Thursday, July 31, 2013

Hello readers from all across the globe! It's great to see that we have fat fans growing in numbers by the week! Folks from China, Russia, Latvia, Netherlands, Canada, the UK, France and a few other far away countries have stopped by the blog to catch up on my fight against flab. When it comes to the battle of the bulge, it seems the world shares in our morbid obsession with thinness. We all speak the same language ... Fat-lish.

On to the news of the week. I went for second post-op doctor visit on Monday. As usual, I checked in right on time knowing full well that I would be lingering in the lobby of the Center for Fatassiness well past my scheduled appointment time. So I settled in to one of the fat ass chairs in the waiting room. I immediately noticed that I occupied far less space in this overly ample seat. Yes, my ass has shrunk. I'm guessing by about a half a foot. I kinda feel like a little kid sitting in grandpa's chair.

If you recall, Mondays are Dr. X's office days. He sees both pre-op and post-op patients during this time. That is why I just can't help myself but to look around the waiting area and see what the doctor has scheduled for today. Over to the far left, I spy an elephantine teen boy nervously sitting next to who I presume to be his mom. Obvious pre-op material. I'm thinking "Don't fret dude. It will be worth it. I wish they had this when I was your age." Looking far right I see a fleshy female with her nose buried in a book. Hmmmm. I'm guessing follow up. Then the extra wide doors fly open and a smiling 30 something man in clothes at least two sizes to big saunters out. Definitely a post-opper!

I was called in a few minutes after a Rascal bound lady. When I went in and sat at the first nurses’ station, I saw no sight of scooter. She must be in the pre-op room waiting for the sales pitch from Dr. X. On cue, he walks towards the closed door with his plastic stomach model. The same one he used for my initiation.

"Close that deal Doc!" I quipped.

He didn't say anything. He didn't need to. He gave me a wry smile, a thumb up and went in to the room with a nervously awaiting prospect and a Rascal. Easy sale.

It was now time for me to get my vitals. No temperature. BP 117/77 (That went down about 6 or 7 points on both ends. The nurse asked me if I was 18!) Now to the scale. Off with the loafers, step on to the massive industrial scale ..... AND..... 97.2 Kilos! It kinda kills the drama when the kilo measure comes up. Especially because I can't do the math that fast in my head.

"How much have I lost since my first visit?" I asked.

"Oh, I don’t have that file here." she answers.

"How many files do I have?" I inquired.

"I'm not sure. Ask the doctor." she tells me.

Must be some kind of union thing. Maybe she's only allowed to carry one file to avoid a workplace injury.

After my vitals check, I was deposited in another room. I know the drill now. First a visit from the bubbly Ms. K, my nutritionist, then the syringe wielding Dr. X will make his appearance. This room has both a fat ass chair and a fat ass recliner in addition to the exam table. Wonder why? Maybe it's for the portly patient and his pleasingly plump pal. Whatever ... just seems strange to me.

The door bursts open and an extra bubbly Ms. K enters and has a seat at the desk next me.

"Wow. You look like you're doing great!" she spouts.

"I think I'm doing Ok." I reply sheepishly.

"Let's look at your progress." she says. "Awesome! You have lost 8 pounds since last visit and 41 pounds total! You get a gold star!"

That made my day. I thought I was doing OK. But what do I know? I think I'm 22 and gorgeous. Just because I think it doesn't make it so. So her validation was excitedly welcomed. We proceeded to go over my average daily food intake. I told her I was doing the 1200 calorie a day deal. I showed her my FitBit Flex and the MyFitnessPal app and how they sync up. She was impressed and green lighted me to continue what I'm doing because it's working. That's cool with me. We exchanged the usual farewell pleasantries and I was back to waiting for the main attraction.

Without further ado, Dr. X gregariously enters.

"I hear you’re a rock star." He opens up with.

"I'm just trying to stay focused." I say.

"Well, you're doing great. 8 pounds since last month is great."

I think I was beaming like a new father. People rarely get this kind of validation from others, especially from their fatoligist.

We discussed my progress, my hunger level and my ability to get food down and keep it down.

"So you're not really felling any restriction?" he asks.

"Nope. I think I could swallow a live fish if I had to.” I replied.

“We don’t want it to come to that. Let’s give you a little tune up.”

I laid down and a few seconds later I had one more c.c. of saline restriction. Dr. X gave me a few warnings about staying on liquids that night and pureed foods the next. After a few more words of encouragement, he was off to the next case.

Needless to say, my second fill appointment was a success. I’m glad the bubbly Ms. K and Dr. X are pleased with my progress. As great as all the back slaps and accolades are, I can’t lose sight of the fact that I am not even half way home yet. There is still a lot of work to be done. I have definitely noticed that every pound is harder to lose than when I started. And I know they will be even harder as lose more. So, yea, I’m happy with the visit. But no, I am in now overconfident in my success.

As I was leaving the exam room, I spotted that Rascal sitting unguarded in the hall. For a fleeting second I had thought of nabbing it, throwing on a fat ass chair and making a break for the parking lot. But my new reality set in. I don’t need the fat ass chair anymore. But I sure could have a blast on that Rascal!

Bye for now.

Johnny

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