I have had a problem with my weight for as long as I can remember. When I was in elementary school I was heavy compared to my peers. The same was true in both middle and high schools. My weight just sort of seemed to drift gradually upwards. When I noticed it I would make a concerted effort to bring it back into line, and I might make some small headway, but ultimately I would slide back into old habits and end up rationalizing why that extra 5 pounds wasn’t a such a big deal after all.
With the exception of the period in time when I was in the Army in '93, that’s been the pattern I've been stuck in. I think the Army period was different for the obvious reasons (running all the time, marching constantly, etc) , but honestly no-one can live their life like that forever. Nor does it help that to have one of the most desk/computer bound professions of all time either.
After I lamented about this to a friend at work, she suggested that I look into bariatric surgery. She had a vertical sleeve a couple of years ago and she felt like it improved her life a great deal. I mulled the idea over for the better part of six months and a couple of weeks ago I made an appointment to see a local bariatric surgeon.
He recommended a Lap-Band for two reasons 1)I was uneasy about "rerouting my plumbing " permanently with a bypass and, 2) it’s the procedure my insurance would cover. After a lengthy soul searching discussion with Ann we arrived at the decision to go ahead with it for a dozen reasons: We can't adopt from where we would like to if my BMI is too high, there is a pretty serious history of heart disease on my Father's side of the family, there is allegedly a history of diabetes on my Mother's side, and I want to be able to take care of my Ann for a long-long time into the future.
So yesterday at about 9:00 AM I was being wheeling into the OR for the first real operation of my life (I'm not sure having my tonsils removed when I was 6 counts). The procedure took about an hour, and I was ready to go home about 3 hour after that.
I feel like I have taken the worst beating of my life though. That’s from a combination of trauma to the muscles of my torso and the effects of the anesthesia they gave me. I have a much truer perspective on what Ann was going through with her first round of chemo, after having to dry heave for 10 minutes and be racked with the most exquisite pain; it literally caused me to see red. And then trying not to move just in case I set it off again. Ouch.
Today seems a little better. I'm still sore as all get out but at least I can stand without immediately feeling like I need to throw up. Ann is being very attentive to me, and I think she is enjoying the role reversal.
I'm still feeling a little loopy so I'm going to end this here before it devolves into rambling nonsense.
BTW the title of this post is the weight I'm starting this journey at.
*NOTE: It's Ann, and I'm definitely better at being a patient than I am at being a care giver. Having been on the other end of the equation, I do have a better understanding of how annoyed a patient can be with the constant hovering.