Goodbye 2008

I started out 2008 looking somewhat like this:








and finished up 2008 looking a lot like this:












It hasn't been easy. Along the way there were numerous doctors appointments, dangerous surgery, support groups (other than 12-Step) and a lot of trial and error experiments with food, many of which ended in vomiting.

But I would do it again in a heartbeat.

Look, I've had a lot of medical challenges in recovery. Every thing from quadruple bypass surgery to this, gastric bypass surgery.

And this is the only one which, I feel, was truly life-altering.

I won't miss 2008. I'm hoping to use my vacation time in 2009 for actual vacations, rather than recuperating from surgery.

Here's to 2009. May it be a blessed, peaceful, calm, healthy and serene year for us all.

Peace.

-JoyZeeBoy

Donations

Last Saturday, a miserably dreary wet cold morning here in the east, I drove my Element down to the Salvation Army Thrift Store in beautiful downtown Trenton, NJ. In the back, from the floor up to halfway from the roof, were stacked 39 pairs of dress trousers, blue jeans and shorts -- every pair of them sized 44 in the waist.

They represented the size I was before I had my gastric bypass surgery on August 11th. I had lost 60 pounds in the interim. My internist, at my annual physical in late August, had advised me, "Get rid of your fat clothes to avoid the temptation of wearing them again."

The gang at the thrift store were thrilled. Most of the pants were still in dry cleaning bags from last winter. The Army runs a halfway house in Trenton and sometimes the guys who work in the thrift stores pick through the clothes to find decent "work clothes" for guys who are trying to put their lives back together as they recover from alcoholism and drug abuse. I can't think of a better use for my old clothing than to help another sick and suffering addict. The remainders go on sale in the store, with the proceeds helping to fund the halfway house and other good works.

I don't even want to think about how much $$$$ they originally had cost me. It doesn't matter. Whatever it was, it was a small price to pay for the payoff I'm receiving now. Luckily, I still had a decent wardrobe of size 42" waist pants. Only, not so much. On a whim I'd bought two pairs of pants from Land's End last week, sized 40" in the waist. They arrived yesterday and I tried them on last night. They fit me perfectly. I had no choice but to admit that I have now gone from a nearly 46" waist to a rather loose fitting 40" waist in just over 11 weeks.

Nevertheless, I need pants that fit me now. So I went back online last night and ordered another $400.00 worth of pants, with 40" waists, two pairs of cotton twills, 4 pairs of finewale cords and a pair of jeans. I hope they last until Spring.

p.s. In keeping with the spirit of donating, I gave $$$ to the "No on 8" campaign in California today. I've NEVER donated money to any political thingie in my life until now. But when I found out that the Mormons are in cahoots with the Knights of Columbus on the other side of this (pretending they care about hetero marriage), I went ballistic. They know the general election is lost, especially in California, so they're staking their futures on this, instead.

I'm tired of being fag-bashed by self-loathing closet cases posing as caring Christians. May they all rot in hell.

Thinny-Thin

These were taken last Saturday night by a friend of mine.



This is me, fifty-one pounds lighter than I was on August 10th. Notice how light in the loafers I am.



This is me, diabetes free and (mostly) meds free.

This is me, on the verge of living a lot longer than I ever thought I would.

It's been worth it.

So, what's new?

I'm back. Yeah, I know, whoop-di-goddamned-do.

I forgot to send my gut pix to the office, where I'm currently goofing off instead of working. So you'll have to wait for those.

The surgery didn't go horribly awry, although there were "complications." Enough complications for them to have shot me up with 4 units of blood, kept me in the hospital for two additional days, and to have filled me with bag after bag of saline solution.

When I was discharged on Friday August 15th I spent the first week at home just trying to void myself through whatever outlet was handy of the gallons of salt water they'd inflated me with.

I remember watching Michael Phelps (endlessly) while I was in the hospital. Every time I came out of yet another coma there he was, slithering through the water like a water snake. Swimmers have the oddest bodies.

Then, after I'd had a week to adjust to reality, the conventions started. Initially I was kind of surprised by Barack's choice of Joe Biden (from my home state of Delaware). But upon reflection he seemed the best choice if Senator Obama hoped to deflect Republican criticism of his LACK OF EXPERIENCE IN FOREIGN AFFAIRS, which seemed likely given the fact that the GOP had been doing just that for months.

Then, of course, the Gay Old Party turned right around and picked the most unqualified person, male or female, to have run for the vice presidency since Spiro Agnew (another state governor who eventually wound up in prison -- which, with any luck, started a trend.)

