Embracing reality: I'm fat and I want to change
The status quo
The heaviest I've ever been in my life is 335 pounds. Unhealthy eating habits, lack of exercise, I ticked all the boxes on my way to morbid obesity. I'm only 5'9", there's no big-boned or wide-shouldered argument to make. I was fat, and was going to continue getting fatter because I wasn't ready to face my choice. The thing in my particular case that pushed me towards looking in the mirror and asking "What matters most in my life?".
The choice
It's easy to describe, maybe, but not easy to really understand what it feels like to feel trapped in a prison of your own making. Yes, I knew that I wasn't taking care of myself. Call it a self-harming hubris, but you keep seeing yourself get heavier and heavier and (in my case) you tell yourself that you just have to wake up one day and get yourself together. This, of course, goes on for years.
When does it stop? When are you ready to make a change in your life? I can't pretend to speak for anyone other than myself, and for me, that moment was when I learned my wife was pregnant. The pure, unbridled joy of the moment, when just thinking of a little person turning our little two-person show into a troop... it blew my mind.
It wasn't a cold-turkey thing, of course. Like they say, nothing in life worth doing (transcendentally speaking) is ever easy.
A start
I've been obese for the better part of 15 years. It's been a slow climb, with lulls scattered about when I took action, whether through the latest fad diet or a little exercise. Obviously my conviction was never enough. I failed to follow through. I failed to really make a massive change to my lifestyle, but I did manage to score some hits.
I stopped fast food consumption cold turkey sometime in 2011 or 2012. That's not to say I didn't have burgers or pizza, or even fried chicken, it just meant that when I did have those (which I tried to avoid) they were either home-cooked or from actual restaurants with napkins and tablecloths (marginally better, I thought).
The most difficult part, I have to say, was giving up sodas. I did so gradually, moving to flavored, sparkling waters, then just sparkling waters and eventually just plain water. I'm still a sucker for fruit juices, though, and that was very, very difficult for me to control.
So I had the food thing down, so to speak. I felt good (hubris talking again) about the fact that I could go to a place and ask for water or if I wanted to indulge myself unsweetened ice tea. It felt like progress.
Two years ago we moved to the west coast, to the City of Angels. We didn't know we had a little stowaway, and when we did, the spark that flashed through my mind left me reeling inside.
What if I die and I never get to meet my son?
What if I never get to see him grow up?
How could I ever expect him to forgive me for missing out on his life because I didn't take care of myself?
Now, of course, any day a small meteor could be drawn off course by earth's gravitational pull, striking a glancing blow at a satellite and pushing it towards the international space station, scaring an astronaut into dropping a screwdriver, which would fall to earth, the plastic handle burning away as it entered the atmosphere, but the metal distending into an amorphous blob which would fall the 250+ miles from the gloved hand, gaining terminal velocity and striking the ground three feet away from me, causing me to jump back in fright and get creamed by an ice-cream truck.
That could totally happen.
The thing is that if that occurred, it'd be an interesting anecdote for my kid. "Hey, did'ya know my dad was hit by an ice-cream truck?" (the screwdriver being unrecognizable at this point and irrelevant)
I can live with that. What I can't live with is leaving my wife and son alone because I was too fat and lazy to take care of myself.
I started a shake program, one recommended by a friend and managed to lose around 20-25 lbs (a moving target). If I'm being honest I could probably have made it more with more intensive workouts than just the miles my wife and I began walking (almost) every day, but back then my body ached pretty much all the time. I just couldn't do it, despite my wish to improve myself.
My son was born and then it really became all about him. I'm at least proud that I didn't gain the weight back for a whole year, instead I was able to keep myself oscillating between 307-315 pounds.
The push
I wasn't happy where I was, clearly, but the exhaustion of a baby's first year is the first valid excuse I have through all of this. It's pretty difficult (and triply so for my poor wife) to keep your energy levels up.
On the day he turned 11 months, my kid began walking. This began a small and increasing pressure to keep up with him. Then we started taking him to a baby gym and he just took off exponentially, he's a climber and my body just wasn't cutting it.
