A few small repairs

Count the years, you always knew it
Strike a match, go on and do it

It's been forever and a day, so I'll not drivel on about the why and where and all that. The lyrics above, and the title of this post, reference a wonderful song by a wonderful artist, "A Few Small Repairs" by Shawn Colvin off the album of the same name. I highly recommend it.

So I was driving home from work the other day and that song came up on shuffle. Seemed like I hadn't heard it in a while, so I turned it up a little bit. And it got me to thinking about things, things I've been doing since you all last read these words that leak from this brain. I am making a few small repairs. Actually, they're big repairs. Actually actually, it's just one big repair.

Just over a week ago, I had the first surgery of my life. Hopefully, the last -- just because, well, who really ever wants to have surgery anyway?

I had surgery to insert a Lap Band around my stomach to help me lose weight before I ate myself to death. I say that with every shread of honesty I can muster, because it's true. I'm 39 years old. I weighed 293 pounds. I didn't exercise. I didn't eat the right foods. I have high blood pressure. I have high cholesterol. I take too many medicines. According to my doctor, I have been walking the tightrope of diabetes and the rope is starting to fray.

I tend to worry a lot, have anxiety, all that stuff, but despite my mental tics, I feel safe to say that the ending was not going to be good or possibly very far away. Even one of those drum circle beating, hemp-wearing, snake oil-toting, tree bark-eating sorts could diagnose that.

And so here I am. Ten days post surgery with a 3 inch incision on my gut and a 1 centimeter incision a few inches above that. I haven't had solid food for 11 days. My stomach has rumbled, bubbled, gurgled and otherwise twisted itself stupid. I have to cut my pills up into tiny pieces so that I can take them. And yet, I'm doing really well.

Let me repeat that. I am doing really well.

I've lost somewhere around 12 pounds, give or take. But I'm not counting, and the amount, or the counting of, isn't necessarily important. What is important is that I've done something, and I'm doing something, that I didn't think I could do. I didn't think I could make this kind of commitment. I didn't think I had it in me. And while I've got a long way to go, I think I'm going to be okay.

Sure, I miss eating whatever I want. Somedays, I miss it a lot. But the problem was...my problem was...that I never knew how to stop, and I didn't care. In the last year or so, my appetite acted like a three-year old, wanting to do whatever it wanted to do, and frankly, I was a crappy parent, so I let it. It knew no boundaries and never got tired. My weight reached 296 pounds, the highest it had ever been. I saw it at a doctor appointment. The nurse weighed me. "I'm almost 300 pounds," I thought to myself. That threw me for a loop. 300. Wow. And for the rest of the appointment, I was a bit depressed, really deep in thought, mulling over my own state.

When I left the doctor's office, I went to Burger King and got 2 sausage egg and cheese croissants, hashbrowns, french toast sticks and a large Coke. I felt better.

I would eat and eat and eat and it really never phased me at all. At least until after I'd eaten. Then I would shake my head in disgust at myself. Wondering why I kept doing this. Why couldn't I stop. What would it take for me to get healthy.

There's no real epiphany here. No bright shining lights that blinded me into a new enlightenment. It just all came together for me. I'm not getting any younger. I have an amazing wife who I want to spend all my time with. I have two brilliantly spirited kids who delight me (at least on the days they're not driving me mad). I have a fairly decent life. But with my health the way it was going, I wasn't going to have those things much longer.

Enter the Lap Band.

Over the next two months, I researched and started the process of getting a band surgically inserted around my stomach. Medical, nutritional and psychological work-ups had to be done. Insurance had to be confirmed. But, i's dotted and t's crossed, August 14th came and now I have a band around my stomach that's going to help me lose weight and get healthy.

The big thing is, though, that the band is just a tool to help me lose weight. I have got to do the work. I've got to make better food choices. I've got to get my ass on the treadmill. I've got to do this because, well, I have to.

And I can.

I'll let you know how it's going from time to time. Hopefully in much more frequent bursts than I have done lately.