My Friend Fat, O How I Will Miss Thee

Current weight: Go measure the amount of water I displaced when I did a cannonball into the pool on Saturday. I think I flooded a few nearby houses.

Current mood: Moderately neat-0

Let me just start by saying I cannot begin to explain how tired I am of being fat. Bill Cosby level sick AND tired.

My skin has filed a grievance with its union stating that if asked to stretch any more, it will have no recourse but to go all Norma Rae on my ass; my man boobs make me feel like I should dress in a tight T-shirt and short-shorts and run onto the closest Major League Baseball field and kiss the starting pitcher; and my ears now officially weigh more than my 3-year-old.

Maybe I exaggerate.

And for those of you about to barf up a nasally and annoying, "Well why don't you do something blah blah blah." Just don't. Just. freaking. don't.

But contrary to what 4 out of 5 doctors say, there are some advantages to being anorexically challenged. Forth with ... things I will miss about being fat.

• When I'm on a Southwest flight, or any flight that's open enough to allow you to choose your seat, I always seek out a fellow fatty who is sitting in either an aisle or window seat, then plop down in the open aisle or window seat on the same row. Why? No one wants to sit between two fat people. Hand to God, works every single time. The look on the person's face when they realize that the only seat remaining is between me and my fat sidekick ... priceless.
• The face of every owner of every buffet joint I've ever been to. My man knows he's losing money on that day.
• When you are a big man like myself, you know, Thornton Melon Tall and Fat, people tend to get the hell out of your way. Maybe it's a survival instinct, maybe it's a fear of getting eaten, or maybe they don't want the giant stain of the day on my shirt rubbing off on them. Whatever the case, people tend to part like the Red Sea when I walk through a crowd. Works well when exiting a concert at say The Palladium or the old Gypsy Tea Room. "Get behind the fat man. He will lead us to freedom!!" And for those in the crowd not paying attention ... "Hey dude, wake up and check out track No. 5 of Dire Strait's 'On Every Street' album from 1991. Which one are you? The windshield or the bug?"

So it's a short list, but these things will always have a place within my giant cow heart.

"Everything can change in the blink of an eye. So let the good times roll before we say goodbye."

Two Down, One to Go

Current weight: 315 (I lost 10 pounds !!! Truthfully, I lose 10 pounds when I exhale really hard.)
Current mental status: Eager and anxious

Appointment No. 2 is in the books. Next and final appointment is set for July 31. Between now and then I got an ass-load (ain't the truth!) of stuff to do. Doctors to see, paperwork to fill out, pizza to eat, beer to drink.

In no particular order:

• Cardiologist for an exercise stress test - one would say that all I have to do for this is to bend down and tie my shoes and that would be exercise and stress enough. One would be wrong.
• Psychiatrist for a psych consult - one would also say to make sure said shrink sticks to only the topic at hand and not delve into the darker and more disturbing antechambers of my mind. On would be right on this one.
• General physician for a 2-year weight history and a letter detailing failed diets and supporting bariatric surgery as medically necessary - one only has to look at my ample backside and long-term alcohol storage unit around my midsection to know this is medically necessary.
• Esophagogastroduodenoscopy (EGD) Procedure, which is an examination of the lining of the esophagus, stomach, and upper duodenum with a small camera (flexible endoscope) which is inserted down the throat. One does NOT need to make any jokes here about things being inserted down my throat.

Other things of note from Appointment No. 2:

• Met with physical therapist who gave me print outs on how to do ... sit-ups. I kid you not. Detailed, illustrated written instructions on how to ... sit ... up. Appearantly it's really important that I have strong abs prior to surgery. She even asked if I wanted her to demonstrate. I should have made her do it for shits and giggles. I did play a little football back in the day, so I'm familiar with the sit-up. Although a sit up for me today occurs only when I'm laying on the floor and have no other choice but to sit up to reach my food. What? You've never eaten while laying on the floor?
• Met with the nutritionist, who spelled out more things to work on this month in preparation for surgery and beyond. Small bites. Chew your food well. No eating in front of the television. Really? Good grief. Next thing you know they'll say no eating on the toilet. Sheeesh.
• Someone at the Good Doctor's office loves them some Ashton Kutcher and is trying to spread the love one fat person at a time by showing his greatest hits on the waiting room big screen. Last appointment? "Guess Who" starring the late great Bernie Mac and one half of Dude Where's My Car. This appointment? "What Happens in Vegas" starring Cameron Diaz and Mr. Demi Moore himself. Next appointment? If they are not showing an all-day marathon of "That '70s Show," I'm gonna be shocked.

That's about it. Shout out to Wayne, a Lap Bander friend of mine who had the surgery in December and has lost 70 lbs. Way to go Wayne. I'm looking forward to the same.

Coming Soon: What I will and won't miss about being fat. And yes, there are a few advantages to being large and in charge.

First Impressions

Current Weight: 320 with clothes on (HA! Now you have the mental image of me standing on a scale naked!!!)

Weight Lost Since Initial Appointment: 5 lbs.