And that brings us up to date on external affairs.

Now, as to the surgery.

I have lost nearly 40 pounds in 4 weeks. I've had to have additional holes punched in some belts, and to have some inches of webbing removed from others. I'm not quite down to the next size in pants (although all my workmakes insist that I am). I can eat (if you call "drinking" "eating") about 4 ounces at a clip. For a real treat I've started having 2.5 ounces of tuna at lunch (1 6 oz. can of tuna packed in water mixed with 2 heaping tablespoons of low-fat mayo) this week.

I can button the collar buttons on my shirts again. The weight loss began, as it always does, with the face and the ass. While not exactly gaunt, my face is decidedly less "jolly" than it had been. My formerly well-padded behind no longer exists. It's actually painful to sit in the same position for any length of time. Our office ops manager is ordering a pillow for me to sit on.

My first day back at work was Monday of this week. By Tuesday morning my feet were killing me. I hadn't worn dress shoes in a month, only deck shoes. The streets of New York didn't help matters.

Despite the initial complications (and week of hourly trips to the can), I have no regrets. I'd do it again in a heartbeat.

Oh, and finally there's this.

My diabetes is resolved. I've been off all medicines since the day before my surgery. My blood sugar (which I continue to monitor daily) has dropped completely back to the "normal" range of 90-110.

I feel wonderful.

Signed, Sealed, Delivered

It is done. As of 3:00 p.m. yesterday afternoon I got final approval for my upcoming bariatric surgery from my cardiology group (after much drama - theirs, not mine) and the insurance carrier. I'm scheduled for surgery this coming Monday, August 11th (time TBA).

Yesterday morning was spent having my pre-admission work done at the hospital. I'm now tagged like a bull walrus, with various colored wrist-bands indicating that I've been x-rayed, peed into a lab vial and had a quart or two of blood drawn.

On Tuesday I had my final "go-see" with the surgeon. He said that the next time I saw him he'd be in scrubs. To which I added, "and some amateur from anesthesiology will be trying to put in an A-line, with no luck, and blood'll be spraying all over the staging area."

He looked kind of freaked out and asked me why I thought that? "Because, " I said, "that's what happened the LAST time I had surgery."

I've been cut up so much in the last 4 years that I'm a) an old hand at it and b) pretty cynical about the whole affair.

Still, I have confidence in him. Him being my surgeon.

Everyone has been taking great pains to stress just how much of a "lifestyle" change this is going to entail. Like they're asking me to turn straight or something. That, of course, simply will never happen.

But I do know a thing or two about lifestyle changes. I did, after all, forsake my best friend, and public enemy number one, alcohol 10 plus years ago. Changing the way I "think" is nothing new to me. I do it all the time. Now.

I'm back at work today and tomorrow and then... that's it.

FYI, I'm still computerless at home (who has time to fix or replace that?) If I'm bored on Saturday and I find I have money to burn, I'll try to get a new one, bring it home and set it up before I go into the hospital. Otherwise, if you have my phone numbers, call me late next week. Theoretically I should be home Wednesday afternoon.

The current plan, with my surgeon's blessing, is to be out of work for about a month, or up to six weeks if he so determines. THIS WORKS FOR ME!!! I love "recuperating."

And if you're so inclined, and you have a favorite deity or higher power you talk to, please put in a good word for me next Monday morning, will ya?

I'd really appreciate it.

And The Days Dwindle Down....

Here is how my mind works: Let's say that I wake up in the morning and have 300 things to be grateful for and 2 things to be pissed off about. Guess what I'll spend the day dwelling on?

My life these days is basically happy, loving and secure. I'm surrounded by people I love and whom love me. So, naturally, I spent most of this week being pissed off at my cardiologist who have the NERVE to go on vacation when I needed him to be in town to do some paperwork so I can have my surgery a week from Monday.

Am I crazy?

Yes.

Then, of course, his office called yesterday and we got it all straightened out and now I won't have to postpone the surgery after all and it's still on for a week from this coming Monday (August 11th -- send cash.)

This also means that I get to spend this weekend and next loitering in the stacks at BJ's and Sam's Club looking for bargain cases of College Inn Lo-Fat Chicken Broth and tons of sugar-free Jello (ibid) and other stuff to try to ingest since I'll have to live on that stuff for about a month, supplemented only by the prayers of other recovering alkies and gallons of liquid vitamins.

