen and my pain med IV tubes. A few
minutes later
another attendant came in to set up the overhead rack on my bed that
gives me a
little trapeze swing to grab onto to shift around in the bed. We
joked
about what it was costing to put it up and what I would be charged
compared to
what he was getting paid. Another guy wheeled in a recliner
“sleeping”
chair for my wife and we settled down to watch the 14 channels on
TV. No nurse yet. We waited. And waited…and
waited. An hour later a woman came in an introduced herself as my
nurse,
but left immediately saying she would return in a moment. Another
girl
came in saying she too would be helping, but also left right
away. We
waited another forty-five minutes. Almost two hours later we were
still
waiting for them. I decided it was time to walk. I visited
the
bathroom for my first urination since the catheter removal and like
they say in
the movie “Wyatt Earp”, Hell Followed After! I’ve never had
the
clap, but that is how it must feel.
When the late duty nurse and
attendant came in I got my first care in the regular post operative
treatment
unit. Around six I had my first meal of strained beef broth
along
with a cup of oral pain suppressor. They want to wean me
off the
pain button. I have to say, despite not being a previous
fan of
soup of any kind—it was good. The pain medicine was
icky-icky.
I tried to eat all that they brought me and within an hour I felt
bloated and
gaseous. Fortunately some of the gas was released into the ether
and I
wasn’t too uncomfortable. But I decided I didn’t want the oral
pain
medicine anymore.
By now I was having very
little pain at all from the surgery. Most of the discomfort was
centered
around one or two of the “poking places”. I used my pain button
sparingly
throughout the night.
Day 3
A few hours later I was
having my first breakfast of four ounces apple juice to be mixed with
four
ounces of water. Let’s see, eight ounces at one ounce per fifteen
minutes
comes out to—two hours for breakfast. By the fourth ounce I was
feeling
bloated. I kind of forced myself to drink it all and really began
to feel
pretty bad. It wasn’t that it was painful, although there was a
kind of
stomach flu ache to it, but the bloated full feeling was worse. I went
for
another walk, doubling my distance.
Around ten, my doctor came
in to see my progress. He’d seen me walking in the halls and was
happy
with my progress. My wounds were healing up nicely with no sign
of
infection. He passed me onto the stage two diet and I told him
about my
after dinner symptoms. He told me if I felt full to stop—I didn’t
have to
eat it all. That was a relief. However now I was
confused.
How am I supposed to get all the hydration and nutrition demanded by
even the
stage two diet if I’m not consuming the recommended amounts?
Obviously,
at the moment my doctor wasn’t concerned so I decided I shouldn’t be
either.
We’d hoped he might let me
go home today, but I had a slight temperature so he said we’d
reevaluate the
situation tomorrow and I probably could go home then. I was OK
with
that. My pain was practically gone and I was up walking again and
feeling
pretty chipper.
Lunch came and I had my
first stage-two dinner of strained cream soup and light yogurt. I
have to
admit it was pretty tasty. Two hours later I got my first
four-ounce
protein drink—chocolate, no less. It was very thick and almost
too
chocolaty for my taste. Also it seemed to take forever to
drink.
My wife’s condition
worsened. We had no choice but to take her to the emergency
room. I
walked her down there—becoming a familiar face in the halls now.
After a
couple of hours she came back feeling better—nice to be near the
facilities! It clouded up outside and began to rain.
My doc and I had decided to
see how I handled Vicodin. I asked them to crush it for me and
they
watched me in disbelief as I downed the dry powder and sipped a little
water. It wasn’t nearly as bad as the syrup they’d given me the
day
before which took almost fifteen minutes to finish.
I walked again.
The nighttime halls empty. This was getting pretty monotonous, I
couldn’t
wait to walk outside again.
Day 4
I had no pain at all last
night and used no pain medication at all. I think I’ll be going
home
today. They brought my wife a wonderful breakfast of scrambled
eggs and
salsa, bacon, sausage and english muffins. As I nibbled on my
cream of
wheat, I drooled watching her eat and realized one of the big myths I
had built
in my mind about the gastric bypass surgery.
Somehow I had expected all
my cravings to disappear. I knew that I wasn’t going to get
hungry very
often—I didn’t get hungry much before the surgery. But, for
whatever
reason, I hadn’t expected to have the same cravings! I still
craved
peanut butter at night—the same way I did before the surgery. In
fact, I
craved all kinds of things now. But the difference is, no matter
how much
I want them and how available they are, I physically can’t eat
them.
Whoa! Big reality check! I’m only five days into post
surgery, but
I realize why people even much further along get depressed. I
realized
that most of my reasons for eating have been psychological not
physical.
They tell you that of course, you read it in all the literature about
obesity,
you even recognize it in your eating habits—but it doesn’t become a
tangible
reality until you have to eat. Then the differences between
eating for
sustenance and eating psychologically become profoundly
recognizable.
Suddenly, doubts begin. I squash them like a bug!
The staff seemed to be in
limbo around here. Even some of the nurses didn’t seem to know
quite what
was going on. We’d go many hours without anyone checking up on
us.
