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Things I miss. Things I don't.

Sunday, February 28th, 2010

As many of you know, I've lost about 120 pounds since last February, thanks to the lap-band surgery I had in March (Brief status update – I've plateaued for a little while, due mainly to my high levels of stress, but I'll start making progress again soon). The lap band prevents me from eating more than four ounces of food at a time, although if you drink liquids while you eat or eat very slippery foods (aka those with ranch/mayo/etc), you can eat a little more. Tonight, I'm at home, watching "Man v. Food" and thinking "I could do that show." Well, I could have. It would be hard to eat the largest steak in Colorado or the largest burrito in Texas now! That got me thinking . . .

The things I miss:

  • Eating an appetizer, bread, a huge entree, and dessert.
  • Enjoying a big bite of a burger.
  • That feeling of satisfaction of cleaning a plate of food.
  • Getting to actually eat Thanksgiving dinner.
  • Never worrying about vomiting or having trouble swallowing

The things I don't miss:

  • Not being able to sit in a booth or in a chair with restrictive arms.
  • Acid reflux and heartburn.
  • Difficulty doing anything strenuous like walking more than 100 yards.
  • Always being hot.
  • Never feeling comfortable in public.
  • Worrying if a chair would hold me.
  • Hating every photo taken of me.
  • Only shopping at a Big and Tall store.
  • Being unable to buckle my seatbelt without effort.
  • Worrying about being dead by 40.

I guess it's not such a big deal after all if I can't do what he can do on Man v. Food.

And in other Avitanews:

  1. If you asked a question a few days ago, or if you're curious, go here to see the 50 or so questions that I was asked, along with answers.
  2. Today's the last day to vote for a Room of Your Own for BlogHer, so if you haven't already, please do so. Click here for my room and here for Faiqa's.

If you're new to the horrors of Avitable.com, don't miss out. Subscribe to my RSS feed!

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Posted in Serious stuff | 35 Comments »

Uncomfortable silence

Monday, January 25th, 2010

There's something palpable in the silence between two people who have nothing left to say. The "sweety"s and "honey"s are replaced with downcast stares and sad eyes. The guilt and the hurt and the confusion and the pain form together to create this invisible monster that swirls around the room and constricts my chest. Our words are low and tight, and an awkwardness exists that had never been present.

As we talk in cold, clinical terms about who gets which DVD or the extra set of chairs, it all seems so stupid. But it's necessary, and there are no words that can take away the inevitable. Even knowing that I am the architect of the demolition, it's the fact that we built it together, brick by brick, that makes it So. Goddamn. Hard. If only I could offer solace or comfort. Something other than quietly saying "I'm sorry". But I can't. It's no longer my place. I gave up that right.

We lapse into familiar routines for an instant. We share a chuckle at an inside joke, and in the space between heartbeats, everything feels normal. But even quicker, reality raps at the door. We finish our conversation and return to that thick, heavy silence. A silence that has now been replaced with the quiet hush of my new empty home.

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Posted in Love and marriage, Serious stuff | 182 Comments »

T-minus 7 days and counting

Tuesday, January 19th, 2010

In one week, I turn 33.

This little blonde tasmanian devil I know turned 30 over the weekend, and it got me thinking about your thirties and what it means.

This is the decade for things to happen. Whether you wanted to fly a plane or see the world, you need to have already started taking those preliminary steps towards your life goal.

Here are some of my goals that I will have accomplished by the time I finish out my thirties:

1. Become a millionaire. I started my business when I was 27, and I have a 10-year plan. Give or take a year or two.
2. Travel to Europe. I've never been, and I'm finally in a position where I could see that being fruitful and exciting.
3. Write a book. I have a million ideas, jotted down in Word documents scattered through my computer. One of them is going to end up a book.
4. Learn to dance or sing. I want to be able to do one of these two things, or both. And since I can't hear rhythm and can't hold a tune, it's going to probably be one of my most difficult accomplishments.
5. Be happy. I know it seems like I already am, but I think this is one of those accomplishments that should be on the horizon at all times. Never be complacent. Never settle. Always strive for happiness, even if it's a difficult path. I think it's unlikely that anyone ever achieves true and complete happiness, but the closer you can get, the better.
6. Reach 225 pounds and keep my weight there. I still have a ways to go, but I know I can do it. I will do it.
7. Carpe diem. I don't want to be a grumpy spectator, criticizing the participants. I will be one of the participants joining in wholeheartedly. I will seize the day, and fight for what I want.

