I’m pushing an elephant up the stairs
Brimming with confidence and full of ideas about how I was going to tackle “this thing”, I went to see Vilma. (She is a very well-respected biochemist who makes use of the Vantage Biomeridian System to help diagnose and treat a whole host of ailments, diseases and conditions. A lot of doctors refer patients to…
You’ll never walk alone
First of all, Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, or Blessed 25th December. Does that cover everybody? Secondly, thanks for all the amazing and supportive comments on my last few posts. I have really missed you guys! I am trying to catch up with blog reading and of course to update my own blog more often, but…
Weighing the Options
As I was wailing away in the parking garage at the mall (see previous post) my husband was trying to comfort me. Eventually he said, “Maybe you should see a doctor”.
I just wailed louder… ”All any doctor would tell me at this point is to lose weight. DUH! In fact, a doctor would probably try to railroad me into having weight loss surgery.”
I am no great fan of the medical profession. I haven’t had a primary care doctor in years. I see a gynae and dermatologist once a year and have my tests done at a pharmacy. I’m healthy, damn it!
Except that I’m not healthy right now. But even then, having a doctor would not have made a difference one way or the other.
The rest of that Sunday that little conversation replayed itself over and over again in my mind. Not the bit about going to see a doctor though.
Weight loss surgery?
I’d subconsciously always considered that the last port of call. That’s where people go when they have no other alternative.
Isn’t that were I was? No way out. I could barely lift my head, let alone muster the strength and courage to mount yet another weight loss and fitness campaign.
I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I was not going to be able to do this on my own. Ever. I was either going to die, or I was going to have to get help.
Weight loss surgery.
That same afternoon I fired off an email to a blogging friend of mine who has had the surgery. It’s been almost 5 years and her life has changed beyond her wildest expectations. She now has a life.
She sent me some links to websites with more information and support forums and I started reading. The next day I contacted my Medical Aid and changed my plan from a hospital plan to a fully comprehensive plan that would cover the whole lot (subject to approval of course). The change was due to occur from January 1.
I researched the various clinics in my area that do Bariatric Surgery and based on their handling of my inquiries, chose one. That Wednesday afternoon I had my first “meet and greet” introductory appointment. I decided that I was going to do as much of the tests and initial investigations as soon as I could, even though I wasn’t covered yet. I made appointments with the resident biokineticist, the resident psychologist and the resident endocrinologist. I had an invitation to the next support group meeting in one hand and a fee schedule in the other. My blood tests were scheduled for the next day.
This was it! I was going somewhere. On the way home I phoned Craig and told him that I was going for it.
Yes, I could die from the surgery. And I would only be able to eat a tablespoon of food at a time. And for months I would not be allowed any solids. And I would suffer from malnutrition for the rest of my life. And I would never be able to eat certain foods again. And I’d have to take lots of supplements.
But I would lose the weight. I would feel better. I would be able to face life again. To face myself again. To move. To live.
That evening I studied the clinic’s info pack. The picture started looking a little less rosy.
I could spend many thousands of Rand on tests and evaluations and ultimately be turned down. Even more significantly, more than half of the total estimated cost of R140 000 (the annual salary of a mid-level manager) was payable in advance. So, I would have to fork out R70 000 before the good surgeon would even scrub in. (My husband asked jokingly whether I really needed an anesthesiologist.) Sure I would claim the money back from my Medical Aid afterward, but first I’d have to have it.
Right. Cash or cheque then?
Plus, I would have to lose about 10-15 kg before surgery. That’s 22-35 pounds.
I’m sorry, but if I can manage that, why would I need the surgery?
Suddenly, this just didn’t seem like such a good idea any more. Maybe for the next person, but not for me.
Oddly enough I don’t feel that I wasted my time investigating Bariatric Surgery. I learned a very important lesson. Something that can be turned into a viable alternative to a Roux-en-Y.
Stay tuned for my next post, where I reveal Plan B.
