The following is an excerpt from the secret files of Scott Pioli, GM of the Kansas City Chiefs:
Well, we are officially DFL in the NFL, so I guess it's time we start to think about how we use that high draft pick we're sure to have in April. There don't appear to be any overrated LSU defensive linemen we can draft several rounds and places too high, so I might need to bite the bullet and draft a QB in the first round. Let's take a look at the notes I've compiled on this year's prospects.
Matt Barkley, USC -- Boy, he has great skills. Nice arm, reads the field well. What's that? He was a four year starterfor USC. Not a chance. I prefer to throw obscene amounts of money at four year backups from USC.
Geno Smith, West Virginia -- Boy, he does a lot of nice things . . . until he plays some real competition. Has floundered against tougher teams and is getting the dreaded "system QB" label. He could be the best thing to ever happen to KC, or a huge monumental bust as an NFL quarterback. I like the sounds of that. I'm keeping my eye on this kid.
Collin Klein, KSU -- Local kid from K-State. Smart. Tough. Wins games. Great moral character. I've been told he's a film room junkie and constantly looks to improve himself. Taking all that into account, he's definitely not a Chiefs-type player.
Landry Jones, OU -- What an upside to his kid! Comes from a storied program. Great record as a starter. Big arm. The only knock on him is they say he disappears during big games. Well, the Chiefs won't be playing any big games any time soon, so this could be a perfect match!
Denard Robinson, Michigan -- Tom Brady was from Michigan. Tom Brady is awesome. Therefore, all Michigan QBs are awesome. This could be the one!
AJ McCarron, Alabama -- 18 Touchdown passes, 0 interceptions. I don't know, isn't that number supposed to be reversed? I don't think I like the sounds of those stats. . .
Joe Thiesman, Free Agent -- He called me, but I like that moxie. Doesn't hurt that he told me himself that he's the greatest QB to ever play in the NFL.
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Waiting for Godot (or Something)
When I last left the office of Dr. Harvard, the nephrologist, I had very few answers. I was stuck in a holding pattern of taking pills and not really knowing why I was taking them. They seemed to be working, since every time I had my blood pressure taken it was lower and lower. I was getting strength back, which is something I hadn't really talked about. While I was losing weight, I was also losing muscle mass and strength. As a matter of fact, when things were at their worst, I would often find myself using the elevator at school to get to my classroom, because climbing the stairs winded me. It wasn't a very long flight of stairs. Much like anyone in this type of situation, I just wanted to know what was wrong. Needless to say, the insomnia I'd experienced wasn't going away very quickly.
To get to the bottom of things, Dr. Harvard and I began to play a little game I liked to call "Guess What I DON'T Have." I'd go in, get a test done, then go back a week later, get the results, and Dr. Harvard would tell me what that particular test had been for and what ailment I didn't have. It went something like this, "I got your blood work back. The good news is that you don't have rheumatoid arthritis. The bad news is that there's still several other things we need to test for." And then I'd be off for another test.
One of the more annoying aspects of this whole process is that it made me miss a lot of time at school. The sophomores I taught barely noticed I was ever gone, unless it was a day I was scheduled to read aloud. My juniors and seniors were a little more perceptive that being gone a lot must have meant something was up. I had a Creative Writing class I was particularly fond of, and one day when I told them that I would, once again, be gone the next day a student piped up, "Why are you gone all the time? Are you dying or something?"
It was a very strange, almost surreal moment, because I looked at them and said, very seriously, "I don't know."
Having gotten used to my sense of humor, many of them laughed. But many of them didn't. many of them seemed to understand that something was wrong. As this sank in, the class began to ask questions. I finally just told them the abbreviated story -- that there was something wrong with my kidneys, but they didn't know what. That just led to more questions -- How long had I had this? What did I think it was? My grandma had to go to dialysis, do you do that? Are you going to need a transplant?
The transplant question kind of blindsided me. I don't know why, but for the first time the severity of the situation, if it came to that, was pretty grim. I opened up, perhaps too much m, and told the class that I was adopted, didn't know (or want to find) my biological parents, and that the only blood relative I had to turn to for a donor was all of four years old. It was kind of a downer to think about that. But I felt better when a student approached me after class and said, "Mr. Clamons, if you need a kidney, I'll give you one of mine. . . I'm serious."
Now I don't want you to think that everything was completely gloom and doom. Creative Writing class became a bit of an outlet for me to get over things. Each day they had a writing prompt for the beginning of class. I began to work in some topics that had come to me during this whole process. The movie, The Bucket List, had not yet been released, but we did write a bucket list of things I should if everything went South on me. My favorite of this was having a student say, "You have to do open-night mic at a comedy club." When I pointed out that the only reason they thought I was funny was because my jokes were about them or their classmates, the student said, "That's alright. We'll all come so somebody laughs at you."
There was also a time when I had to go in for an MRI. I was not looking forward to my 10:00 PM appointment to lay in the tube (if you're wondering, I didn't get IN the tube until 10:45), and told the class the next day that I might be grouchy because I had to stay up late for an MRI (once I got in, it still took 35 minutes to complete the MRI). I was asked why i had to have an MRI, and I explained that it was to see if I had malformed kidneys, structural problems, or cancer. As it is in most cases, when I mentioned the word "cancer" a silence came over the room. I decided to keep my humor about me and told the class how I had developed a Top 10 list of positives about having cancer. If you're wondering, here's some of the highlights of it:
To get to the bottom of things, Dr. Harvard and I began to play a little game I liked to call "Guess What I DON'T Have." I'd go in, get a test done, then go back a week later, get the results, and Dr. Harvard would tell me what that particular test had been for and what ailment I didn't have. It went something like this, "I got your blood work back. The good news is that you don't have rheumatoid arthritis. The bad news is that there's still several other things we need to test for." And then I'd be off for another test.
One of the more annoying aspects of this whole process is that it made me miss a lot of time at school. The sophomores I taught barely noticed I was ever gone, unless it was a day I was scheduled to read aloud. My juniors and seniors were a little more perceptive that being gone a lot must have meant something was up. I had a Creative Writing class I was particularly fond of, and one day when I told them that I would, once again, be gone the next day a student piped up, "Why are you gone all the time? Are you dying or something?"
It was a very strange, almost surreal moment, because I looked at them and said, very seriously, "I don't know."
Having gotten used to my sense of humor, many of them laughed. But many of them didn't. many of them seemed to understand that something was wrong. As this sank in, the class began to ask questions. I finally just told them the abbreviated story -- that there was something wrong with my kidneys, but they didn't know what. That just led to more questions -- How long had I had this? What did I think it was? My grandma had to go to dialysis, do you do that? Are you going to need a transplant?
The transplant question kind of blindsided me. I don't know why, but for the first time the severity of the situation, if it came to that, was pretty grim. I opened up, perhaps too much m, and told the class that I was adopted, didn't know (or want to find) my biological parents, and that the only blood relative I had to turn to for a donor was all of four years old. It was kind of a downer to think about that. But I felt better when a student approached me after class and said, "Mr. Clamons, if you need a kidney, I'll give you one of mine. . . I'm serious."