With that being said, I'm going to take about a week off of blogging. I haven't read anyone's blogs in almost a week, and I just have too much going on right now to worry about it. If you're a friend, you have my email address, and if anything monumental happens, I'll definitely pop up, but I need a little break.

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Posted in Serious stuff | 59 Comments »

Tugging

Tuesday, December 15th, 2009

When I hear about the intense pride, affection and love that my friends have for their children, I sometimes feel a little tug. A quick grasp on my leg. I look down and

"Come play with me, Daddy," she says, and her red hair bounces slightly as she cranes her neck to look at me. I reach out and her hand is swallowed whole by my huge hairy paw. We walk down the beach and talk amongst the crabs and seashells of toys and boys and everything between. She speaks quickly in an almost nonstop flow of chatter about her imaginary friends and her adventures and her dreams and aspirations and why she wants to be an astronaut and ride dolphins in space. I nod without condescension and my smile on the inside threatens to split me like a pinata.

She talks about marrying her daddy and tells me she loves me. I love her too and tell her that her daddy is the only person she could marry, because no other man would treat her the way that she deserves. She looks me in the eyes sagely, nods her head, and changes the subject to her disdain for dolls and her love of robots who transform. I teach her about truth and justice and why Superman is the best hero ever. She teaches me about beauty and grace and why dirty hands and messy faces don't really matter.

She gets older and I am her protector and knight in armor. I shield her from the horrors of the world while teaching her to be vigilant and savvy. We talk about weighty issues and her innocence and optimism pull me back from the brink of darkness repeatedly. I hesitantly let her venture out alone. I hold my breath and sit by the door until she returns. I rebel against her independence and strength until I realize that it is a reflection of me, only more perfect.

I'm her best friend. Her confidante. She tells me everything when I tuck her in and read her stories. She calls me from school and talks about her classes and boyfriends. She asks me about my life and pushes me to do more. She's never embarrassed of me or ashamed that I am the way I am. She embraces it all and loves me as unconditionally as I love her.

When she brings him home, I hate him. He's taking her away from me. "I'll always belong to you, Daddy," she says, taking my hand, reading my mind. I wonder when she became so perceptive. Her china white fingers look so fragile, but I know she's strong. I have to let her go. Someone with her spirit and courage needs to belong to the world. I've done my job and can't be selfish any longer.

There's that tug again. A quick grasp on my leg. I look down and

It must have just been my imagination.

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Posted in Serious stuff | 145 Comments »

Pedophilia vs. Murder – which is worse?

Saturday, December 5th, 2009

From this story in The Detroit News:

A 15-year-old who knelt before his father and tearfully apologized for inappropriate contact he admitted having with a 3-year-old relative was minutes later marched naked from the house by the father and executed with a bullet to the head, witnesses said in court today.

At first glance, I'm almost ready to award Jamar Pinkney, Sr., the father, a medal and give him a parade. Recidivism among that type of sexual assault is extremely high. And until chemical castration or a life sentence becomes mandatory for child rapists, there is a very high risk of that person assaulting again once he is out of prison.

From what I've seen and heard, most people, when they hear about a case of molestation on the news, say "that person should be executed" or "if that was my child I'd hunt that bastard down and kill him." This man listened to his own son tell him that he vaginally raped a three-year old girl, and he killed him. He eliminated the courts, the chance of it happening again, and his own son's abuse and torment in prison and just like George and Lenny, he took his son out in a field and showed him where the bunnies were.

As I thought about it more, though, I have to wonder. What was this man hiding? The story explains that his son was terrified of telling his father. It is probably reasonable to assume that he didn't expect to be shot in the head, so that makes you wonder. Was the father an abuser? Most sexual abusers are abused themselves. And if his son was so terrified of him, it could have been the prior beatings may have given him forewarning of the absolute ass kicking that was about to happen. Or maybe Pinkney Senior sexually abused his son and he knew that if his son was arrested, this would come out.