In their defense, they have only one staff attendant and three nurses
per
sixteen beds—and a lot of those patients are in worse shape than me,
that’s for
sure. I guess they bring in contract nurses for some
shifts. It
doesn’t seem to me like these nurses get much help or direction from
the
regular staff, but perhaps I’m mistaken. Anyway, though my nurse
last
night seemed generally competent, she knew nothing about my surgery or
what was
going on. This morning we’ve hardly seen anyone at all.
The nutritionist came to see
me. I think she answered most of my questions, except for the
logistics
of how much I’m supposed to eat or drink as opposed to how much time
that’s
supposed to take. She gave us some ideas for protein drinks, but
when my
wife went to the store she recommended—the store wasn’t there
anymore.
Once again, I think the disconnect between theory and practice has been
breached.
My doctor came in and gave
me instructions for emptying the drain bulb attached to my belly and
for
changing the dressing. I’m supposed to call in a few days to get
an
appointment for next week’s end to have the drain removed and a general
checkup. My fever is gone—so I’m going home pretty soon. He
gave me
a script of Vicodin but I doubt that I’ll use it. I haven’t been
in any
real pain since the second day. I’m supposed to watch for
redness, chest
pain, pain in my shoulders, etc. Also I’m supposed to stop a few
times on
the way home. That’s to keep any leg clotting from happening on
the long
drive. He’s seems pleased with my progress and told me that I can
walk as
much as I want as long as I stop when I get tired. He said I
really can’t
hurt the surgery at all with exercise.
My wife went and got some
things we need and the nurses gathered up everything they could to help
us—mostly plastic measuring cups and the like. I watched the
Longhorns
beat the Aggies on TV while we were waiting.
At about 1:30 PM we said our
goodbyes (we’d been getting the names of all the staff members in each
of the
various care units to send them thank you cards) and the orderly
brought my
wheel chair. The rain is pouring today. It was refreshing
to get up
and walk to the truck. I’m ready to go home. Unfortunately
for me,
I had to sit for an hour at the drug store to get the Vicodin script
filled
(the one I never used). That was pretty unpleasant. After
that
though, the ride home flew by, and by 6:30 PM I was home.
I emptied my drain bag and
drank a very gucky three ounces of protein powder mixed with sugar free
fruit
flavored water. I vowed that was the last time for that
particular recipe
and went to bed.
It’s clearing up outside.
Day 5
Breakfast. The word
seems more real now. Neither does it evoke quite the same quality
image
it used to. Cream of wheat cools off pretty fast in one-ounce
containers. Cold cream of wheat without butter and milk seems
very much
like the breakfast Neo ate with the crew in the movie Matrix, after he
was
brought out into the real world. Somehow the adventure has lost
its
shine, now its just work. And don’t let anyone tell you its not
work to
take forty-five minutes to eat three ounces of cold cream of wheat!
Not much happening of
interest right now. Lots of time eating and drinking. In
the
afternoon my wife and I went to WalMart. With the weather cooling
off my
preferred attire of shorts and t-shirt is no longer functional. I
bought
a pair of 2X sweats and a 3X zip-up hooded sweatshirt.
We went to two or three
different stores and by the time we got home I was pretty beat.
My drain
is slowing down a lot. I started out draining fifty milliliters
each
emptying. Now I’m down between twenty or thirty a day.
I’m still not drinking
anywhere the amount of liquid and protein I’m supposed to.
Hopefully,
I’ll figure it out. My wife changed my dressing. I’ll
update the
journal tomorrow. I need to get back to writing again. I
can see
the recoup time from this is short. Only five days and I’m up and
active—to a point! My disability is sure not to last long.
I
haven’t stepped on a scale yet but I can’t have lost much weight.
I can
see why people who eat normally drop it so fast at first—you’re
virtually not
eating at all for three or four weeks. Oh—just got a craving for
golden
pepperocines (can’t spell it without looking at the jar). Must be
time to
sleep.
Day 6
I’ve been working on the
journal for awhile and I’ve caught up. I need to go for another
walk
before my next eating session. Looks like I’m only going to eat
twice a
day and my liquid and protein intake is a quarter what they say it
should
be. Oh well. I only drained ten ml last night and almost
nothing
today. I think its drying up. Hope that’s normal.
We’re going to take a
drive by the theatre soon to see when the new King Kong is playing that
my wife
wants to see. On Monday I call for my next appointment, pick up
my check
and start paying December bills. Oh fun. Life in this
society is
depressing enough without cream of wheat. Still, I am enjoying my
strained cream of chicken and mushroom soup in the late afternoons, and
my
yogurt. That’s yet to come today, so all’s well. I’m gonna
take my
first real shower tonight.
Okisheh (later).
Day 7
I walked about two and ½
miles yesterday. I felt pretty drained each time on the way home
but no
pain or real discomfort at all.
I’m still struggling to
discover how to get the right amount of protein, fluid, food, exercise,
and
sleep while still having time to live a life. I can tell it won’t
be
easy. Here’s the scoop.