I wanted to run with him, I wanted to not pant when I finally chased him down. I wanted my knees and back to stop killing me after I picked him up, or after I spent an hour kneeling next to him while we played.
This was what eventually took me to the mirror again and a small switch of understanding flicked on in my brain.
The search
I needed help. This wasn't something I was going to be able to do alone. I'm just not strong enough. I needed the equivalent of a gun to my head. The possibility of keeling over while chasing after my son was this figurative gun, but the bullets were my acceptance that I needed help. I had to bite those bullets.
I began looking at gyms. Surely a formal membership, which demanded money from me would be enough? Nah. I quickly recognized that the pillars that upheld my willpower were brittle and weak. The first time I skipped a day, I'd be lost.
I needed something more drastic. I needed a physical imposition on myself. I needed to explore options I had discarded before because I'd been too scared and because (hubris!) I could always just do it myself, right?
I began looking at surgical options.
I have family members and friends who've gone this route, with various levels of success. Right off the bat, I knew that a gastric bypass or a gastric sleeve were non-starters for me. Uh-uh. My fear was way too much and as I began researching experiences from others it just felt completely off to me. Then, I came across two possibilities which showed promise for me.
The first were some balloons which were deployed into your stomach to take up space and make you feel fuller, and the other was a lap-band.
I mentioned that we were living in Los Angeles, right? I figured if there ever was a city for this type of thing, it'd be this one. Sure enough, when I began researching doctors who did these procedures I found one literally two blocks away with great testimonials.
Dr. David Davtyan.
Choosing
During my consultation I was at first taken aback by the doctor's frankness. He straight-up told me that the balloons wouldn't be ideal for me because at the most I'd lose 20-30 lbs and in six months I'd have to take them out, then wait and do it again. Since this is not currently covered by insurance it'd be an out-of-pocket expense that just wasn't feasible. He came across as very earnest in helping me find the right solution, which in the long run might've been more recurring money for him, but not the best solution for me.
Regardless of the choice I made, he told me I had to be honest with myself. If I was going to do this I had to be all in. I had to make serious, life-changing alterations. I wasn't going to be able to walk away from this like nothing ever happened.
He then began telling me about the lap-band. I was nervous because, big-chicken that I am, I was really hoping for a non-surgical option. The more he spoke, though, the more he went over his patients' results and the fact that he stood up and showed me where he had his own lap-band installed 18 years ago, I began to feel more confident that this could be the right thing for me.
I spent a week digesting the material, discussing it with my wife and finally came to the conclusion that if the insurance cleared. I was going to go for it.
This was the figurative gun I'd been looking for. The physical limitation that simply wouldn't let me slip back into my old habits. The final push that would help me make the transition from who I was to who I wanted to be.
The emotional aspect of choosing
I found myself scared once I made the choice, but not that scared. I'd had my gall bladder removed a decade earlier laparoscopically, and I wasn't frightened of the procedure. Let's get real, I was frightened of the pain. It was one of those look-in-the-mirror moments. What did I want more?
I wanted to be healthy. I wanted to live a long time. I wanted to enjoy my family.
I can only ascribe the endorphin rush I felt go to my head to that final moment of acceptance. I was going to do this. I think I smiled.
Looking back, I could easily frame the bitterness and depression I'd felt each time I looked in the mirror. I wasn't who I wanted to be. And how could I not be? How did I let myself get so fat? What the hell was wrong with me? Why did I have to resort to such drastic measures?
Why was I so weak?
None of these questions had easy answers, but I surprised myself when I realized that I didn't have to answer them. Years of searching for inner strength and resolve just contributed to my downward spiral in self-esteem and confidence as I saw myself fail over and over again at making a change. It affected my marriage, it affected my professional life, it affected how close I let myself get to friends and family. I was in a hole, surrounded by people who loved me but whom I never let in. Never asked for help.
I felt giddy because I was going to change that.
Pre-op
Endoscopy, blood tests, psych eval and insurance cleared. My operation was on the schedule. I was going under on April 17th.
