whippledaddy

Okay, I've jumped through every hoop, crossed every "T", dotted every "i". The day after Mrs. Marquis de Sade sanded my chest I had an ultrasound of my heart, and a ct scan of my lungs. I also had my required nutrition class. A few observations: The Echo Cardio Gram was a breeze. The ct scan, which I felt, and still feel, was unnecessary was traumatic. At each stage of this process I have had to fill out papers telling my health care providers everything about my self. One of the things that I have told them in writing repeatedly is what meds I am on right now. I take Glucovance. For my Diabetes. When I got to the cat scan room the tech said something like "don't take your Glucovance for at least forty eight hours, 'cause of the dye we're using, they react." After the test, and the rather unpleasant dye they put in me, a male tech came to talk to me. He had an order for blood tests written on a prescription slip. He told me I had been scheduled for a blood draw in two days in the A.M. He told me it was because Glucovance has Metformin in it. The dye really doesn't mix well with Metformin, and they needed to make sure that I wouldn't go into renal failure from mixing the two. RENAL FAILURE! I will find out later this week. The nutrition class cost thirty two bucks. There were maybe ten of us in there. Nine getting the RNY, one getting the band. The RNY folks may have felt they got their money's worth. I didn't. Of course the dietician got off on the wrong foot with me. This thin woman walked into the room, looked around and said, "My we've got a large group today"..... Was she commenting on our combined fatness? Then the whole hour and a half was devoted to RNY. I had to ask questions at each step to get any info about the band. She gave us a hand book, complete with a graduated schedule to return to normal diets, If you had the RNY. But it doesn't matter. I'm on my way. All presurgery prerequisites are complete. I must have a follow up endoscopy, and one more doctor's visit, and then my pre surgery protien diet. Six protien drinks a day and all the lettuce I want. Now I feel it drawing closer. This strange dichotomy of existence called the laparoscopic band. When restriction will mean encroaching freedom. When I will get the help I need to shrink into the man I know I am. When I will be forced to face my biggest demon, food and the crazy reasons I need to consume. I am ready. I'll deal with the kidney failure thing (I feel lucky), I'll deal with the mass on the lung thing (it was pneumonia, I know). Then I'll deal with the real thing. Life. Hi, I'm Food, and what's been eating me is..................Ryan

You can do it. You will do it. Heck if you weigh yourself every thirty minutes you're probably in Onederland at some point of the day. WooooHooooo You go girl!

Each of us has something, which touches us so deeply, that we will do it, not for money, not for fame, but solely for the love of it. My heart goes out to anyone who hasn't yet found that thing that takes their soul to that special place. We will both welcome the spring!

When the sky looms above you, like an overturned bowl of ashes, and the trees are but charcoal drawings against a bleak horizon. When the wind cuts through you like the scream of a child, and in the dark paths of the night you can almost hear it whispering your name. When the dry leaves, hanging in the breeze, rasp together like the voices of old men, And darkness comes so swiftly, sometimes before you can get the key turned in the lock of your front door. When shadows blend together, and the night feels like it's breathing, and you're sure that something moved just when you looked away............... Then it's easy to believe there are things we don't want to know, things that crawl through the night, hating the creatures of the light. We can concieve of a hidden world, teeming just below our sight, the rustle of the night,,,,,,,,,,,,, and the unquiet grave. Happy Halloween, a little early.

I get ten weeks of paid time off a year. Over 400 hours! If I don't use it, I lose it. We are not paid for unused time off, so it seems silly not to use it. I can put my free time to good work too, like writing novels, riding motorcycles, taking my wife to docs, and I dabble on e-bay as well. So, I've already put in for the days off, I've got plenty coming. At first my stubborn little boy side was gonna just go back to work after three days. But how does hurting me punish anyone else? So I'll do the adult thing. It's my body, it's my job, and it's my life. If I don't take the time in the vacation book at work I lose the option. I don't wanna do that.