Now I don't want you to think that everything was completely gloom and doom. Creative Writing class became a bit of an outlet for me to get over things. Each day they had a writing prompt for the beginning of class. I began to work in some topics that had come to me during this whole process. The movie, The Bucket List, had not yet been released, but we did write a bucket list of things I should if everything went South on me. My favorite of this was having a student say, "You have to do open-night mic at a comedy club." When I pointed out that the only reason they thought I was funny was because my jokes were about them or their classmates, the student said, "That's alright. We'll all come so somebody laughs at you."
There was also a time when I had to go in for an MRI. I was not looking forward to my 10:00 PM appointment to lay in the tube (if you're wondering, I didn't get IN the tube until 10:45), and told the class the next day that I might be grouchy because I had to stay up late for an MRI (once I got in, it still took 35 minutes to complete the MRI). I was asked why i had to have an MRI, and I explained that it was to see if I had malformed kidneys, structural problems, or cancer. As it is in most cases, when I mentioned the word "cancer" a silence came over the room. I decided to keep my humor about me and told the class how I had developed a Top 10 list of positives about having cancer. If you're wondering, here's some of the highlights of it:
- Finally have an explanation for my haircut
- Time off from work -- and you meddling kids (that's a direct quote)
- It's the first step to winning seven consecutive Tour de Frances
- Society will find it OK if I dump my wife to date Sheryl Crow
- Radiation treatment could cause me to grow super strong whenever I get angry. . .and you wouldn't like me when I'm angry.
Overall, it turned out that waiting wasn't so bad. And sharing with my students became a bit cathartic for me and helped me to keep my mind off the waiting. So when I went to see Dr. Harvard and he told me it was time for one last test, I remained upbeat and faced this test with a positive mental attitude. Boy, was I stupid.
Next time: I Scream, You Scream, We All Scream for Kidney Biopsies!
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Eye, Doctor
While Dr. Harvard began what would become a very long and drawn out process of discovering what was making my body, essentially, try to kill itself, there was still the pesky problem of a gray map of West Virginia clouding the vision in my right eye. What that meant, was that it was time to follow up with a retinal specialist. So i was off -- again -- to another medical appointment.
I knew from the name on the card that my optometrist had given me that my retinal specialist was of Indian or Pakistani descent. I only bring that up, because as you read the very true account of the events that transpired, it's much more entertaining if you can imagine it being said with a pronounced Indian accent. Not quite as much as Apu from The Simpsons, but close. As I did with the nephrologist, Dr. Harvard, I've changed the name of the retinal specialist to protect him. I will refer to my retinal specialist as Dr. Jovial.
While Dr. Harvard was smart and clinical and very dry, Dr. Jovial was was outgoing and I assume slightly hyperactive. He is also very smart. I mean, come on, the guy's a retinal specialist. He was a very friendly guy. I think he may have liked me more than his other patients because, from the looks of the waiting room, at nearly 35, I was the youngest patient there....by a good 30 years.
As Dr. Jovial burst into the exam room, he first introduced himself and then said (and this is where you start imagining the accent), "So you're here to see us because you have swollen and/or burst blood vessels in your eyes, hmmm?"
"Yes," I said, "mostly in the right eye."
"And is it obstructing your vision?" Dr, Jovial asked.
"Yes, and to be honest, it kind of looks like a little gray map of West Virginia?"
"Really?" Dr. Jovial laughed, "I've never heard of that before. You are very funny."
Dr. Jovial then began to examine my eyes. He confirmed the swollen blood vessels, and said both eyes were in pretty much the same condition. The spot I was seeing was caused by a small amount of bleeding from one. He asked me if I had a history of high blood pressure or diabetes. I briefly recounted the story of my trip to the doctor, my outrageous blood pressure readings, and the conclusion that this somehow tied in to my kidneys.
"I can't believe that," Dr. Jovial said in genuine shock, " You have kidney problems? I seriously can't believe that. You're so fit. And you're young. What are you, 28?"
"No, I'm almost 35"
"No you're not. Do you work out a lot or what?"
"Well, I have been lately. . . "
"I just can't believe that someone like you is having these health problems," Dr. Jovial continued, "When I look at you, with you musculature, I mean, there's no way I'd ever imagine that. Amazing. What do you bench press?"
"Oh, I don't know, I don't really max out, I just try to lift some to..."
"Oh come on, you can tell me. What's the most you've ever benched?"
"Well, I put up 245 once. But it wasn't like a max out or anything, I did it like six times..."
"What? 245??? Wow, I'd hate to work out with you. I put on the little 35 pound weights and I'm laying there struggling with those. You'd make me feel bad about myself. HAHAHA!"
I just had to smile and laugh through the whole conversation. After all the bad news I'd been getting from doctors lately, it was kind of nice to at least find someone who was a little more upbeat. Dr. Jovial had to get a better look at things, and he informed me that they were going to inject some dye into my blood, then take some pictures of the insides of my eyes, and he'd have a better idea of what kind of shape my eyes were in.
I went to another room with a nice nurse who was going to inject me with dye. It seemed like something reminiscent of a sci-fi movie. She loaded up a syringe with a chartreuse colored goopy mixture. She told me that the dye had no real lasting side effects. The only thing I might notice is that for the next few hours I might notice that my urine was more yellow than usual. I kind of blew this off, because with all the testing that Dr. Harvard had me doing, I'd become pretty accustomed to seeing my urine in all sorts of colors. I wasn't really prepared, though, when on my way home I stopped at the mall, used the Dillard's bathroom and noticed that my urine was actually the color of the chartreuse goop they injected me with. And I think it may have been glowing.
Dr. Jovial showed me the pictures of my eyes and showed me the swollen blood vessels and the one that hard broken. He told me that I should continue to follow Dr. Harvard's treatment and that he'd see me back in one month. he gave my the internal photos of my eyes, telling me, "Here, you can frame these and put them on the mantle. next to your weightlifting trophies. I still can't believe you're that sick with your musculature."
At the one month visit, Dr. Jovial told me that I was showing incredible improvement, much better than he'd expected. He again said I should take my meds and keep doing what I was doing, and see him again in six months. At my six month visit, he pronounced me cured (or as cured as I would get -- I still have a gray spot but its much smaller and resembles the Big Island of Hawaii), and said I didn't have to see him anymore.
I was a little sad that I didn't have to see Dr. Jovial anymore. He was, quite honestly, one of the best doctors I've ever encountered. On that last visit, I took Lukas with me, since it was during the summer. Dr. Jovial took an instant liking to Lukas and let him play with equipment and showed him the cool stuff. Before I left, he told me, uncharacteristically serious for a moment, "You know, this recovery is quite amazing. I never wanted to say this, but f you had asked me that first visit what I thought the outcome would be, I would have said that you would never recover the sight in your right eye. I never expected it to turn out this way. That's a tribute to you for taking care of yourself and doing what you needed to do," he then looked over at Lukas who was coloring a picture, "But, then again, that looks like a pretty good reason to take care of yourself."
I told you he was smart.