The paperwork says I’m
supposed to get a minimum of forty-eight ounces of fluid in a
day. But I
can only take in a maximum of four ounces per hour. Do the
math. That’s twelve hours of drinking time to get hydrated.
Now the
meals, three a day, at forty-five to sixty minutes per. We’re up
to
fifteen hours. Before and after each meal I’m supposed to have a
hiatus
of thirty minutes. Add three hours. Now we’re up to
eighteen hours
to achieve meal and protein requirements and hydration. But we
also have
to exercise—optimally three times a day minimum. I want to
allocate an
hour each time, but for our purposes we’ll say ½ hour per walk.
That’s
one and ½ hour for exercise. Our total time is now nineteen and
½
hours—which leaves us four and ½ hours to sleep and bathe and do all
the other
things that cannot be done while we are eating drinking and
exercising.
To be absolutely fair, perhaps we should add back on the one and ½
hours of
time before and after meals that we should not be hydrating or taking
in extra
protein. Now we have four and ½ hours to sleep and three
hours to
do all those other things. I don’t know about you but I
need more
than six hours sleep—which means I probably won’t eat, drink, or
exercise up to
the standards set by the medical profession for my post surgery
recovery and
maintenance.
My daughter says she thinks
it’s Frankenstein Science—medical techniques pushing the limits before
nutritional science is ready. She wanted to have the surgery—now
she’s
having doubts.
Went to town and stopped by
to check my weight at the doctors. I am now at 333.4.
That’s
probably fifteen to seventeen pounds lost in seven days. Not
bad.
On the other had I don’t feel much different than I did when I was
young and
fasting. I don’t feel hungry—but I think about food twenty-four
seven.
I did find a new protein
powder that will help me reach all my protein requirements in about
four
hours. That’s a lot more efficient than my other one and it
tastes better
too. The most difficult part of all this is getting enough
hydration.
My drain is really no longer
functional. I have my first post-op appointment on Friday to get
it
removed. It’s a pain in the butt. So is the rain
outside. I
walked about three miles today—even with the rain. It let up just
enough
for me to walk.
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
Day 8
I woke up this morning
really feeling dehydrated. I live to drink. An ounce every
fifteen
minutes is pretty hard for me—just as I thought it might be. I
find
myself watching the clock a lot, waiting for the next fifteen minute
period to
begin.
My drain has been leaking
some but all my incisions are healing nicely. It’s draining
about
ten to fifteen milliliters per day. I can’t wait till it’s out.
I haven’t gotten sick, which
is a real blessing. My calves and lower legs felt a little
strained and
sore tonight, probably from all the walking.
I got a job offer
today. And my agent called to tell me she needs all my books
finished and
ready to go in order to shop them. I’m a long way from
that. Guess
it’s time to bite the bullet—either I’m going to try to make it as a
writer, or
not.
Day 9
morning. It’s cold, but not
raining. This is my wife’s first day back at work since my
surgery.
No transport available for me. I needed to walk into
downtown to go
to the bank, get the museum photo shoot scheduled, and go to the post
office. It was about a three and ½ mile walk.
By the time I got to the
museum I was pretty weak and I’m sure my voice sounded like I was
strung out on
something. I went through the exhibit and wrote down the numbers
of the
paintings I need to scan for the documentary. After that I walked
to the
post office. On the way back I really needed to sit down for a
few
minutes. I was pretty beat by the time I got to my daughter’s.
Right here I should mention
I’ve gone back to drinking coffee again. And also experimenting
with
protein shake recipes. In my book it says getting adequate
protein is the
number one priority, so I’m drinking two twelve ounce protein shakes a
day. That’ll make sure I get at least sixty to ninety grams of
protein.
Here’s my morning fixer
upper. I take my twelve ounces of coffee, mix in some light
coffee
creamer and two dippers of protein powder. Then I add two
teaspoons of no
sugar-added chocolate Nestles Quik. It’s not bad. I start
drinking
it right after breakfast and usually finish it by lunch. Presto,
forty
grams protein.
I spent most of the day
working on my novel. I found that for some reason I only have
about one
hundred and eighty pages in the desktop. Where the rest is, I’m
not
sure. It is my oldest project and I have a sneaking suspicion
that the
rest of it is either sitting in my file cabinet in storage or in a
project box,
also in storage—in hard copy only. That means I’m going to have
to type the
rest in before I can finish. Whoopee! To make my day even
better, I
found that the format it’s saved in doesn’t fit the writing program I’m
working
with. That means going through it page by page and moving it all
around
manually. Oh joy.
I reformatted about a third
of the book and was so fatigued I practically crawled into the truck
when my
wife came to get me. Tomorrow I’ve got more projects but it
started
pouring again tonight.
Important Reminder.
Remember to schedule your surgery when the weather is good! Too
late…
My credit card bill came and
I found out I had overdrafted my account by about five hundred dollars
just
before the surgery.
Second Important
Reminder. Don’t go hogwild spending just before your
surgery. You
might just survive…
I took another hot shower
tonight—it felt great.
Day 10
I woke up to find my drain had started working again during the night. It must have been the hot wat