Rock-Bottom
A good friend of mine had been steadily drinking himself to death the last few years. His ex-girlfriend and I used to talk about helping him and she’d always say that ultimately he would have to hit rock-bottom (for him) before he could be helped. Over the years he’d lost his marriage, his family ties, friendships, relationships, self-respect and his health. But that did not constitute rock-bottom for him. Only when he lost his job, did he realize that he could no longer continue living that way and he reached out for help. He’s been in rehab for about three weeks and is apparently doing very well.
Some people can turn their lives around without having to hit rock-bottom. I would have liked to be one of them, but it turns out I’m not. Here’s how I got to that point:
My downward spiral started shortly after I began working at my new job. It started with a bit of a bang, in fact.
My chair disintegrated underneath me. In the process I hurt my knee, which led to me favoring the knee and in turn placing strain on my hip. Now remember, this may not be much of a problem for a willowy slip of a girl, but when you weigh in at over 300 pounds, placing extra strain on any part of your body is going to bring you nothing but trouble.
Pretty soon my mobility was severely compromised. I could no longer negotiate the gravel slope to the staff car park, so I started parking closer to my office, in the guest lot. I am senior management after all.
My sore knee made getting in and out of my low-slung Mercedes nigh on impossible, so I sold it to my hubby and bought a higher car.
In no time at all I was in constant pain – in various parts of my body. Even my organs hurt at times.
Still, I was working like a woman possessed. And when I was not working, I was smoking cigarettes on my back porch, doing mindless puzzles or playing games. You see, my house had ceased to be a refuge, since my husband had started an internet retail business from home and every surface in my small cozy house was covered in merchandise. I can’t deal with clutter at the best of times, and this was not the best of times by any stretch of the imagination.
I got more and more exhausted. My quality of sleep deteriorated. I became easily overwhelmed and at times weepy and whiny.
The glass wasn’t half full, it was broken!
One Sunday I painfully dragged myself through the mall with my husband by my side, looking for something decent to wear to work. The largest sizes in Plus Sizes barely fit me.
By the time we got back to the car, the feeling of dread that had been building inside me all morning finally burst and I started sobbing hysterically.
I told Craig that if this was “living” I wanted no part of it anymore.
I was done. I wanted to die.
That was my rock-bottom.
SPOILER ALERT: I didn’t die. I found a way out. Read all about it in my next post.
Return of the Prodigal Blogger
I’m back!
Back from one of the loneliest, busiest, craziest and scariest periods in my life. I can’t begin to describe how much I’ve missed YOU – my support structure, my friends, the people who get me.
I am still busy and life is still crazy, but my darling hubby bought me a MacBook last week and I now have wireless internet, so when I have some free time, at least I can blog and catch up with you guys.
There is so much to tell… I’ve been through a great deal, mostly quite devastating to me on a personal level. But nothing is ALL bad and nothing gets me down permanently, so watch out for the lemonade stand opening soon!
Without getting into too much detail (and also because I want to keep this post reasonably short so that I can start catching up on your blogs), here’s what happened:
I started a new job in mid-July – Financial Manager and Human Resources Manager of a small boutique hotel on a wine estate. I was so excited and I threw myself into the job with utter abandon. I worked weekends, holidays and often late into the evening, figuring that once I’d sorted out some of the issues, I’d be able to kick back and enjoy the fruit of my labors, so to speak.
It never happened.
The more I did, the more was expected of me and shoveled onto me. This was never going to be an easy job, but I’ve always been a troubleshooter and a fixer, so for the first 3-4 months I still believed I was getting somewhere.
Instead I nearly ended up in hospital.
There is a quote in my sidebar that I should have paid much more attention to:
If we do not allow for a rhythm of rest in our overly busy lives, illness becomes our Sabbath – our pneumonia, our cancer, our heart attack, our accidents, create Sabbath for us. ~ Wayne Muller
In this time Craig started a second business. Our lives were just crazy… We didn’t have time to shop or cook, so we ate take-out most of the time. I would buy my food for the day at the gas station on the way to work. Nice!
On top of that, I started smoking again. A packet a day. It was the perfect escape out of an intolerable situation.
By the end of October I was in absolute dire straits – physically, mentally and emotionally.
In my next post I’ll tell you what made me realize that I was in big trouble and reach out for help and how I’m turning this around.