I knew from the name on the card that my optometrist had given me that my retinal specialist was of Indian or Pakistani descent. I only bring that up, because as you read the very true account of the events that transpired, it's much more entertaining if you can imagine it being said with a pronounced Indian accent. Not quite as much as Apu from The Simpsons, but close. As I did with the nephrologist, Dr. Harvard, I've changed the name of the retinal specialist to protect him. I will refer to my retinal specialist as Dr. Jovial.
While Dr. Harvard was smart and clinical and very dry, Dr. Jovial was was outgoing and I assume slightly hyperactive. He is also very smart. I mean, come on, the guy's a retinal specialist. He was a very friendly guy. I think he may have liked me more than his other patients because, from the looks of the waiting room, at nearly 35, I was the youngest patient there....by a good 30 years.
As Dr. Jovial burst into the exam room, he first introduced himself and then said (and this is where you start imagining the accent), "So you're here to see us because you have swollen and/or burst blood vessels in your eyes, hmmm?"
"Yes," I said, "mostly in the right eye."
"And is it obstructing your vision?" Dr, Jovial asked.
"Yes, and to be honest, it kind of looks like a little gray map of West Virginia?"
"Really?" Dr. Jovial laughed, "I've never heard of that before. You are very funny."
Dr. Jovial then began to examine my eyes. He confirmed the swollen blood vessels, and said both eyes were in pretty much the same condition. The spot I was seeing was caused by a small amount of bleeding from one. He asked me if I had a history of high blood pressure or diabetes. I briefly recounted the story of my trip to the doctor, my outrageous blood pressure readings, and the conclusion that this somehow tied in to my kidneys.
"I can't believe that," Dr. Jovial said in genuine shock, " You have kidney problems? I seriously can't believe that. You're so fit. And you're young. What are you, 28?"
"No, I'm almost 35"
"No you're not. Do you work out a lot or what?"
"Well, I have been lately. . . "
"I just can't believe that someone like you is having these health problems," Dr. Jovial continued, "When I look at you, with you musculature, I mean, there's no way I'd ever imagine that. Amazing. What do you bench press?"
"Oh, I don't know, I don't really max out, I just try to lift some to..."
"Oh come on, you can tell me. What's the most you've ever benched?"
"Well, I put up 245 once. But it wasn't like a max out or anything, I did it like six times..."
"What? 245??? Wow, I'd hate to work out with you. I put on the little 35 pound weights and I'm laying there struggling with those. You'd make me feel bad about myself. HAHAHA!"
I just had to smile and laugh through the whole conversation. After all the bad news I'd been getting from doctors lately, it was kind of nice to at least find someone who was a little more upbeat. Dr. Jovial had to get a better look at things, and he informed me that they were going to inject some dye into my blood, then take some pictures of the insides of my eyes, and he'd have a better idea of what kind of shape my eyes were in.
I went to another room with a nice nurse who was going to inject me with dye. It seemed like something reminiscent of a sci-fi movie. She loaded up a syringe with a chartreuse colored goopy mixture. She told me that the dye had no real lasting side effects. The only thing I might notice is that for the next few hours I might notice that my urine was more yellow than usual. I kind of blew this off, because with all the testing that Dr. Harvard had me doing, I'd become pretty accustomed to seeing my urine in all sorts of colors. I wasn't really prepared, though, when on my way home I stopped at the mall, used the Dillard's bathroom and noticed that my urine was actually the color of the chartreuse goop they injected me with. And I think it may have been glowing.
Dr. Jovial showed me the pictures of my eyes and showed me the swollen blood vessels and the one that hard broken. He told me that I should continue to follow Dr. Harvard's treatment and that he'd see me back in one month. he gave my the internal photos of my eyes, telling me, "Here, you can frame these and put them on the mantle. next to your weightlifting trophies. I still can't believe you're that sick with your musculature."
At the one month visit, Dr. Jovial told me that I was showing incredible improvement, much better than he'd expected. He again said I should take my meds and keep doing what I was doing, and see him again in six months. At my six month visit, he pronounced me cured (or as cured as I would get -- I still have a gray spot but its much smaller and resembles the Big Island of Hawaii), and said I didn't have to see him anymore.
I was a little sad that I didn't have to see Dr. Jovial anymore. He was, quite honestly, one of the best doctors I've ever encountered. On that last visit, I took Lukas with me, since it was during the summer. Dr. Jovial took an instant liking to Lukas and let him play with equipment and showed him the cool stuff. Before I left, he told me, uncharacteristically serious for a moment, "You know, this recovery is quite amazing. I never wanted to say this, but f you had asked me that first visit what I thought the outcome would be, I would have said that you would never recover the sight in your right eye. I never expected it to turn out this way. That's a tribute to you for taking care of yourself and doing what you needed to do," he then looked over at Lukas who was coloring a picture, "But, then again, that looks like a pretty good reason to take care of yourself."
I told you he was smart.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
My Trip to the Nephor...Nephra....I Go See a Kidney Doctor.
I left the general practice doctor with Lukas in tow and an appointment card in my hand telling me where and when I needed to go see a kidney specialist. I later learned that he is technically called a nephrologist. At this moment, all I knew was to call him a kidney doctor. The words "acute kidney failure" kept ringing in my ears. Even as Lukas carried on in his usual, effervescent, three-year-old way, the only thought I had was, "I'm not going to see you grow up. I'm going to die." Since the day Lukas had been born, my wife had always ribbed me that I'd be 50 by the time he graduated high school. I always laughed it off, telling her I'd still be the coolest dad around. Now, i tried to wrap my mind around the concept that I might not be there to see him graduate from high school. That I might not even be there to see him turn four.
Since this period of my life, I have seen many people close to me go through way worse health problems. In no way do I mean to make you believe that what I went through compared in any way to what they went through. This ends up being pretty mild in the world of health concerns (Spoiler alert!), but at the time, I was pretty concerned and feeling very mortal.
I got to the car and pulled out my cell phone. The first call, obviously, was Jodie. I told her what was going on. i will admit, that I was impressed by my wife that day. She is one to usually blow off any "health concerns" I have, telling me to suck it up and get over it (When I dislocated two fingers, her response upon seeing them was "Oh, whatever" -- not making that up). This day, though, there was genuine concern in her voice. This scared me even more. She said she'd check on the nephrologist and see what she could find out about him. The she said something I never thought I'd hear from her; she told me she was taking the rest of the day off to go with me. We agreed on a time she'd get off and meet me.
The next call I had to make was to my mom. In addition to everything else, I had already made plans to meet my sister in McPherson and drop off Lukas so he could go to Kansas City and spend New Years with Grandy, Grammy, and his cousins. I explained the situation to her, and I'm pretty sure she freaked out a little on her end. She would have freaked out more, but I'm pretty sure I remember leaving out a lot of the details, specifically the phrase "acute kidney failure." After I assured her that I would be fine, and that she didn't need to come immediately to Wichita, I called my sister and we made plans to meet in Hesston. It was good, because I was feeling very guilty dragging Lukas around, and I had no idea how much longer all this would take.