But this is good. I am eager to have my Type II Diabetes "resolved" (doctors don't like the word "cured"). I am eager not to wind up, like so many of my immediate ancestors did, blind and footless, strapped into wheelchairs in hellhole nursing homes.

I am eager to not have that happen to me.

And for that I am truly grateful.

Maybe I'll get some photos of my weekend and post 'em here next week. BUT NO PROMISES.

Death

My former college roommate has a lovely, Victorian-inspired, plaque in his bathroom that shows a pale, thin young lady, plaintively holding a long silk scarf and intoning, "O, DEATH..."

It always reminds me of the opening animation to the old "Mystery" theater which used to air on Thursdays, then Sunday nights on PBS. It was based on the cartoons of Edward Gorey, and was very high camp. So, generally, was the show itself ("Rumpole of the Bailey" being my personal favorite -- sorry, "favourite").

Well, that young lady in the driving rain was me last night when I got home from work. The Maytag had died. No, not a washing machine. An air conditioner. I bought the Maytag window unit at Home Depot about 5 years ago and it had occupied the place of honor in a side window to my upstairs apartment in the ancient Victorian from Hell where I rent, ever since.

I pressed the "ON" button on the remote and, "KAFUT", it died. Dropped dead. Went to meet it's maker. Oh, the lights came on, and you could hear weird noises coming from within, but nothing was moving. Certainly not the fan.

Since I'm a fat, lazy, hot old bastard I am NOT going to live like this. I realize that appliances have become like personal computers, i.e. commodity items merely to be replaced, not repaired. So there is nothing else for it, it has to be replaced. ASAP.

This, by the way, is why there are no longer any manufacturing jobs in America. Everybody wants to buy a $375.00 air conditioner for $99.00. And now we can. Made in Mexico. Or Guatemala. Or some third-world country. Thank you, NAFTA. And they fall apart the day they turn five.

That is why tonight I will replace the dead Maytag with either a LG or a Frigidaire. At least the LG has the advantage of being made in a country where people actually still care about things like quality and craftmanship. South Korea.

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I received a lunchtime phone call from one of my friends in NY. Our friend, Mr. "H", has had a stroke and has taken a quick turn for the worse. It looks like rather than lollygagging our way up there for the 4th of July, instead we'll be organizing a hasty trip up to northeast Connecticut for this weekend.

I hope we are in time to let him know -- that he is loved.

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One final note on death. I went ahead and scheduled my upcoming bariatric surgery for August 11th without giving it much thought.

It turns out (and I should've remembered this) that that is the birthday of one of my closest friends AND my 12-Step sponsor, "L".

I've had to give him my solemn promise that I will NOT die during the surgery. I hadn't planned on it, in any case.

Another friend of his actually did die on his birthday a decade or so back and he hasn't been quite the same ever since.

I love my friends who are delicate that way.

The New Lyndon Johnson

Well McCain finally blurted out the truth in public. It started with a speech he was giving at some college when he started getting heckled. After the protesters had been shown out, he retorted to the remaining crowd that he will "never surrender in Iraq?"

As I've said before, he sat out the better part of the Vietnamese War in a POW camp and watched his country lose -- and now he's determined to not allow that to happen on HIS watch.

I believe that he believes that our country was shamed by that fiasco, and that he is on a sacred mission to salvage our national honor, tarnished and disgraced by involvement in an unwinnable civil war in Southeast Asia, by winning, no matter the costs, another unwinnable civil war, this one in the Middle East.

George W. Bush has spent 8 years on a mission to salvage his family's lost honor in the 1st Iraq War. And now John wants to continue salvaging honor, but for totally different reasons.

It doesn't matter. I have a strong aversion to men on missions.

Everyone should have a strong aversion to men on missions. No matter who they are or what they believe. They are death personified.

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On a lighter note, I played hookey from work today and got the car serviced, did a little shopping, picked up my dry-cleaning and, oh, yeah, sat through a mind-numbing 90 minute first meeting with the nutritionist (pre-bariatric surgery) and a 45 minute pulmonary test with my internist/pulmonologist. For somebody who smoked for 30 years I passed with flying colors. The test involved being locked in an isolation booth and breathing heavily, which I haven't been allowed to do on the telephone ever since I got sober. But this time I was breathing into and out of some apparatus hooked up to some contraption. I was sure I'd die. Or at least, pass out.

So, the Bariatric Surgery ball continues to roll. Next go-round with doctors is a week from Thursday when I see the surgeon (again) and the psychologist.

Onward to a new life!