Today I go for a ct scan at 1:30, an ECG at 2:30, and the nutrition class at 2:45. Then my next visit with the surgeon to go on my protien diet on the 29th. And, finally another endoscopy on Nov. 4. Whew! Been to the doctor on an average of once every nine years since I was eighteen. Usually for broken bones and stitches. This is more medical attention than I like. But, it will be okay. Am I getting excited? Yes. I'm a little surprised by how unsupportive I feel my wife is being. I took six days off work for the surgery, and with my regular days off it means I'll have ten days after surgery to recouperate enough to go back the day after Thanksgiving. Now I have tons of time (hundreds of hours) that is paid time off, and although my job is really easy (the heaviest thing I lift is an ink pen) I felt that the ten days wasn't overboard as to time off. Patty thinks I should go back to work as soon as possible. Don't know where that's coming from, but it rankles a bit. I have always taken the position that whatever she decides for HER body I will be behind her 100 percent. Wish she did the same for me. She suggested that I have the surgery on the 16th, and since my regular days off are the 17th and 18th I could go back on the 19th. I think it's too early. You folks who have gone through it, what do you think?

Uhhhhhh. I should hope not!

Patty's lost over 260 pounds since her surgery. She's finally under two hundred, and she's pleased as punch about it. Her health and pain challenges continue, but she, and I, fight on. We laugh a lot. Laughter is the most powerful form of defiance.

Had my stress test today. They shaved my chest, four little round holes. They dry shaved it. Ouch. Then the woman used real, honest to goodness sandpaper on my four bare spots. Ouch. Then she poured alchohol on the four red, tender, sanded, bare spots. Ouch! B-tch! Then the other woman was stupid enough to ask me why my heart rate suddenly spiked up by twenty beats a minute. They hooked me up to wires and made me walk on a treadmill that inclined more and went faster until I was afraid I was gonna die. Then they increased the incline and the speed until I was afraid I WASN'T gonna die. I seem to recall hearing the Doc say it was all good, but I was wheezing so loud I couldn't be sure. He finally repeated that I didn't have any blockages, and that the test showed a heart healthy enought to go through the surgery. That's good. Now, I've gotta find some lotion for my chest.

Since it looks like my surgery will go off on time I had a hard decision to make. Today I put my bike up for the winter. Earlier than ever before. She needs new tires, and an oil change and the headlight is out, plus one of the running lights is cracked by a stone peck. It just makes sense to do it. New tires now, to sit in the frozen garage all winter, plus new oil to do the same. And I still have all my other winterizing to do. Put air conditioners away, weatherstrip, caulk, rake, deal with Patty's flowers, the lawn mower, the storms. So I washed the Roadie. I dried her and eased her into the garage. I promised her I would come out and visit during the winter. I lovingly put the StaBil in the tank, and removed the battery to bring into the warm. So the world will coat my horizon in white fluff, whose kiss is a bitter as a slap. I will crawl into a cage and travel on four wheels hearing the slop of gray city slush instead of the throb of a mighty engine. My boots will be of rubber, not cowhide, my coat fleece lined and turned up against a biting wind. I'll slip and slog from building to truck, a dark speck of humanity in a world of white, blanketed by an ashen sky. I will stare out blurry frosted windows, and wonder where the warm breath of spring is, and I will not hear the Voice of the Roadie in the land. But, one day, after an age made longer by waiting, the sun will shine, and the practiced nose will catch the scent of honeysuckle on the wind. Above will be the music of the Canadas returning to the fields of the south. And the waiter, the watcher, will turn a face upward, and under a shielding hand, he will see the sun rides higher in the sky. Then a new, lighter, version of me will reverse the process, adorn his ride with tires, lights, and nourish her with new oil. And she will fire, and he will relax, and they will dance together, shift, lean, shift, dream......................................

Janie's back! Goodness it's been a long time! Welcome back!

OMG! If I misspell anything it's because my eyes are filled with tears. Please, I'm a big tough biker, I can't be crying! As if the Whippie, Whip thing were'nt coincidence enough, I now have a short story to tell you. Four years ago we had a wonderful little dog, a Sheltie. She was such a happy soul. She loved children and would not leave my wife's side. She went to the Nursing Home with Patty to help give pet therapy to the residents. Seeing their faces light up when our little Sheltie came up to them was a real treat. and now for THE REST OF THE STORY: This wonderful little sheltie, looking for all the world like a miniature Lassie was named..........................Tilly. Tilly and Whip. Eerie????? Yep. Patty opened the front door one February day to get the paper, and Tilly ran out and across the street to greet our neighbor's dog. She was run over right before Patty's eyes. Tilly ran back to Patty and lay down and passed, just that fast. She had never ran out the door like that before. Gonna go wipe the tears from my eyes, hug my wife, and our pets.

