Saturday, January 18, 2014

406.5

On January 2, I weighed myself on the trusty Weight Watchers scale and the number came back: "406.5." This was the heaviest I have ever weighed.

It wasn't that I was much surprised. I weigh myself regularly, but plentiful holiday eating had pushed me to this new brink. I couldn't ignore it anymore; I was over the 400# mark.

I would like to say that was "the final straw," but I'm not sure it was. Nevertheless, as it was after New Year's Day, the typical New Year's resolution kicked in: lose weight, get healthy. Not that I hadn't uttered that every year for perhaps the past 15 years, but here we were again: me making the usual failed promise to myself.

After suffering a cold, I had some weird chest discomfort, and then some pain/discomfort radiating into my left arm, starting on Sunday, January 5. Since I didn't have any shortness of breath or other symptoms, I just chalked it up to pulling a muscle, perhaps while snow shoveling or something of that nature. (Unfortunately not due to exercise; I haven't lifted weights as exercise in quite a while.)

Still, as the pain persisted, and I had a couple of sleepless nights on Monday and Tuesday, I then decided I needed to go in on Wednesday, January 8, and get checked out to make sure it wasn't anything more serious than the psychosomatic symptoms my wife and I thought I might be suffering from. Stupidly, I went to an Urgent Care center first. I should have just went to the ER, as the Urgent Care center physician, upon hearing my diagnosis of chest pain and looking at my weight and other factors, performed an EKG. The physician said the EKG showed possible signs of an enlarged heart, and there was fear that a myocardial infarction (heart attack for you laypeople) may have occurred or may be on the precipice of occurring. They gave me some baby aspirin to chew down. The physician told me I needed to get to the ER immediately. AMA (Against Medical Advice), I decided to forego the ambulance ride and drive myself the 10 or so miles between the Urgent Care center and Metro Health hospital in Wyoming, close to where I live.

Now, for reference, I have not been admitted to a hospital ER since I was 6 years old. That visit was precipitated by being hit by a tow truck (another story for another time, if you're not familiar with it from knowing me), and I suffered three skull fractures. Since then, I had managed to keep myself out of the emergency room except to visit when a family member or friend had been admitted for reasons wonderful (birth of a child) or not so much (anything related to death and not to life).

To Metro's credit, I was taken back immediately to be hooked up to another EKG and have bloodwork performed. I also would have a chest x-ray performed. Being wheeled through the ER, shirtless, on the way to the chest x-ray, was certainly a surreal experience and perhaps the main reason I'm clinging to my newfound determination. However, I'm getting ahead of myself.

Admittedly, justifiably (perhaps), I was freaked out, to say the least. Trying to contact any of my family members, I used the wonders of the Internet age to Facebook message my mother, brother, and sister regarding the situation. I couldn't find my wife. Camille has a cellphone but rarely turns it on. I wouldn't have the clarity of mind to try her work number; when I eventually did, I left a message for her to call me on my cellphone as soon as the message would allow.

I did reach my father, and at that point, I broke down in tears. Scared that something incredibly significant was going wrong with my health, I had the frightening feeling that 39 would be it for me. Overreacting? Sure. I have the tendency to do that from time to time. Still, as I mentioned before, this was my first time being admitted to an ER in 29 years, and for a moment I thought it might be the last.

The EKG and chest x-ray apparently came back clear, and since they were able to get my blood pressure under control, they released me under my own recognizance, with the instructions to take a baby aspirin performed until a cardiac stress test could be performed. (Wonderfully, a nice nurse at Metro did provide me a pre-warmed blanket at some point to cover up my top level nakedness. The pre-warmed blanket is definitely a luxury to be had, though I certainly didn't need to go through this type of experience to receive one.)

I may have been physically cleared, but mentally, I was on the ragged edge. Wednesday and Thursday brought only fitful sleep. Friday and Saturday, I maybe got 3 hours (if that) each night. Finally, we got to Sunday and Monday, January 12 and 13, where I slept absolutely no hours at all. I still had the weird chest discomfort, and in reflection, I probably had an anxiety/panic attack. Understandable considering what I had gone through, but again something I had never experienced before in my life.

So, here we are. My typical New Year's resolution to "lose weight, get healthier" has been crystallized by this incident. It's no longer a resolution; it's a necessity. I want to be around for at least 39 more years. I have many more goals in my life to accomplish. I need to be around to take care of my wife and have her take care of me. She and I are going through the process of possibly adopting a child. I want to be around for that child to grow up. Hell, I want to be around for me to grow up.

I am using Calorie Count to record what I eat, trying to stay under 2000 calories a day if possible. I found a nutritionist plan online on what to eat, health wise, besides the calories. I have tried to exercise, getting on the treadmill for 30 minutes and walking at a reasonable pace. One naturally warm January day since the incident, I actually took a 20-minute walk outside. The results have been good so far. I am down 16 pounds since January 2 (at least back under the #400 mark, thank God). I have much more to go, but I am setting my goals 10% at a time. That is, lose 10% of my current weight, then another 10%, etc. My "BHAG" (Big, Hairy, Audacious Goal) is to get under 200# eventually, but 10% at a time at first. I will make it. I have to make it. It's not a matter of empty promises and "resolutions" anymore. Not to use too much hyperbole, but it's do or die.

The stress test is scheduled for January 28. It's a two-day affair, and it should be an interesting experience, of which I will blog further. My personal care physician Dr. Koepnick thinks it will come back clear. I am still having the weird chest tightening from time to time but the symptoms are not debilitating, just bothersome. Dr. Koepnick gave me some alprazolam (Xanax) to take to help sleep at night. That, along with taking melatonin, seems to be doing the trick for the most part. I still wake up sometimes and have some anxiety, but overall, at least I've been able to sleep.

I will continue to use this blog to document my process as I move forward. Hopefully, we continue to see positive results. However, 2014 has started out in a very interesting manner for me, to say the least, and I expect it will only get more interesting as things go along. We shall see. However, I can guarantee you one thing: I will never be 406.5 again. One way or another.

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