I dropped Lukas off and then turned around to head back to Wichita to meet my wife. By this time it was around 2:00 PM and neither of us had eaten lunch. I wasn't particularly hungry. We went to the Artichoke, since it was close to the kidney doctor. Those of you who live in Wichita know that the Artichoke has some of the best sandwiches around. Mine tasted a bit like cardboard that day. I had no interest in it and I ended up taking half of it home. My wife talked to me a little bit about things, but I still couldn't get over the words "acute kidney failure."
We went to the nephrologist. I sat in the waiting room and had to fill out a sheet about my symptoms. I still have to fill this same sheet out now when I go to see him. One of the questions it asks if you've had any significant life changes since your last visit. Since I only go once a year now, I always get to mark this box. My significant life changes always end up being our topic of conversation. It seemed like forever before a nurse came and got me and took me back, got my vitals and told me to wait for the doctor.
To protect my nephrologist, I will refer to him as Dr. Harvard, because he is really smart -- which is one of the things I like about him. I don't think he went to Harvard, but I bet he could have. The first thing I noticed about him was his voice. His voice was very calm and reassuring. He reminded me a lot of the late Carl Sagan as he began to explain what he was seeing in the tests. I won't go into too much detail, but ill give you a few of the specifics. My body was leaking protein all over. The protein in my urine was around 250. Average is 20-25. My blood creatinine level was 3.5. Anything oer 1.5 is considered high. All this, Dr. Harvard told me, led him to believe that I was having major kidney malfunction. The problem, he continued to explain, was that these symptoms could be any of a range of kidney disorders, some minor, some major. We would just have to run more tests to figure out exactly what the deal was. We did get some good news from Dr. Harvard at this appointment -- for the time being, it didn't look like I would need to start dialysis. At least it was a positive.
Next time: Eye, Doctor.
Since this period of my life, I have seen many people close to me go through way worse health problems. In no way do I mean to make you believe that what I went through compared in any way to what they went through. This ends up being pretty mild in the world of health concerns (Spoiler alert!), but at the time, I was pretty concerned and feeling very mortal.
I got to the car and pulled out my cell phone. The first call, obviously, was Jodie. I told her what was going on. i will admit, that I was impressed by my wife that day. She is one to usually blow off any "health concerns" I have, telling me to suck it up and get over it (When I dislocated two fingers, her response upon seeing them was "Oh, whatever" -- not making that up). This day, though, there was genuine concern in her voice. This scared me even more. She said she'd check on the nephrologist and see what she could find out about him. The she said something I never thought I'd hear from her; she told me she was taking the rest of the day off to go with me. We agreed on a time she'd get off and meet me.
The next call I had to make was to my mom. In addition to everything else, I had already made plans to meet my sister in McPherson and drop off Lukas so he could go to Kansas City and spend New Years with Grandy, Grammy, and his cousins. I explained the situation to her, and I'm pretty sure she freaked out a little on her end. She would have freaked out more, but I'm pretty sure I remember leaving out a lot of the details, specifically the phrase "acute kidney failure." After I assured her that I would be fine, and that she didn't need to come immediately to Wichita, I called my sister and we made plans to meet in Hesston. It was good, because I was feeling very guilty dragging Lukas around, and I had no idea how much longer all this would take.
I dropped Lukas off and then turned around to head back to Wichita to meet my wife. By this time it was around 2:00 PM and neither of us had eaten lunch. I wasn't particularly hungry. We went to the Artichoke, since it was close to the kidney doctor. Those of you who live in Wichita know that the Artichoke has some of the best sandwiches around. Mine tasted a bit like cardboard that day. I had no interest in it and I ended up taking half of it home. My wife talked to me a little bit about things, but I still couldn't get over the words "acute kidney failure."
We went to the nephrologist. I sat in the waiting room and had to fill out a sheet about my symptoms. I still have to fill this same sheet out now when I go to see him. One of the questions it asks if you've had any significant life changes since your last visit. Since I only go once a year now, I always get to mark this box. My significant life changes always end up being our topic of conversation. It seemed like forever before a nurse came and got me and took me back, got my vitals and told me to wait for the doctor.
To protect my nephrologist, I will refer to him as Dr. Harvard, because he is really smart -- which is one of the things I like about him. I don't think he went to Harvard, but I bet he could have. The first thing I noticed about him was his voice. His voice was very calm and reassuring. He reminded me a lot of the late Carl Sagan as he began to explain what he was seeing in the tests. I won't go into too much detail, but ill give you a few of the specifics. My body was leaking protein all over. The protein in my urine was around 250. Average is 20-25. My blood creatinine level was 3.5. Anything oer 1.5 is considered high. All this, Dr. Harvard told me, led him to believe that I was having major kidney malfunction. The problem, he continued to explain, was that these symptoms could be any of a range of kidney disorders, some minor, some major. We would just have to run more tests to figure out exactly what the deal was. We did get some good news from Dr. Harvard at this appointment -- for the time being, it didn't look like I would need to start dialysis. At least it was a positive.
Next time: Eye, Doctor.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
The Slow and the Serious
What the nurse told me hit me like a ton of bricks. Usually under these types of circumstances, I'd have some smart aleck remark. But this time I only sat there in awe. 210/140??? How did that happen? I'd just lost close to 45 pounds. I'd been working out regularly. I was under some stress at work, but not THAT much stress. Things began to move around me, and I just followed along in a kind of fog, only half listening to what was being said to me. I was taken down a hall and i had blood drawn, followed by a urine test. I was concerned at this point, but not too concerned. Having a nurse for a wife -- and having watched hours of Mystery Diagnosis on Discovery Health -- had taught me that blood and urine tests were the customary.
The nurse led me back to an exam room, where the doctor came in to talk to me. To this day, I still don't remember his name. Later on, I'd spend hours wondering why his name escaped me, unless it was some trick by my mind to block everything out. He asked me some questions, many of which I had covered just days before with the optometrist. Did I have diabetes? No. Did I have a history of high blood pressure? No, not really. He asked me a lot about the knock on the head I took and the broken blood vessel in my eye. He kept telling me that we "needed to get to the bottom of this."
As he spoke to me, the nurse came in and handed me a little plastic cup. In it were two tiny white pills. I took them in my hand, then swallowed them with a drink. In retrospect, I probably should have asked what they were. I didn't have to wait long. The doctor told me the pills were a beta blocker, which would help to bring my blood pressure down in a timely manner. I believe that they gave me 200 mg of atenolol (my memory is a little fuzzy on this, it may have been only 100 mg). Later, I would have to take this same drug on a daily basis. Of course, that dosage is a mere 25 mg. As I swallowed the pills, I was sure that there would be a quick discussion about calling me with test results, and then I'd be on my way.
I was wrong. Instead, the nurse looked at me and asked, "Have you ever had a CAT scan?" I told her know and she smiled, leading me further back into the office. There I was prepared for a CAT scan. I asked why.
"With your BP this high, we're very concerned about bleeding on the brain, clots, or any other kind of damage. The doctor wants to take a look and check things out," the nurse told me pleasantly.
I, however was less than pleasant. I had come in for a supposed sinus infection, and now I was being told there was a possibility of brain damage. I thought back to Christmas Eve, and how I had struggled to follow conversations, and had felt like I was slurring my speech after only one beer. I began to worry.