No matter how you look at it, a 15-year old boy knows enough not to do what he did. Jamar Pinkney, Jr., was scum and deserved to die for raping a child. But I wonder about his father and think that the family environment must have contributed in some way. And his father's immediate reaction of shooting his own son in the head leads me to think he has, at the very least, highly sociopathic tendencies.

In the end, one man is dead and another will surely be spending time in prison for his crime. And neither of them deserve our sympathy.

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Posted in Serious stuff | 77 Comments »

Fatty McFatterson

Tuesday, November 24th, 2009

If you've been reading this blog for more than four or five months, you're aware that in an effort to lose a significant amount of weight and to avoid dying by the age of 35, I underwent lap-band surgery in March 2009. For those of you who don't know, the lap band is a small band placed at the top of your stomach that allows you to eat about four ounces at a time and you should stay full for about four to five hours on only those four ounces.

Since February, when I started dieting in preparation for the surgery, I've lost almost 120 pounds. That's more than an Ali. It's almost a Britt. It's not close to a LeSombre.

The last two months, though, haven't been nearly as successful as the previous seven. My weight loss has slowed to a crawl. I've been under a great deal of stress, which causes me to eat more small meals during the day, not the three I should be eating. I also know of different ways to eat more, such as drinking water or liquids during my meals, eating liquids like ice cream, or eating really "slippery" foods like foods with a lot of Ranch or mayonnaise on them. I have not been working out, either. Combine these factors with the fact that my band is currently looser than normal (after an overtightening a month ago), and my weight loss has been almost zero.

In an effort to kickstart it again and continue on my quest to reach my goal weight of 225 pounds, the amazing and wonderful Karen Sugarpants and I are having a little competition (thanks to Matthew over at ChildsPlayX2 for the idea). We are going to see who can lose the highest percentage of weight by February 1. The winner gets the satisfaction of winning. The loser has to post a music video in which she dances to a song chosen by me. (Or, if by some amazing chance, Karen wins, I'll dance to a song chosen by her.)

With Thanksgiving this week and Christmas around the corner, replete with fudge, cookies, and lots of other temptation, this should be interesting, but hopefully not a portrait of abject failure. Wish us luck, and if you have any suggestions for what song Karen should dance to when she loses, leave them in the comments.

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Posted in Serious stuff | 126 Comments »

The methodology of consolation

Tuesday, November 10th, 2009

I stood next to his body with my hand on the back of a woman I'd only met once before. I didn't even know her first name. I just knew her as his mother.

There's no way to do that right. It's impossible to properly console a mother who is crying over the loss of her son, her only child, her best friend. Crying's not the right word. This was a complete and utter loss of all emotional faculties. Up and down my hand went on her back. A constant rhythm. That's all I could think of. Up and down. Up and down.

Trying to give her privacy, I stared intently at the cabinet against the wall, filled with medical supplies. In the glass, I caught the reflection of his face, waxy and still. I heard her talk to him, telling him who she notified and how his son will be fine and how she'll be strong because she knows he would want her to be. And I heard her deny it over and over again, repeating the word no with a low staccato beat. Her face buried in the blue sheet that covered him, she moaned, a low guttural sound that echoed in my head. Up and down. Up and down.

I noticed that one of the cabinet doors was slightly ajar and contemplated walking over to close it. The more I stared, the more it bothered me. Why didn't somebody close that fucking door? The rest of them are closed and how hard is it to close. one. door? And the sheets? Why were the sheets wrinkled? Hadn't anyone thought that the sheets should be nice and neat? Without thinking, I reached out to straighten the sheet in front of me. My hand touched his covered body. It was very solid and felt cool to the touch. And it felt wrong. So wrong.

Suddenly, I was ready to leave. If it wasn't for my hand on the back of this woman I didn't know, moving up and down, while she said goodbye to her son, a friend, I would have been gone. Instead, I breathed and looked him in the face and listened to her words. I felt her love and her grief and her pain and her misery as if it were my very own.

