How Did I Get Here?: Part 10

When you have gastric bypass surgery you experience weight loss in such an extreme acceleration that it is intoxicating.  Dropping, on average, ten pounds a week for ten weeks, sort of sets your expectations beyond the limits of reality.  So when it slows, it's not only disappointing, but a little depressing.  By March of 2002, I had gotten down below 300 pounds for the first time since forever and had bought my first home.  Well, half of my first home. 

When my Dad checked out early, at 63, Mom had a house that was too big for her, taxes skyrocketing and a housing market that favored the seller.  She wanted to sell her home and had asked me several times if I would partner with her in buying a new one.  I always gave her a knee-jerk "No.  I am not going to be the 40 year old dude living with his mother."  After a while, I saw how the house was too much for her and realized that it was a good deal for both of us.  She could get the max for her home in Cranford, lighten the burden on her finances and I could buy a home using her half as the down payment, since I had no money to put down myself.  This could work, IF we found the right situation.  Separate living spaces, for the most part, were crucial.  We found such a place in Parsippany, where I still live with my wife.

Having my first home and being slimmer daily was a good combo.  I had a pool in the back, in which I could exercise.  There was plenty to be done around the place, fixing it up and making it our own.  I was very into doing things I could never do before.  I took to walking around our lake (What I thought then was 2.7 miles, I now know is 2.2.), I built a paver walkway from the street to the front porch, which was quite a big job.  Much digging and hauling of materials was back-breaking at best (Thanks Kip!).  At the insistence of our insurance company, I built a railing from scratch, which still is standing strong ten years later.  I also used the displaced dirt from the walkway to build a raised garden bed, complete with retaining wall block and 1500 pounds of new top soil.  All of this I hauled myself, up to our raised front yard.  I did my own pool maintenance and yard work.  These things, while not all that enjoyable for me, were tremendous icons of pride.  I was quite taken with myself for not only completing such physical tasks, but in turning out excellent results.  Yes, of course, the garden you grow will always look better to you and the fish you catch yourself will always taste better.  Doing things for yourself gives you rose colored glasses when you gaze upon them.  But that was just a small part of the satisfaction.  I could take on these projects when just 18 months before I couldn't climb the short stairway which had my railing and cross the walkway I built from scratch, without heavy breathing and much, much labor, let alone create such things with my own hands. 

I recall the day when I dipped under 300 pounds for the first time, I walked out of the bathroom and into the hall.  I proclaimed to my mother, practically with tears in my eyes, "I did it.  I will never be a 300 pound man again!"  It was like the gods were looking down upon me and shook their heads.  "Wait a minute big boy.  Not so fast!"  My weight loss slowed then.  Crept, in fact.  It became increasingly hard to drop even a pound.  The really hard work had begun.  I got myself down to 287 or so, when I hit a wall.

I recall being able to eat more and more at each sitting.  The discomfort I had experienced previously, which prevented me from over-indulging, was waning.  It was what I called "The Pizza Test."  My job would always do training meetings on Mondays, lunch and learn day.  One of the manufacturers whose products we sold would come in and bring lunch.  We'd sit and get schoolin' while we dined.  Usually it was pizza, since it was easiest.  Once I could go back to eating pizza, one slice would fill me.  I passed the test. My surgery worked.  Anything more would make me ill, sometimes to the point of throwing up.  Then, over time, I could eat more.  Perhaps two, then even three slices at a sitting.  What was happening?  The surgery would prevent this, no? 

I knew someone from my post-op support group whose surgery had failed.  She could eat more than she was supposed to be able to.  The two sections of her stomach that were created by the bypass had grown back together.  She had to have them separated.  Was this happening to me?  Had my stomach repaired itself?  I always wondered ,but never had it checked out.  The most likely reason was that I had simply stretched my stomach by eating too much.  As I have said before, they fixed my insides, but not my head.  There is no surgery for addiction.  My surgery didn't fail me. I failed my surgery.

My weight slowly crept back, approaching the 300 mark.  My resolution was diminished.  The devil on my shoulder was rooting me on to regain my former self.  Once I got back over 300 pounds, I think I gave up.  Gave into the devil.  After all my effort and all the reinforcements, both negative and positive, that leaner was MUCH better than fatter, I gave myself over to the dark side.  I was no longer a recovering fat guy.  I was just a fat guy, getting fatter...yet again.

To be continued, as always, next week.

Cya later,
M

*The picture above is not the walkway I built, but another.  Mine is in need of some weeding and I would be appalled to show a picture right now. DOH!

What I ate and how I exercised this Friday:

Breakfast ~ Amy's Breakfast Burrito with salsa (Joanie, I found more.  They are still out there!)

Lunch ~ A huge salad with all sorts of veggies and a can of white tuna, homemade lemon basil vinaigrette

Dinner ~ Boca burger deluxe, w/sauteed onions, pickles and tomato on a sprouted grain English Muffin

Exercise ~ So not motivated to walk.  I need a kick in the ass.  Tomorrow is TDT195 Walking Club.  I'll be there to do the 2.7 miles around Giralda Farms.  Will you?