To add another variable to the equation, Lukas, three years old at this time, was still with me. I still remember how sweet the nurses all were to him. During the CAT scan, they took him behind the partition and showed him how everything worked. I was able to smile briefly as he bounced around the corner and said proudly, "Daddy, I saw pictures of your brain!" He was an amazing and patient little trooper during this whole ordeal. He was much, much too young to understand the gravity of things, but I think he understood that there was something serious going on.
I didn't worry a lick about Lukas until I was taken back to a hospital style bed, laid down and hooked up to a blood pressure machine. At that point, the nurse asked me, "Is there someone who can come get your son if we need you to?"
"I think so. Why?"
"Well, we're going to monitor your blood pressure for the next hour. If the beta blockers don't bring it down, we're going to have to admit you to the hospital. There's a very real chance you might have a stroke."
I looked down at Lukas, happily coloring in a coloring book at the foot of the bed and my whole world dropped out from under me. I was 34 years old. People don't have strokes at 34. I couldn't wrap my mind around any of this. Fortunately, the drugs did their thing and my BP began to lower. After an hour, I was unhooked from the machines and led back to the exam room and the doctor. I happened to look at the clock. What had seemed like whirlwind had actually taken place in just under three hours.
The doctor began by telling me that some of my tests were back. I had an unusually large amount of protein in my blood and urine. His big concern, he told me, was linking all these things together. I had high blood pressure, I was bursting blood vessels in my eye, and high levels of protein in my body.
"Everything," he said, "seems to be pointing towards something going on with your kidneys. Would you be able to go see a specialist this afternoon?"
I had Lukas with me. I was supposed to meet my sister in Hesston that afternoon for her to pick up Lukas and take him to Kansas City. My wife was working and my in-laws were all busy. I didn't feel like I had time to breathe, much less meet a specialist. So, of course, I said "Sure."
Dr. Whozzits then picked up the phone and made a call. I listened in on my end, trying to piece something together.
"Yes, I need to see if I can get a patient in this afternoon...Dr. [BLANK] if possible...male....2/17/71...The reason would be acute kidney failure...I'll fax test results over"
I sat there on the exam table listening to him talk about me like I wasn't in the room, and I'm pretty sure my jaw hit the floor (I would later learn from my wife that Dr. Whozzits was not renowned for his bedside manner). I'm not a doctor. I don't even play one on TV. But I am not stupid either. I knew that the term "acute kidney failure" had nothing to do with the physical appearance of my kidneys. All I knew was that people who's kidneys failed them died. Period.
And that's when I began to freak out a little.
NEXT TIME: My Trip to the Nephor...Nephra....I Go See a Kidney Doctor.
The nurse led me back to an exam room, where the doctor came in to talk to me. To this day, I still don't remember his name. Later on, I'd spend hours wondering why his name escaped me, unless it was some trick by my mind to block everything out. He asked me some questions, many of which I had covered just days before with the optometrist. Did I have diabetes? No. Did I have a history of high blood pressure? No, not really. He asked me a lot about the knock on the head I took and the broken blood vessel in my eye. He kept telling me that we "needed to get to the bottom of this."
As he spoke to me, the nurse came in and handed me a little plastic cup. In it were two tiny white pills. I took them in my hand, then swallowed them with a drink. In retrospect, I probably should have asked what they were. I didn't have to wait long. The doctor told me the pills were a beta blocker, which would help to bring my blood pressure down in a timely manner. I believe that they gave me 200 mg of atenolol (my memory is a little fuzzy on this, it may have been only 100 mg). Later, I would have to take this same drug on a daily basis. Of course, that dosage is a mere 25 mg. As I swallowed the pills, I was sure that there would be a quick discussion about calling me with test results, and then I'd be on my way.
I was wrong. Instead, the nurse looked at me and asked, "Have you ever had a CAT scan?" I told her know and she smiled, leading me further back into the office. There I was prepared for a CAT scan. I asked why.
"With your BP this high, we're very concerned about bleeding on the brain, clots, or any other kind of damage. The doctor wants to take a look and check things out," the nurse told me pleasantly.
I, however was less than pleasant. I had come in for a supposed sinus infection, and now I was being told there was a possibility of brain damage. I thought back to Christmas Eve, and how I had struggled to follow conversations, and had felt like I was slurring my speech after only one beer. I began to worry.
To add another variable to the equation, Lukas, three years old at this time, was still with me. I still remember how sweet the nurses all were to him. During the CAT scan, they took him behind the partition and showed him how everything worked. I was able to smile briefly as he bounced around the corner and said proudly, "Daddy, I saw pictures of your brain!" He was an amazing and patient little trooper during this whole ordeal. He was much, much too young to understand the gravity of things, but I think he understood that there was something serious going on.
I didn't worry a lick about Lukas until I was taken back to a hospital style bed, laid down and hooked up to a blood pressure machine. At that point, the nurse asked me, "Is there someone who can come get your son if we need you to?"
"I think so. Why?"
"Well, we're going to monitor your blood pressure for the next hour. If the beta blockers don't bring it down, we're going to have to admit you to the hospital. There's a very real chance you might have a stroke."
I looked down at Lukas, happily coloring in a coloring book at the foot of the bed and my whole world dropped out from under me. I was 34 years old. People don't have strokes at 34. I couldn't wrap my mind around any of this. Fortunately, the drugs did their thing and my BP began to lower. After an hour, I was unhooked from the machines and led back to the exam room and the doctor. I happened to look at the clock. What had seemed like whirlwind had actually taken place in just under three hours.
The doctor began by telling me that some of my tests were back. I had an unusually large amount of protein in my blood and urine. His big concern, he told me, was linking all these things together. I had high blood pressure, I was bursting blood vessels in my eye, and high levels of protein in my body.
"Everything," he said, "seems to be pointing towards something going on with your kidneys. Would you be able to go see a specialist this afternoon?"
I had Lukas with me. I was supposed to meet my sister in Hesston that afternoon for her to pick up Lukas and take him to Kansas City. My wife was working and my in-laws were all busy. I didn't feel like I had time to breathe, much less meet a specialist. So, of course, I said "Sure."
Dr. Whozzits then picked up the phone and made a call. I listened in on my end, trying to piece something together.
"Yes, I need to see if I can get a patient in this afternoon...Dr. [BLANK] if possible...male....2/17/71...The reason would be acute kidney failure...I'll fax test results over"
I sat there on the exam table listening to him talk about me like I wasn't in the room, and I'm pretty sure my jaw hit the floor (I would later learn from my wife that Dr. Whozzits was not renowned for his bedside manner). I'm not a doctor. I don't even play one on TV. But I am not stupid either. I knew that the term "acute kidney failure" had nothing to do with the physical appearance of my kidneys. All I knew was that people who's kidneys failed them died. Period.
And that's when I began to freak out a little.
