On the previous episode of Showtorious Unplugged we discussed a scenario in which I had come to a conclusion on what I’m planning on doing for my long-term health.
I’d been battling my body for far too long and it was time to make drastic changes. I’ll be 38 years old in July. I feel like 58 years old. I’ve tried everything:
- Weight Watchers
- All Natural
- ‘Clean eating”
- No preservatives
I’m been battling since the 4th grade. I’m tired.
I’m tired of this sciatic issue; tired of limping around at work for no good reason.
I’m tired of standing in the back for group pictures; I’m tired of trying to not take side shots of myself.
I’m tired of hurting myself working out when I usually enjoy it; I’m tired of shopping in the big and tall section and wearing clothes that are uncomfortable.
I’m tired of having to alter clothes to make them fit right; I’m tired of having to MAKE my Halloween costume every year.
I’m tired of going hard and making great progress only to randomly injure a shoulder, foot or knee… but with no impact.
I’ve motivated many; helped more than a few. As much as I try to be a role model for the right way to fitness, my body’s constant betrayal has me consistently frustrated.
I guess I’m tired of being tired.
Thank goodness for modern science and medicine, right?
I gave myself hell for years about doing things the natural way. I didn’t believe in surgically altering my body when I knew what I was capable of. Shit, in 2005/2006 I lost 119 pounds on cardio, Fausto’s carne asada nachos and working three jobs.
Though I still can be mistaken for a cat in his mid-20s, the bottom line is I’m not in my mid- 20s any more. I’m in my upper 30’s and my body has changed; specifically my metabolism.
The truth is weight loss begins in the kitchen; no disputing that fact. What happens though, when your body is unique and it does not process foods, even the good ones, the way it’s supposed to?
I know people who give up sweets or carbs or meats and they take a walk every night – pounds just fly off of them. Some people don’t even take that walk but stick to the eating program and still lose weight.
What’s been proven for me though is that I not only need to watch what I eat, I have to work out… not just walking but I need to work out vigorously and consistently. It’s what made me successful in the past and what I wanted to do on my last campaign.
The bad part is despite my intentions it wasn’t working anymore, consistently. It began to feel like some kind of life elevator, only more like the Twilight Zone Tower of Terror at Disney.
I’d lose 20 pounds, regain 30. I’d lose 60, regain 45. I’d lose 5 pounds, regain 8. My body has been all over the place. This is when I was NOT injured, eating right and working out.
When I was injured multiple times last year, I couldn’t work out so that elevator would just go in one direction — up. I found myself at a near all-time high weight after getting a stress fracture in my foot over the summer.
The other problem I’ve recently been diagnosed with is lower-than-normal testosterone, which is a direct result of obesity. Wish I knew this when I was 30 as opposed to 37, but it’s whatever now; forward progress.
This procedure SHOULD correct my weight-loss problem. I lose weight, I regain testosterone. I can also get testosterone treatments to help it along, should the forced weight loss not work.
I don’t have sexual health issues and I’ve no need for Viagra and shit but one has to wonder if my lack of testosterone plays into the fact that we don’t have children yet. The mere thought of that for me is unacceptable, especially when I know I’m capable (2011, RIP Aaliyah).
So excuse my language but, FUCK. THIS. ELEVATOR. I’m getting off.
THIS is my final campaign. I plan on following the book to a T. All of my friends who’ve had the surgery have been successful. Granted, I’m the first guy of the group going in for it so it’s a little different but from all accounts that I’ve researched including speaking with many doctors, I’m a prime candidate for the procedure. Not because I’m just overweight but because I have no actual problems going on with me (talking blood pressure, heart disease or diabetes – low testosterone won’t kill me) and I have crazy work ethic.
Doc told me he expects me to be good within 9 months. Normally it takes 18 months for most people to reach goal, which is the realistic timeframe for what I’m shooting for, but if I can kill 130 pounds off in 9 months, I’d be lying if I told you I wasn’t happy. THAT is a fucking win in my book.
So I got my date back in mid-January after consulting with my surgical center. May 10th. Set in stone. I was happy, but so disappointed at the same time; especially after going through a yearlong process to get to this point.
Another one of my friends, whose primary doctor’s office is infinitely more efficient than mine, had blown through the process and had been scheduled already for March 14th… I hoped to do this thing with her so we can Make America Sexy Again, together. Alas, my wishful thinking didn’t translate to reality. I was stuck nearly two months behind her. I accepted the date and let the scheduler know my desires to move up just in case somebody canceled.
The scheduler, with a sparkle in her eye and a smile went ahead and scheduled me for pre-op on February 1st… this way I was registered with the hospital and had all the instructions just in case cancelations occurred between that day and May 10th. I don’t know if it was my smile, my unique name or my infamous ‘Denzel Voice’ that I gave her but I felt like I may have done something positive in my positioning for a better date. I’m a happily married man, of course but here in Vegas sometimes you have to turn the flirt game up a bit to get shit done. When she told me she was confident something would open up sooner, I shared her confidence.
My friend and I attended pre-op the same day, which was pretty cool. We did all of our paperwork and paid for our procedures. $3250 later ($2500 for surgery, $750 hospital copay) and it was on like Donkey Kong… well in May of course; March for her.
The following Monday (2.6.17), I got a phone call at work. It was the scheduler lady. She says, “I know you mentioned you wanted something in March but how about the 15th?”
I responded, “The 15th of March would be awesome! Thank you!”
“No,” she replied. “The 15th of February.”
“Holy shit,” I exclaimed. “They told me I have to resubmit some tests though, because they expired.”
She looked through her notes and explained to me that it would have expired if I kept May 10th for the date. Since she was purposing Feb 15th, my EKG’s and X Rays were still good. I would just have to do a couple blood tests, which they can do on their own this week.
Happily, I accepted the new date.
This is really happening, folks. On February 15th, THIS WEDNESDAY my life is changing… and so is the world.
I wrote this on night of February 7th… my friend got called too. She’s moved up to THIS MONDAY.