As I pedal sluggishly through the opening stages of my Tour de Fat, I continue to get my pant leg caught in the chain. And no matter how many times I work myself free, it only takes a few revolutions before I'm caught in the gears again and have ground to a halt.

For you non-sports types who already have a big question mark forming over your tilted head because you have no earthly idea what my somewhat clever but definitely over thought metaphor is referring to, I'll save you the brain cells.

Losing weight is hard work, y'all.

I mean, really hard.

I mean, trying to remember if Bad English had any other hit besides "When I See You Smile" hard.

Of course, if it were easy, we'd all be thin, Jenny Craig would be just some random chick and we'd instinctively know that in fact no, Bad English did not have another hit, unless you want to call "Price of Love" a hit (And if you do, then you are a bigger Bad English fan than I am).

But I already knew and expected all of this. (Cue segue into today's topic in 3 ... 2 ... 1) When I visited the Good Doctor for the first time last month, I had no idea what to expect. Here were my opening thoughts:

As The Wife and I approached the office, we were greeted in the hall by a long empty row of regulation brown wood chairs on either side of the door. Sweet merciful crap, I thought, this guy is all Dr. T and the Women up in here. He stacks 'em high and stacks 'em deep.

But it was early, and the overweight overflow hadn't quite made it into the hallway yet. And even though I had wisely opted for a morning appointment (thanks to whomever suggested that), the spacious and well decorated waiting room was already packed tight with at least 20 women at various stages of their own journey. Oh, and some dragged-along kid who was locked inside his PS3 or Nintendo DS or whatever the kids are playing with these days.

After filling out the ream of paperwork (one of which informed me that it will cost me a cool grand if I decide to cancel within two weeks of my surgery date) I settled in to weight, er, wait. And settle in I did, into a plush, oversized, incredibly comfortable leather recliner.

Not pleather, or vinyl or any facsimile thereof. We're talking Ricardo Montalban/Chrysler Cordoba/soft Corinthian grade leather. And not just my seat - ALL the seats, in either recliner or love seat or sofa form (all oversized, of course), spread across the hardwood floors. Quite obvious the Good Doctor had put some profit back into his practice.

It was a comfy cocoon for fat people; a mother's womb that nurtured and cuddled its fat little babies close in its supple leathery arms while preparing to give birth to a litter of thin people (OK ... again definitely over thought there).

It struck me as odd at first but later it made total sense. Gotta keep the fat, well, happy.

The remaining wait was uneventful, except that we got to watch part of "Guess Who" with Bernie Mac and Ashton Kutcher (in high definition, of course). SIDE NOTE: Guess Who? Really? Someone actually thought that was a good idea. The mind boggles.

Anyway, it's back to the Good Doctor in a couple of weeks for the next leg of my Tour de Fat. And hopefully one day in the near future, my butt will fit just as well on those hard wooden chairs in the hallway as it does in the comfy cocoon. Ricardo Montalban be damned!

Breakfast at Epiphany's

Current weight: Dunno. But I'm eating a bag of popcorn instead of a bag of chips. Is that good?

Current mood: Buttery and Salty

So after mentally processing all of the requirements necessary to satisfy the AETNA Fat Police and thinking that it's easier to get a divorce in this country than it is to get insurance to pay for anything preventative, my thoughts turned to the gale-force gastric bypass winds that howled forth from the Good Doctor earlier in the day.

Truthfully, it felt like the Wife and I were well within the blast radius of an atomic bomb, minus the skin-peeling radiation and whatnot. Yes. It was THAT bad. No hyperbole here at all.

And we didn't see it coming at all. There we were, all relieved that our lengthy visit was coming to an end and WHAMO, the Good Doctor steps in all ninja-like and slaps us in a gastric bypass front face lock. I'm fairly certain that if it weren't for the 50 other potential gastric bypassers comfortably seated in his waiting room, he would have cinched it in until we tapped out.

I started the day confident in my Lap Band decision, knowing the risks and maintenance involved in having a mechanical device put into my body. Now I was doubting myself and considering the re-routing of my digestive tract as the lesser of the two evils.

Not so long ago, evidently, gastric bypass surgeries were performed with the reckless abandonment reminiscent of the Old West. No standard procedures, no regulation, whiskey used to sterilize big-ass Bowie knives .. (OK, maybe I made that last part up). That's why, said the Good Doctor, you always heard such horror stories about gastric bypass surgery.

But 'round about 2006, things changed. Regulators started regulating, and standard procedures were put in place. Heck, it can even be done laparoscopicly now. Things are so ducky in the gastric bypass world that the Good Doctor has ditched his comfortable Lap Band britches and now proudly hawks the bypass as his weight loss surgery of choice.

To prove his point, he produced a set of numbers showing his increase in bypass surgeries and related decrease in Lap Band surgeries since the Regulators whipped those no good Gastric Bypass boys into shape. To further prove the point, his benefits coordinator offered up that the Good Doctor has performed the bypass on six ... count 'em, SIX ... members of his own family (what that says about the relative health and eating habits of the Good Doctor's family, I'm not sure).