One of the conditions of being human is fallibility. People, no matter how conscientious make mistakes. Some make many, some make few, but none make no mistakes. My Doctor may be brilliant, but like any human, he is capable of error. I don't want to be his first, or even his only error. It'll be humorous, but there WILL be some sort of marking on my body (I have a nice large canvas to work upon, lol) telling Dr. Cudjoe that I am getting the BAND, and not the RNY.

Bobby, all I can say is, you know what you need to do. Whichever course you take, take it 'cause it's the right path for all concerned. You'll do the right thing, it'll be allright in the end, if it ain't all right, it ain't the end. Stay strong, and you've got a lot of folks rooting for ya.

18! Amazing. My Mr. Whipple is 16. And I think he knows it. They come into our lives, and their lives are on a faster track than ours. They look up to us, we are, after all, the leaders of their packs. They love us......no matter what. They love us when we believe we are unloveable. I've learned so much from my old Whip. If I were more like him I'd have a happier, more successful life. If we would go wild with joy when we saw a loved one, how could they help but love us? When we can eat the exact same supper every night for a lifetime without complaint, acting like we relish it, food will not have power over us. When a fly isn't a nuisance, but a jolly game. When the height of luxury is a vigorous belly rub, followed by a good nap. When we can love someone because we live with them, and not live with them because we love them.............. Then, maybe then, we'll be as classy as our dogs. Until then, we'll just be human. In some ways a step below. Enjoy your old pet. Soak up all the love you can, Blossom. And, perhaps, like me, you'll notice something new about your dog...... Mr. Whipple acts like he knows he's on borrowed time, and you can see him soaking up every second of our love, it's eerie in a warm and fuzzy way. Give your baby back what he has given you, love. And when that dreaded day at last arrives, creeping in to darken your life for a time, you'll feel sadness, but you'll never be sorry. I know that I will feel honored to have been in Mr. Whipple's company for a time.

Look at all the beautiful women! The only thing better than beautiful women, is............drunk beautiful women. And here I am. Married, and stuck thousands of miles away in the piney woods! Really, you all look so wonderful, and so successful in your Quest to lose. You can see your bright futures in your sparkling eyes. Other forums do this on a yearly basis, and I'd definitely get on the band wagon with ya'll. Have fun, keep the pics coming, it's GREATTTTTT!!!!!!!!!!!!

Hope you've made up by now. It sounds like he has issues beyond what you argued about. And remember, he may not even know what those issues are. We fellas aren't too well equipped in the feelings department. We can recognize that we're upset, but if we don't have a solid reason to explain why (the brakes are out on the car again) we get a little lost. We're a little like someone trying to swim in a mud ocean with no idea where the shore is. He might be suffering from a bad self image. It's harder for us to explain the difficulties of being overweight, because we don't always understand that's what's bothering us. If he too is heavy (I prefer the word "fat" but try not to hurt others feelings) he may indeed be feeling that you're leaving him behind. There may be some jealousy. "Geez, she get's to eat a cinnamon roll (guys crave cinnamon the way women crave chocolate: little known fact) and with her fancy schmancy new surgery it won't slow her weight loss down." Maybe he's aware of what a true treasure he has, and is feeling a little threatened. Not to get too personal but it's obvious from your pic that you're a hottie, and the weight loss is only adding to that image. If he thinks he's not a hottie, he could be feeling a little cold and scared right now. The difference between men and boys is that we're taller. Our petulant little wronged brat boy self will come out. We'll shoot our mouths off, and then, too cowardly to ask for forgiveness we'll try to tough it out, like we are full of righteous indignation. Good luck. Oh, and ladies, I can tell from all your pictures here that you are all hotties. Ain't I lucky? But, it's your souls, all of you, that bring the true beauty, and it....is.....staggering.

yes, the same date. November 16. This is another plus on the lapband side if anyone is teetering between the band and the RNY. Because the stomach is still accessible problems like ulcers can be addressed even with the band. With RNY the stomach is no longer accessible to medication without a high level of invasion. Wooo hooooo! Thanks for the support guys.

Congrats ILUVHARLEYS! Only eleven days. Hear that dramatic music in the background? And the timing is perfect. Winterize the ride, and next year you'll be able to accelerate even faster!