NEXT TIME: My Trip to the Nephor...Nephra....I Go See a Kidney Doctor.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Tommy Boy, the Pipes Are Calling
In my last blog post, I detailed my struggles with weight loss/gain throughout most of my life. The last part of that dealt with me losing a considerable amount of weight due to a health condition I wasn't even aware of. Some people know all of that story. Some people know some of that story. And I'm sure there are some of you who know nothing of that story. If I've learned anything from my friend Terry's blog and the blog/comic strip of Mark Teel it's that readers seem to like personal stories. Since it's now the fifth anniversary of that experience, I will tell you that story (in several parts). . .
It begins like this: Chris Farley saved my life. That may sound very odd, but it's true. I've spent the better part of my adult life being compared to Chris Farley, so it was only natural for me to appreciate his body of work. As a stressful first semester of the 05-06 school year as winding down, I was allowing my students to watch the epic film Tommy Boy as I graded finals and put grades into the computer.
I happened to look up during one of my favorite parts and the screen was obscured by a large gray blob shaped like the state of West Virgina. I blinked and looked back at the screen. It was still there. I rubbed my contact a little. Still West Virginia. Finally, I asked the class, "Does anyone else see a large gray blob on the screen?" The consensus agreement was that I was crazy.
I convinced myself that it was probably time to change my contacts, so once I got home I changed them out. I opened my refreshed eyes to see . . . West Virginia. I took out my contacts and put on my glasses. Still saw the blob hovering in the middle of my vision. I told my wife, who is a nurse, about it. Even though she had no explanation for it, she told me she'd get me an appointment with our eye doctor ASAP.
In the meantime, I did what any normal person would do under these circumstances -- I got online and went to Web MD and Yahoo! Health and any other site I could think of. This, of course, did nothing more than scare the crap out of me. Explanations for my symptoms ranged macular degeneration to AIDS. I sorted through all the information, assured myself I'd know if I had AIDS and that I was most likely too young for macular degeneration. The only thing that made sense was a detached retina. It made sense because a few days prior to the appearance of the blob, I had banged my head hard enough to see stars and black out momentarily. Heck, I once had a soccer player detach his retina heading a ball, so it wasn't beyond the realm of possibility.
I went to bed that night convinced that I would go see the doctor the next day and he'd tell me that I had a detached retina and they would have some cool plan for fixing it. This did not help me sleep well that night. Actually, I hadn't been sleeping well at night for quite some time. I would rarely go to bed before midnight, and my sleep was constantly interrupted by me laying awake listening to the blood rush through my ears. As I said previously, I had had a very stressful first semester, and I attributed my lack of sleep to stress. I'd also been fighting a sinus infection for quite sometime as well, which was giving me pounding headaches. I'd often go to bed at midnight, wake up at 4:00 AM, and then not go back to bed. At least I'd be able to get the eye thing figured out quickly and be able to look at people without West Virginia being in the way.
The next morning my wife called and told me she'd been able to get me into the optometrist that day. It was a pretty routine appointment until he looked in the right eye. His diagnosis shocked me. I didn't have a detached retina. I had a burst blood vessel in my eye. West Virgina was actually blood in the goopy stuff (vitreous humor -- i know the real term) inside my eye. Furthermore, I had a couple more blood vessels in both eyes that were quite swollen. he went down a checklist with me. Did I have diabetes? No. Did I have a history of high blood pressure? No. I'd been on blood pressure medicine once several years ago, but through exercise and my recent weight loss it had been great lately. I just had it checked recently (in fact it had been four months). Had I had any major blows to the head recently? Check! I told him of hitting my head in the closet. He agreed that may be the cause of my problem, and set up an appointment with a retinal specialist about 10 days from then. I felt pretty good as I left the optometrist's office.
That night, my wife and I discussed things. I told her what the doctor had said.
"Well, do you think your blood pressure might be high again?" she asked.
"No. It's been fine. Last time I took it -- like a month ago -- it was 120/80, The lowest it's been on forever. And I've been exercising, and I've lost 45 pounds. Why would it be high?" I said.
"well, you keep having those headaches, and that can be a sign of high blood pressure."
"I have a sinus infection is all. You know I get those all the time."
"Well, Maybe you should go to the doctor and find out for sure. At least to get something for the sinus infection, because the antibiotics you've been taking aren't working, obviously."
"OK, I'll go."
Like any man, I put off going to the doctor. A few nights later we had Christmas Eve at my mother-in-law's house. I could barely do anything, since my head was pounding. My mother-in-law kindly gave me an 800mg ibuprofen tablet she had leftover from a recent surgery. It helped a little. I did notice, though, as I ran around the house with Lukas and his cousin, I was winded easily and sweating profusely. Sweating profusely is not a state of concern for me usually, it's just my usual state. This night, however, was different. It was almost like a cold sweat. I also noticed I was having trouble following a conversation whenever I took a break and sat down to talk with the adults. I brushed it off, and the next day I felt better.
My wife kept after me about seeing the doctor about my sinus infection. Finally, on December 30th, I caved in and went to immediate care. I went in early, at 8:00 AM, Lukas in tow, to beat any rush. I got in quickly and the nurse took me back.
"What are you here for today?" she asked.
"I think I have a sinus infection," I replied.
"And what makes you think you have a sinus infection?"
"Well, I keep having these horrible headaches right here," i said as I made a motion to the general area of my sinus cavities.
The nurse laughed and said, "OK, let's get your vitals and then we'll get you back to see the doctor."
I sat down and she took my temperature. It was fine. Then she hooked me up to a blood pressure machine. It started and then beeped that it was finished.
"Well, let's check that again," the nurse said, " Do you get nervous when you go to the doctor?"
"A little. It depends on the doctor, " I said as she started the machine again.
"Hmm. That's the same again. Do you have a history of high blood pressure?"
"No, not really. I usually run a little high on those machine things, instead of the arm cuff though."
"Well, this is more than little high," the nurse said with a look of concern on her face.
This led to a look of concern on my face, "What is it?"
"210/140"
Next time: The Slow and the Serious
It begins like this: Chris Farley saved my life. That may sound very odd, but it's true. I've spent the better part of my adult life being compared to Chris Farley, so it was only natural for me to appreciate his body of work. As a stressful first semester of the 05-06 school year as winding down, I was allowing my students to watch the epic film Tommy Boy as I graded finals and put grades into the computer.
I happened to look up during one of my favorite parts and the screen was obscured by a large gray blob shaped like the state of West Virgina. I blinked and looked back at the screen. It was still there. I rubbed my contact a little. Still West Virginia. Finally, I asked the class, "Does anyone else see a large gray blob on the screen?" The consensus agreement was that I was crazy.
I convinced myself that it was probably time to change my contacts, so once I got home I changed them out. I opened my refreshed eyes to see . . . West Virginia. I took out my contacts and put on my glasses. Still saw the blob hovering in the middle of my vision. I told my wife, who is a nurse, about it. Even though she had no explanation for it, she told me she'd get me an appointment with our eye doctor ASAP.