As for the Lap Band, he all but guaranteed that I'd be back to see him within five years to have some sort of procedure to fix, adjust or flat out replace. Why? It's a mechanical device, and by nature, mechanical devices wear out.

The debate dominated the conversation between the Wife and I for the rest of the night and raged on in my head well into the wee hours of the next morning. But when I awoke from my two hours of sleep, I had a moment of clarity. A gut feeling, if you will.

The choice is mine. And my choice is the Lap Band. I can deal with the fixes and adjustments. Hell, I can even have the thing taken out if I want. But I can't have my colon unwired. That shit is permanent. I trust that the Good Doctor will get on board with my decision and drop all that gastric bypass prattle like a hot colostomy bag (colon humor - HA!).

So when my gut talks, I listen. Of course, that's the reason I'm so fat in the first place.

Peace.

Hurry Up and Wait

Whoa. Information Overload.

My head is still spinning from the three hours my wife and I spent at the Good Doctor's office this morning. This thing isn't going to be quite as simple as I thought it was going to be. Why?

One word: Freaking insurance.

I knew there would be hoops. But good grief, there are hoops within hoops that are under hoops that sit on top of three well placed yet precariously balanced hoops.

Long story short ... I'm required to wait 3 months. And within those 3 months, I must complete the following:

• One doctor and nutritionist visit per month (today's counted as No. 1)
• Documented weight history for the past two years
• Letter from my primary care physician supporting surgery that also:

a. lists all diets failed
b. lists the health problems that my weight is now causing
c. indicates that bariatric surgery is medically necessary

• Psych evaluation
• Nutritional evaluation
• A three-month, medically supervised multi-disciplinary diet that must be documented by both the doctor and dietitian
• Cardiac Stress Test
• Some sort of gastric procedure where they put me under and snake a camera down my throat and into my stomach to have a look around, AND
• A bone density scan

Oh, and none of this touches on the evangelistic-like full-court press we got from the benefits coordinator on the advantages of gastric bypass over the lap band. My wife says she's had church experiences that were less pushy and hardcore.

So , now that I've decided to go down this road and thought I had my mind set on the lap band, we get the push from the Good Doctor and his sidekicks that the bypass is the bee's knees and end-all-be all.

But that's discussion for another day. Right now, I must put on my hoop jumping shoes and prepare myself for some hoop jumping.

My First Hunger Pangs

Current weight: 327 lbs.

I have my initial appointment with the Thumb Stomach Doctor on Thursday, May 7. It's then when I truly start my journey.

I'm supposed to meet with a number of folks, including a nutritionist and the insurance coordinator. Since I'm trying to get my insurance to pay for this, there are a certain amount of hoops to jump through and tests to run, presumably to confirm that I am as morbidly obese as I say I am. I guess a good eyeballing is just not enough these days.

ANYwho ... I just got back from Austin where the family and I enjoyed the Old Pecan Street Festival. Music, food, drinks, booths full of art, candles, tire swings that look like horseys, tie-dye, etc. Our girls had a big time at the petting zoo. They had a freaking kangaroo there!

One of our favorite things about the festival on Sixth Street is that you can pretty much get anything you want to eat there ... and on a stick no less. Shrimp, Gator, grilled corn, sausage, vegetables, corn dogs (yes, by definition corn dogs are already on a stick) ... you name it ... you can eat it ... it's on a stick.

And beer. Beer stands filled with cans of cold, frothy goodness as far as the eye could see.

So as I indulged on multiple courses of stick food and visited each beer stand at least once, I did so with a tinge of nostalgia, knowing that from here on out the only beer I'll be drinking is a can that has been sitting open on the counter for two days and the only stick food I'll be eating will be Popsicles.

What a bummer. I need a drink. First round of beer-sicles are on me.

Offending the Fatties

The picture at right was changed to protect the identity of the innocent man with the very large roof over his tools.

This was done so at the behest of one of my friends, who suggested that my implication that I sometimes feel as fat as this guy looks might in some way offend said fat man in suspenders

"I just think it's a risk to put down the next guy cause he might be bigger than you," my friend said. "What if he is depressed cause he is big ... and you are saying 'you feel that way sometimes' like he's the worst ever."

At first it really freaking pissed me off. Why should he worry about it? I couldn't really give a crap about offending anyone on this here blog-thingy.

That's the beauty of the Internet. Each page has a little "X" in the top right-hand corner. You don't like what you are seeing, click that sucker and move your ass on down to some other spot on the information highway.

Besides, if you had seen the original, you'd see that our boy with the big belly appeared quite proud of what I'm sure took years and years of beer guzzling to build.

After I calmed down a bit, I decided he was right, and thus the change.

I've been on the receiving end of many judgemental stares and comments from size-ist little waif store clerks who say they don't have it in "YOUR" size and don't even bother looking (I'm talking about YOU, you little fart knockers at Eddie Bauer).

So I offer a sincere and heartfelt apology to you, Mr. Happy Fat Man in Suspenders. May you live a long life filled with stretchy pants, hangovers and dreams of large women.