
Morbidly obese with multiple co-morbidities.
That’s how a doctor describes someone like me who is over 100 pounds overweight with the obese-related conditions of high blood pressure, diabetes and sleep apnea. The time has come to consider bariatric surgery.
My dad died of a massive heart attack covering the Phillies in Chicago during their championship season of 1980. He was 56; I’m 53.
Personally, I’d like to live a little longer than my dad. I’d like to see my niece graduate from college and become a doctor. I’d like to see what my nephews and nieces are like in ten years. I’d like to become a great aunt.
The only way that is going to happen is if I lose at least 100 pounds (150 pounds would be ideal).
Unlike the people with perfect metabolisms out there, I’ve struggled with my weight most of my life. These days they categorize morbid obesity as a disease, like alcoholism. There is a complex mix of genetics, socialization, psychological factors and metabolism/appetite that combine to make it nearly impossible for some people to lose weight by conventional means.
This is particularly galling to be because I was a top athlete as a child, a schoolyard legend. I was a two-sport letter winner in high school and a three-sport athlete at Stockton where I earned “athlete of the year” honors in 1974.
I put my weight on gradually, but five pounds a year for twenty years adds up. I first tried Weight Watchers in 1972, most recently in 2004-05. I always lose weight on the program; I’ve lost 50 lbs a half dozen times over the years, but I always hit a plateau. My body fights me.
This time I’m fighting back. I am going into training for the biggest challenge of my life, bariatric surgery. I’m hoping I qualify for restrictive lap-band surgery (AGB), which is less invasive than Roux-en-Y gastric bypass (RGB). For details on both procedures go here.
In order to qualify for bariatric surgery, most insurance companies (mine is Aetna) insist on a doctor-supervised diet and exercise program (usually three or six months long), plus a visit with a shrink to determine that you fully understand the consequences of the surgery. Also, you have to prove that you can radically change your habits in order for the surgery to be successful. It is not a cure, but a tool. Like alcoholics, food-aholics can find a way around the restrictions of having a stomach pouch the size of an egg and a stomach opening the size of a dime.
I’m not thrilled about having another surgery, but I’m tired of hitting that wall. The frustration of failure, and the everyday pain I’ve endured for years on my joints and back is no longer tolerable. I’m in the danger zone; there is a heart attack or stroke with my name on it out there unless I lose the weight. It still might happen but I want to change the odds in my favor.
My journey began after a five-hour visit with a bariatric surgeon. Step two is my nutritional evaluation June 6, the start of my three-month program to qualify for the surgery.
I know I am not alone. The obesity epidemic in the United States has the attention of the medical community big time. As my journey continues I will periodically provide updates on my progress. I’m hoping to change my life, and maybe offer encouragement to people out there like me who are thinking about this surgery.
Failure is not an option.