In the meantime, I did what any normal person would do under these circumstances -- I got online and went to Web MD and Yahoo! Health and any other site I could think of. This, of course, did nothing more than scare the crap out of me. Explanations for my symptoms ranged macular degeneration to AIDS. I sorted through all the information, assured myself I'd know if I had AIDS and that I was most likely too young for macular degeneration. The only thing that made sense was a detached retina. It made sense because a few days prior to the appearance of the blob, I had banged my head hard enough to see stars and black out momentarily. Heck, I once had a soccer player detach his retina heading a ball, so it wasn't beyond the realm of possibility.
I went to bed that night convinced that I would go see the doctor the next day and he'd tell me that I had a detached retina and they would have some cool plan for fixing it. This did not help me sleep well that night. Actually, I hadn't been sleeping well at night for quite some time. I would rarely go to bed before midnight, and my sleep was constantly interrupted by me laying awake listening to the blood rush through my ears. As I said previously, I had had a very stressful first semester, and I attributed my lack of sleep to stress. I'd also been fighting a sinus infection for quite sometime as well, which was giving me pounding headaches. I'd often go to bed at midnight, wake up at 4:00 AM, and then not go back to bed. At least I'd be able to get the eye thing figured out quickly and be able to look at people without West Virginia being in the way.
The next morning my wife called and told me she'd been able to get me into the optometrist that day. It was a pretty routine appointment until he looked in the right eye. His diagnosis shocked me. I didn't have a detached retina. I had a burst blood vessel in my eye. West Virgina was actually blood in the goopy stuff (vitreous humor -- i know the real term) inside my eye. Furthermore, I had a couple more blood vessels in both eyes that were quite swollen. he went down a checklist with me. Did I have diabetes? No. Did I have a history of high blood pressure? No. I'd been on blood pressure medicine once several years ago, but through exercise and my recent weight loss it had been great lately. I just had it checked recently (in fact it had been four months). Had I had any major blows to the head recently? Check! I told him of hitting my head in the closet. He agreed that may be the cause of my problem, and set up an appointment with a retinal specialist about 10 days from then. I felt pretty good as I left the optometrist's office.
That night, my wife and I discussed things. I told her what the doctor had said.
"Well, do you think your blood pressure might be high again?" she asked.
"No. It's been fine. Last time I took it -- like a month ago -- it was 120/80, The lowest it's been on forever. And I've been exercising, and I've lost 45 pounds. Why would it be high?" I said.
"well, you keep having those headaches, and that can be a sign of high blood pressure."
"I have a sinus infection is all. You know I get those all the time."
"Well, Maybe you should go to the doctor and find out for sure. At least to get something for the sinus infection, because the antibiotics you've been taking aren't working, obviously."
"OK, I'll go."
Like any man, I put off going to the doctor. A few nights later we had Christmas Eve at my mother-in-law's house. I could barely do anything, since my head was pounding. My mother-in-law kindly gave me an 800mg ibuprofen tablet she had leftover from a recent surgery. It helped a little. I did notice, though, as I ran around the house with Lukas and his cousin, I was winded easily and sweating profusely. Sweating profusely is not a state of concern for me usually, it's just my usual state. This night, however, was different. It was almost like a cold sweat. I also noticed I was having trouble following a conversation whenever I took a break and sat down to talk with the adults. I brushed it off, and the next day I felt better.
My wife kept after me about seeing the doctor about my sinus infection. Finally, on December 30th, I caved in and went to immediate care. I went in early, at 8:00 AM, Lukas in tow, to beat any rush. I got in quickly and the nurse took me back.
"What are you here for today?" she asked.
"I think I have a sinus infection," I replied.
"And what makes you think you have a sinus infection?"
"Well, I keep having these horrible headaches right here," i said as I made a motion to the general area of my sinus cavities.
The nurse laughed and said, "OK, let's get your vitals and then we'll get you back to see the doctor."
I sat down and she took my temperature. It was fine. Then she hooked me up to a blood pressure machine. It started and then beeped that it was finished.
"Well, let's check that again," the nurse said, " Do you get nervous when you go to the doctor?"
"A little. It depends on the doctor, " I said as she started the machine again.
"Hmm. That's the same again. Do you have a history of high blood pressure?"
"No, not really. I usually run a little high on those machine things, instead of the arm cuff though."
"Well, this is more than little high," the nurse said with a look of concern on her face.
This led to a look of concern on my face, "What is it?"
"210/140"
Next time: The Slow and the Serious
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
The Battle of the Bulge
I am writing this having just returned from an arduous workout at the nearest YMCA. It is the second such workout of this week (which is two days old). That is more exercise than I've had in months. But following Thanksgiving dinner, and a lot of heavy breathing (OK, it was gasping!)following the annual fathers vs. sons family football game, I decided I should start getting serious about losing some weight. After all, I will be turning the big 4-0 in a few months and I have my yearly check up/lab tests with my nephrologist at the end of the month, and I'd kind of like it if my doctor didn't admonish me about my weight in that very calm, pleasantly soothing voice of his.
Before any of you get any ideas about giving me hot tips to lose weight, I'll just let you know I've been down this road before. I have to eat less, eat healthier, and exercise. Period. Just so you know, I have a long history of losing weight (and putting it back on). What follows is some of the high and low lights of those endeavors. . .
Spring 1987
The Damage: I suffered through a soccer season in the fall where I was dubbed "The Roly-Poly Goalie" by my teammates, despite being the varsity starter for most of the season. I seriously look a little bit like a beachball with legs, or maybe a cube. Self-esteem is not high. Dates are not plentiful.
The Turning Point: My mom bets me a set of contact lenses that I can't lose 30 lbs in 30 days. I really, REALLY wanted to get rid of my glasses.
The Outcome: I don't lose 30 lbs in 30 days, but I do get 25 off. My mom extends the deadline 30 more days. With her packing my lunch and getting me up to exercise every morning, I end up losing 35 lbs. Still can't get a date. I do get contacts. I don't have them when the family takes a vacation to Florida as I'd hoped. However, once in Florida, the first order of business is to buy a half shirt that says "Life's A Beach" and wear it for most of the trip.
Added Bonus: Returning to school in August, a new student tells a longtime friend that she thinks I'm "hot." Looking back, it may have been the new body, it might have been the new contacts, or it might have been that my mullet was now down to my shoulders. I tend to believe it's all of the above.
Fall 1989
The Damage: I learn that boys are not immune to the dreaded "Freshman 15" when you go to college. I have packed on my 15 by Thanksgiving. I have to ask my parents to buy me new jeans.
The Turning Point: I get back to school and discover that some of the guys I've been hanging out with know something about lifting weights and stuff. I begin to lift weights and stuff. I start to play a lot of pick up basketball -- even though I suck at basketball. I also begin to actually attend that class I have to walk to the other side of campus to attend, and walk to Aggieville less frequently.
The Outcome: As quickly as the Freshman 15 goes on, it comes off, and my weight says pretty steady for the rest of college. I still can't get a date.
Fall 1999 - Spring 2001
The Damage: After working a landscape job and discovering the Adkins diet, I report to my new job in Wichita a good 25 lbs lighter than when I interviewed two months before. I also get to live with my sister for several months, whose husband is also on the Adkins diet. That comes to end when they move to Texas and I have to move into an apartment by myself. All hell breaks loose in the form of Pringles and Little Debbies.