And I stood silently and like a statue, if not for the arm moving up and down, up and down, until she was done saying goodbye to her only son.

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Posted in Serious stuff | 59 Comments »

For Bug

Wednesday, October 21st, 2009

For little more than a year, I've been friends with Tanis, a blogger who's famous in Canada, which is kind of like being rich in Romania. I mean, I guess some of you may have heard of her outside of the Great White North, but mainly because I've written about her several times before. This time, though, it's a bit more serious. It's about today, and what today will be like for my friend.

Tanis, I'm sorry. I didn't know who you were four years ago when your son Bug died. I wasn't there to see you glassy-eyed, barely functioning, enduring a flow of well-wishers and supporters, and then struggling to survive when that flow dried up. I wasn't there to sit with you quietly, offering nothing more than the solace of another person's company.

I have never experienced loss on a level even close to yours. I can only try to use what I do know, from knowing you and being your friend, to offer my love and support. I know that Bug was loved deeply by his mother and his father and his brother and his sister. I know that he will live forever within your heart. And I know that even though the pain will never go away, your fond memories of his time on this earth will grow stronger until the hurt is more bearable. And that doesn't mean that your love was or is or will ever be any less.

Today is going to be a hard day. Today you will be mourning one son while celebrating the birthday of your newly adopted son. How do you do both? How do you separate a celebration of a lost life and a celebration of a new one?

If I can be presumptuous, let me answer that. You don't. Every time you embrace Jumby, every step you take while carrying him, every minute you spend with him at the doctor's, helping him to grow stronger, you are celebrating life. You are living life to the fullest, taking that love that Bug had for you and you had for him, and investing it in the world. In Jumby. In Fric and Frac. And that's the best way to remember your son that I can think of.

I wasn't there to sit with you then, but I'm here now. And I encourage everyone who is reading this to sit quietly for a moment for Tanis. And then take your love and invest it. Love always pays dividends.

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Posted in Serious stuff | 62 Comments »

I hate puking

Wednesday, October 14th, 2009

I. Hate. Puking. Before I had lap band surgery, if I ever felt like I had to puke, I would swallow my gorge and do whatever it took to prevent myself from vomiting. I figured that it was mind over matter, and if I could calm the savage seas of my stomach until it calmed down, I'd be fine.

Now I don't have that luxury. See, the lap band is essentially a small band that fits around the top of my stomach, creating a four ounce pouch at the top. Since the nerves that tell your brain that you are full reside in the top of the stomach, merely four ounces of food creates the mental sensation of being full, and that feeling lasts for 4-5 hours. If you eat more than four ounces of food, or don't chew your food enough, it will get caught as it tries to pass through the band, and you will be forced to vomit. There's no mind over matter. Nothing you can do to convince your body to settle down. The only way that food can leave your body is back through your mouth. And that fucking sucks. But, for the most part, if you chew slowly and avoid really stringy foods, and don't overeat, you won't have to vomit.

If only that was it. But no, there's more! The band is filled with saline, and there is a line from the band through my body that ends in a port under my skin about a foot below my left nipple. You can't see the port from the outside, but you can feel a small hardness under my skin. The band's saline slowly dissipates over time, so once every two months or so, the surgeon must inject more saline to tighten the band and keep the pouch as close to four ounces as possible. Most people who fail using the lap band do so because they do not go in regularly for adjustments and over time, they are able to eat more and more food.

The downfall to the adjustments is that your stomach muscle undergoes some swelling for 24-48 hours after the adjustment. This means that even liquids can be hard to swallow, and you must take very small sips.

I had an adjustment done on Monday (I was also under 300 pounds for the first time in probably 10 years), and it took me all day on Monday to drink a milkshake (quick aside: because you can only drink liquids after an adjustment, it's important to get calories – protein shakes, gatorade, juice, and yes, milkshakes). The swelling got worse by Monday evening, which is normal. It usually takes about 8-10 hours for it to start being affected. By Tuesday morning, I wasn't in the mood to eat or drink anything. I tried to eat some soup at lunch, but it was too much effort, so I stopped off and bought Gatorade.