Well, finally got in to see Dr. Cudjoe today (he'd been on vacation) about those pesky little stomach ulcers. Seems there were a LOT of them, and they were creeping up my esophogus. The biopsies came back. No cancerous stuff, but I do have H. Pylori. A tenacious little bugger who only responds to a full fledged attack. He told me that my surgery would not be possible until all ulcers are completely healed. Then he asked if I had any questions. I asked him where the port would be. He said I would'nt have a port. Then he looked at my chart again. He thought I was having the RNY!!!!!!!!!!!!!! When he read that it was the lapband he said that my surgery date would NOT be postponed. He can band me even if the ulcers aren't completely gone with the band because he still has access to the stomach and can give medication. SO I AM BACK ON SCHEDULE! YAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! My chart was right, but he was confused, since my wife is well known in the medical community here perhaps he got us confused. I'm pretty sure that I wouldn't have woken up after surgery with a vivisected tummy. Yep. Pretty sure. It was in the chart right. I think I'm gonna remind Doc before surgery that it's the band. Maybe I'll write a little something on my belly that day. "Lap Band goes here". Yeah, good idea. Family Doctor will be sitting in on my surgery as he wants to learn to do the procedure as well. I'll be sure he knows. Just put the hose clamp on my stomach, no choppy choppy on Ryan's tummy. But, I'm back on schedule. Am I rambling? Yep. Bye.

What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas? It just can't stay in Vegas, not when so many of us are living vicariously through you! We want pics. We want stories. Dish the dirt! I wish I could be there, but, alas, gotta work, gotta take care of the love of my life. Have a great time!

Thanks guys. I appreciate all you have said. I guess I'm pretty tough at this medical stuff when I take my wife, but when it's me? Well, it is definitely different. My parents didn't take us kids to the doc much. I went at the ages of six, nine, twelve, twenty one, thirty five, forty nine, and fifty two. I take my wife weekly, and sometimes daily. I now have more prescriptions in my name than I have had in all my previous life. They tell you something is wrong, and little else, then you wait several weeks to find out the real skinny. What gets me is the waiting. Well, it's okay. Thanks to you all, I'm getting over it. If I am to have this surgery then nothing can stop me. If I am not to have it, then nothing can make me. If there are things wrong, things I must attend to, then I must. I am a caregiver for an ill spouse. If I don't keep myself healthy I'll fail as her caregiver. So finding this out is good. No surprises. Fix the ulcers, lung thing, and heart thing while I feel good, hale hearty and strong. Then, get banded, lose a little and be a better, healthier happier me. I wish all of you the best, and, as ever, I'll be here. Oh, and I'm posting all this chronologically over at my little forum, so I will have a record of this. In retrospect it will certainly be that I am making much of nothing.

I like this stuff. Makes me think, real hard. 1. To drive without compromising between my distance from the pedals, and my belly's proximity to the steering wheel. "Let's see now, if I move it back here, I can still almost reach the brake and I think I can turn the wheel without getting friction burns on my gut." 2. To sit at a booth in a restaurant again. 3. To ride a bicycle without worrying about having it extracted. 4. To pee standing up. Ya can't aim what ya can't see. 5. I wanna lay on the beach and not be afraid they're going to call GreenPeace to drag me back in the Water and save me. Well, just to be able to go there and not get stared at. 6. To go anywhere and not get stared at. 7. To tie my shoes, and have it be no big deal. 8. To never hear "You're not THAT fat" again. 9. To never hear "Have you EVER tried to diet?" again. 10. To be free of the need to wonder if I'm fatter than every heavy person I see. 11. To feel like my sweetie's hero again. 12. To feel desireable again. 13. To shop at Wal-Mart for clothes. That stuff from the catalogs is twice the price, and half the quality.

Sometimes I feel like I'm the pathetic star in a Jerry Lewis movie. Everything he touches gets worse. This has always been my way. On the same day that all my shirts are scorched, I break a shoestring, have a flat tire, find that my regular gas station is closed, and that they're doing construction on my normal path to work. And I still get there with time to spare. I'll get there. And I'll be pretty self assured health wise when I do. But in the meantime, one can't help but wonder, just what the heck is going on. Perhaps I am being tested to see just how bad I want it. Ah me. It could be worse, it could be raining. Listen,,,,,,,,,,, Was that thunder?

Happy B'day! Congrats! You made it to today, and you're an official operator of a motorcycle now. See? And you are a hottie with your weight loss, and your V-Twin mo'sickle and black boots. Life is goooooooooooooood!