I had a business trip sprung on me which almost derailed my plans, but I was able to make it work, and besides... what better place for a (temporary) last hurrah than Texas Bar-B-Q? I hadn't had brisket since moving to LA and those 4 days in Dallas were Vegas-like (what happens there...).
The day after I got back I began the liquid diet, which contrary to what I had thought, wasn't about losing weight, it was about shrinking my fatty liver. Us fat folks, we have big, fatty livers. Dr. Davtyan described it as paté, which if I had liked it, would've put me off it forever. The point is to shrink this gelatinous mass so he can use his instruments to put the lap-band-chokehold on my stomach (create a mini-me stomach), and if the liver is too large and heavy, his instruments might break. Well, that sounds... awful.
So I ended up doing 11 days of liquid diet, which was hell. From a "first-world-problems" perspective, 11 days of liquid diet is horrible. "Oh, poor fatty can only eat broth today? There are people starving across the world, you jerk." Ridiculing yourself might not work for everyone, but it sort of put things in perspective for me and kept me on track.
Of course, I wasn't doing this alone.
Support system
There is absolutely no way I could've done this by myself. Zero. Zilch. I know I'm very lucky to have a solid support system. My wife and my in-laws (who were staying with us) kept me sane, and kept me on the straight and narrow. They cooked for me, so I wouldn't have to go into the kitchen and be tempted. They ate away from me, so I could focus. They reinforced me and gave me strength, cheering me on. I could not have done this without them.
The operation
O-day. Going under the knife. 5-6 people seeing you naked and unconscious as the Dr. carves five holes in you, fills you up with air so he can work and puts a necktie around your stomach. Just google lap-band so you get an idea. I went under sometime around 8 am. By 2 pm I was home.
Post-op
There was pain. Yes. Not gonna lie. Day 1 and 2 post-op were difficult and they're all about pain management. The funny thing is, I was so concerned about keeping still and resting, not moving abruptly and having my special codeine mixer every 4-6 hours that it took me a while to notice what I wasn't feeling.
I wasn't hungry.
It's extremely weird. It's like your brain is ringing a bell that you haven't eaten in hours, yet it's muted, and once you notice it you realize that you're actually OK. I mean, sure, you could probably eat, but it's all a bit "meh".
I was on the post-op diet anyway, so a continuation of the liquid one, with actual measurements (2 oz at any time) but I found that it was much easier than the pre-op, because I just didn't feel hungry.
Now, the Dr. explains that this is because my body is using up my stored energy, and let me tell you, it sure was using a lot of it. As I'm writing this I'm exactly 3 weeks post-op and I'm already down 38 pounds. Current weight is 269 (I hadn't weighed less than 300 in about 5 years, I think). Now, this free-fall is largely in part because of the 27 days in liquid diet, let's be clear. Anyone would probably lose as much if they follow the Doc's guidelines to the letter as I did, but I feel the difference in me is actually beyond weight loss.
I can do this.
The road ahead
I'm happy.
I feel like I'm coming out of a tunnel. My perspectives have realigned with a new vision for the future. No longer as a maybe, but as something that is well within my grasp. My initial goal was 100 pounds in one year. So by the time April 2019 rolls around, if I'm hovering around 207-215 pounds, I will be vindicated. And even if I've not reached that goal, I'm confident that I will be closer than I am today.
I think I'm on my way to becoming an easier person to deal with, someone whose personal raincloud has begun to disipate, and who can let the sun shine through once more.
The road is long. I'm trying very hard not to kid myself.
As I begin to advance in the phases of the post-op diet and I begin to incorporate more food (schedule is unrestricted diet within 2 months) my body (my dear enemy) will try to sabotage me. I'm sure of it.
The challenges ahead are to remain strong and focused. To truly incorporate exercise into my routine (I already have fewer body aches). To continue as I have with the recommendations laid out to me and enforce portion control (physically won't be able to eat much anyway) and to always keep in mind why I did this.
Luckily for me, the main instigator for this change in my life just woke up from his nap, so I'm going to go play for a bit.
"Never give up, never surrender!"
- Jason Nesmith
by a thinner
Ciro Izarra