The Turning Point: I actually had a semi-successful long-distance relationship. When that came to an end, I am talked into joining a gym by a couple I'm friends with under the guise of it being a "great place to meet people." I decide that since I am newly single, I should join and begin to overhaul my body so it is more attractive to the opposite sex.
The Outcome: The only relationship I form at the gym is with the elliptical machine. We fall in love. I also hook up with a colleague who worked as a personal trainer. His tips, plus the elliptical, plus the discovery of something called a Stair Stepper help me lose 40 lbs and, once again, I have to buy new jeans. I get some dates -- mostly with crazy women. I dress up, just for fun, to coach a girls' basketball game. One of my players' sister sees me in my tie. We're introduced, fall in love, and (eventually) get married. I no longer have to search for a date.
Spring 2005
The Damage: After having a child, I discover that yummy kids foods with the word "graham" in them are not healthy. It is also discovered that my wife and mother-in-law are awesome cooks. The jeans I bought in 2001 are beginning to get tight.
The Turning Point: I leave school in May pledging not to return in August unless I am at least 25 lbs lighter. I become a regular gym rat at the YMCA working out five days a week for an hour and a half.
The Outcome: My 25 pounds are gone by Aug. 1. By Sept. 1 I've lost five more lbs. After that, soccer season picks up and I find myself unable to go to the gym as often. I lose 10 more lbs. I chalk it up as stress from a miserable soccer season and kind of miserable school year. But I'm 40 lbs lighter and still losing. I go to buy new jeans, and I learn I can almost squeeze into a size two smaller than what I'd been wearing -- a size I haven't worn since 1989.
Further Outcome: I find out that some of my weight loss is the result of a kidney condition. They put me on medication and I gain 20 lbs back in the first month. It's been an uphill battle since then.
And that all leads me to where I am today -- fat, out of shape, and a poster child for what's wrong with America. Fortunately, I want to do something about it. I hope that a year from now, I'll be telling you stories of success. I just know that with three kids, I am ready for a lifestyle change. It's hard to look at them and think of not being able to fully participate in their lives. So I am going back to basics and doing the things I know help me lose weight. I'll also be posting my weight daily on Facebook. It's something called the Public Humiliation Diet. I think it will work, because I can't lie about it, and I won't let myself feel like a chump by showing steady gains. If this doesn't work, I am blaming Corey Gabbert.
Until next time, excelsior true believers!!!
Before any of you get any ideas about giving me hot tips to lose weight, I'll just let you know I've been down this road before. I have to eat less, eat healthier, and exercise. Period. Just so you know, I have a long history of losing weight (and putting it back on). What follows is some of the high and low lights of those endeavors. . .
Spring 1987
The Damage: I suffered through a soccer season in the fall where I was dubbed "The Roly-Poly Goalie" by my teammates, despite being the varsity starter for most of the season. I seriously look a little bit like a beachball with legs, or maybe a cube. Self-esteem is not high. Dates are not plentiful.
The Turning Point: My mom bets me a set of contact lenses that I can't lose 30 lbs in 30 days. I really, REALLY wanted to get rid of my glasses.
The Outcome: I don't lose 30 lbs in 30 days, but I do get 25 off. My mom extends the deadline 30 more days. With her packing my lunch and getting me up to exercise every morning, I end up losing 35 lbs. Still can't get a date. I do get contacts. I don't have them when the family takes a vacation to Florida as I'd hoped. However, once in Florida, the first order of business is to buy a half shirt that says "Life's A Beach" and wear it for most of the trip.
Added Bonus: Returning to school in August, a new student tells a longtime friend that she thinks I'm "hot." Looking back, it may have been the new body, it might have been the new contacts, or it might have been that my mullet was now down to my shoulders. I tend to believe it's all of the above.
Fall 1989
The Damage: I learn that boys are not immune to the dreaded "Freshman 15" when you go to college. I have packed on my 15 by Thanksgiving. I have to ask my parents to buy me new jeans.
The Turning Point: I get back to school and discover that some of the guys I've been hanging out with know something about lifting weights and stuff. I begin to lift weights and stuff. I start to play a lot of pick up basketball -- even though I suck at basketball. I also begin to actually attend that class I have to walk to the other side of campus to attend, and walk to Aggieville less frequently.
The Outcome: As quickly as the Freshman 15 goes on, it comes off, and my weight says pretty steady for the rest of college. I still can't get a date.
Fall 1999 - Spring 2001
The Damage: After working a landscape job and discovering the Adkins diet, I report to my new job in Wichita a good 25 lbs lighter than when I interviewed two months before. I also get to live with my sister for several months, whose husband is also on the Adkins diet. That comes to end when they move to Texas and I have to move into an apartment by myself. All hell breaks loose in the form of Pringles and Little Debbies.
The Turning Point: I actually had a semi-successful long-distance relationship. When that came to an end, I am talked into joining a gym by a couple I'm friends with under the guise of it being a "great place to meet people." I decide that since I am newly single, I should join and begin to overhaul my body so it is more attractive to the opposite sex.
The Outcome: The only relationship I form at the gym is with the elliptical machine. We fall in love. I also hook up with a colleague who worked as a personal trainer. His tips, plus the elliptical, plus the discovery of something called a Stair Stepper help me lose 40 lbs and, once again, I have to buy new jeans. I get some dates -- mostly with crazy women. I dress up, just for fun, to coach a girls' basketball game. One of my players' sister sees me in my tie. We're introduced, fall in love, and (eventually) get married. I no longer have to search for a date.
Spring 2005
The Damage: After having a child, I discover that yummy kids foods with the word "graham" in them are not healthy. It is also discovered that my wife and mother-in-law are awesome cooks. The jeans I bought in 2001 are beginning to get tight.
The Turning Point: I leave school in May pledging not to return in August unless I am at least 25 lbs lighter. I become a regular gym rat at the YMCA working out five days a week for an hour and a half.
The Outcome: My 25 pounds are gone by Aug. 1. By Sept. 1 I've lost five more lbs. After that, soccer season picks up and I find myself unable to go to the gym as often. I lose 10 more lbs. I chalk it up as stress from a miserable soccer season and kind of miserable school year. But I'm 40 lbs lighter and still losing. I go to buy new jeans, and I learn I can almost squeeze into a size two smaller than what I'd been wearing -- a size I haven't worn since 1989.
Further Outcome: I find out that some of my weight loss is the result of a kidney condition. They put me on medication and I gain 20 lbs back in the first month. It's been an uphill battle since then.
And that all leads me to where I am today -- fat, out of shape, and a poster child for what's wrong with America. Fortunately, I want to do something about it. I hope that a year from now, I'll be telling you stories of success. I just know that with three kids, I am ready for a lifestyle change. It's hard to look at them and think of not being able to fully participate in their lives. So I am going back to basics and doing the things I know help me lose weight. I'll also be posting my weight daily on Facebook. It's something called the Public Humiliation Diet. I think it will work, because I can't lie about it, and I won't let myself feel like a chump by showing steady gains. If this doesn't work, I am blaming Corey Gabbert.
Until next time, excelsior true believers!!!
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