And here I sit, 7:30 on Tuesday night, having only been able to drink about half a cup of Gatorade. An hour ago, I puked nothing but foam up for five minutes solid for no other reason than the adjustment was tight enough and the swelling was enough that even liquids have problems passing through the band. And I try to sip small, tiny sips of Gatorade so that I can get some type of nutrients.

I know the swelling will go down and I'll be able to eat and drink soon. But right now, I'm hating life. And hating puking, although I don't fear it quite as much. So I guess that's one good thing.

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Posted in Serious stuff | 129 Comments »

Today's post has nothing to do with vaginas or penises.

Friday, October 2nd, 2009

When Kevin asked all of his readers to post something for Cure JM Day, I agreed immediately. But then I started thinking, "What the fuck does JM stand for?" And while I guess I could read the stuff he sent me to post, I think I'll just make something up.

Does JM stand for?

Jesus's Moustache?
Jolly Musketeers?
Jawing Muff?
Jujubees in your Mangina?
Juicy Melons?
Jealous Margaritas?
Jews against MADD?

Okay, it's harder thinking of J words than I thought.  It actually stands for "Juvenile Myositis" and Kevin's daughter was diagnosed with this rare autoimmune disease on this day seven years ago.  Today also happens to be his wife's birthday. I'll let Kevin continue from here . . .

***

Our pediatrician admitted it early on.

The rash on our 2-year-old daughter's cheeks, joints and legs was something he'd never seen before.

The next doctor wouldn't admit to not knowing.

He rattled off the names of several skins conditions — none of them seemingly worth his time or bedside manner — then quickly prescribed antibiotics and showed us the door.

The third doctor admitted she didn't know much.

The biopsy of the chunk of skin she had removed from our daughter's knee showed signs of an "allergic reaction" even though we had ruled out every allergy source — obvious and otherwise — that we could.

The fourth doctor had barely closed the door behind her when, looking at the limp blonde cherub in my lap, she admitted she had seen this before. At least one too many times before.

She brought in a gaggle of med students. She pointed out each of the physical symptoms in our daughter:

The rash across her face and temples resembling the silhouette of a butterfly.

The purple-brown spots and smears, called heliotrope, on her eyelids.

The reddish alligator-like skin, known as Gottron papules, covering the knuckles of her hands.

The onset of crippling muscle weakness in her legs and upper body.

She then had an assistant bring in a handful of pages photocopied from an old medical textbook. She handed them to my wife, whose birthday it happened to be that day.

This was her gift — a diagnosis for her little girl.

That was seven years ago — Oct. 2, 2002 — the day our daughter was found to have juvenile dermatomyositis, one of a family of rare autoimmune diseases that can have debilitating and even fatal consequences when not treated quickly and effectively.

Our daughter's first year with the disease consisted of surgical procedures, intravenous infusions, staph infections, pulmonary treatments and worry. Her muscles were too weak for her to walk or swallow solid food for several months. When not in the hospital, she sat on our living room couch, propped up by pillows so she wouldn't tip over, as medicine or nourishment dripped from a bag into her body.

Our daughter, Thing 1, Megan, now age 9, remembers little of that today when she dances or sings or plays soccer. All that remain with her are scars, six to be exact, and the array of pills she takes twice a day to help keep the disease at bay.

What would have happened if it took us more than two months and four doctors before we lucked into someone who could piece all the symptoms together? I don't know.

I do know that the fourth doctor, the one who brought in others to see our daughter's condition so they could easily recognize it if they ever had the misfortune to be presented with it again, was a step toward making sure other parents also never have to find out.

That, too, is my purpose today.

It is also my birthday gift to my wife, My Love, Rhonda, for all you have done these past seven years to make others aware of juvenile myositis diseases and help find a cure for them once and for all.

To read more about children and families affected by juvenile myositis diseases, visit Cure JM Foundation at www.curejm.org.

To make a tax-deductible donation toward JM research, go to www.firstgiving.com/rhondaandkevinmckeever or www.curejm.com/team/donations.htm.

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Posted in Serious stuff | 12 Comments »

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