ObesityHelp

The past week involved a lot of poking and prodding. It was a dual anniversary: my routine annual physical, and 2-yr lab tests since my VSG. Additionally, I have decided to resume my personal aviation interests in Fort McMurray, Alberta once I start work as a heavy equipment operator in the mines there late March. As my family doctor also does aviation medicals, I tacked one onto my annual physical to dodge the cost of duplicating some of the tests.

From a weight-loss surgery perspective, this represents several positive outcomes. My health is that of a normal person. Except for cholesterol which is marginally higher than the risk-free cap, everything else would not mitigate concern. My blood sugar levels were on the high side of normal, though coupled with other tests for diabetes, failed to indicate the disease. Resting blood pressure was one-twenty over seventy. There were no deficiencies where nutrient levels like iron, vitamin B12, calcium, etc. were concerned suggesting that there was no mal-absorption through my child-sized pouch. At the two-year mark, the surgery has been a resounding success...in more ways than one.

As a teen growing up in racially segregated South Africa, I wanted to become a commercial pilot but, in 1982 when I matriculated from high school, South African Airways did not hire non-Whites as pilots. I rejected their suggestion that I join the country's Air Force and link arms with my own oppressor. Non-Whites could become pilots at their own expense; there just wasn't any work for them with the national carrier. With full legal protection from the government, those jobs were reserved for White pilots leaving the Air Force. Twelve years later as a young, fit lecturer of economics at a University just outside of Johannesburg, I took my first flying lesson on my own dime. Within a year, just before the demise of apartheid, I went on to earn a private pilot's licence with a night rating. Pat myself on the shoulder and snub my nose at the regime, yeah! Then, disaster. Twenty years following high school, I was too fat to fit behind the controls of a Cessna and would not have passed the South African flight medical. I let the licence that I was so proud to have attained against all odds, lapse. By this point in the South African political landscape, we had a non-racial, democratic government in power. I no longer had anybody--Black or White--but myself to blame for the untimely end to my flying days.

In 2009, I was diagnosed with Type II diabetes. On the advice of my surgeons I halved my diabetes medication within two weeks following my vertical sleeve gastrectomy in December 2010. As my weight plummeted, so did my blood sugar levels. A month after surgery, I was taken off the medication and haven't needed any in the two years since. I get my blood tested every three months, and have an annual eye inspection for macula degeneration, a side-effect of diabetes. No physician in his right mind would diagnose diabetes if he were to look at my medical history of the past two years. My doctor is the only person who, whilst rubbing his hands with glee at my good lab results, still thinks that I'm controlling the 'silent killer' with diet and exercise. My surgeon, on the other hand, subscribes to the numerous research papers that point to an actual reversal of the disease in countless WLS patients, possibly through a hormonal change after the resection of the fundus. I sill eat chocolate and sweetened frozen yoghurt, and make a point of doing so the week before my blood tests. Mind you, I'm also training with weights which is known to be effective at managing blood sugar levels in diabetics. Now that I can exercise again, I'm not going to stop just to prove a point. I just wish that my doc would stop filling out forms indicating diabetes in my health history. It's already cost me a place in the Canadian Armed Forces.

I'm giddy with excitement at the prospect of flying again. My doc also gave me the nod to resume scuba. Although back on the squash courts, my return was cut short after a hamstring tear. Evidently, it hasn't registered in my brain that I sill have some 50 lb to shed before I can go flat-out. Except for the grey whiskers, all-in-all I seem to have turned back the clock some 20 years.

After 8.5 years of frustration at not finding a decent job in Canada, I applied to the Canadian Armed Forces as a direct entry logistics officer. This was not a consequence of any endearing affinity to a military lifestyle, rather, the sudden realisation that I would rather take a bullet than one more BlackBerry tech support call.

There was an interesting development at my interview. I was informed that they were no longer taking on any more candidates as logistics officers. They invited me to research other positions for which I might be qualified, otherwise consider enlisting as a non-commissioned member, the labourer backbone of the military. It sounded almost like a bait and switch tactic; sell you the penthouse suite over the phone but offer you the basement when you arrive. Not really seeing myself as a welder or floor-scrubber (both better than solving the tech gripes of the snivelling, North American spoilt brat), I indicated that I was only interested in joining as a regular, direct entry officer. We agreed that since I had come all the way, we would continue with the first half of the interview, the personality component, but defer the 'occupation'' component to when I knew for which other officer position I wanted to apply. We could then do that portion of the interview over the phone.

At the end of a very routine interview, I mentioned that I had earned a pilot's licence with a night rating in my native South Africa, at which the captain who was interviewing me asked why I didn't apply as a pilot. I was surprised and said that I didn't think that I was eligible given my age. He quickly checked and confirmed that I was eligible. Age becomes a factor only if the required service period doesn't conflict with the mandatory retirement age of 60. Two years of training and seven years of required service implies that the oldest you can get hired is 51...and I'm 48. You get the picture...

After a week to prepare, I returned for an interview as a pilot. It went very well. It was a rigorous interview about experiences, actions and outcomes. I actually cited many incidents from my past flying and scuba experiences to demonstrate how I react under pressure. When they asked what I knew about life as a military pilot, I recited their brochure citing stages of training, durations, venues and the different aircraft as if I were a recruiter. He had to stop me and ask what research I had done as I seemed to know all of this stuff very well. At the end, they came right out and said that they would ordinarily be sending me on to the next selection phase in Trenton, ON except for a slight glitch in my medicals relating to a diagnosis of type II diabetes back in '09. I scrambled around getting the surgeon in Seattle who did my stomach surgery to say how much weight I had lost, how good I have been with my diet as reflected in normal blood tests, how fit I have become, and how the diabetes was in remission. In fact, all the tests I had to have done as part of my application came out smack in the middle of normal in just about every category.

Over the subsequent two weeks, I submitted the last of the medical and admin. paperwork (including a credit report from South Africa because I have resided outside of Canada within the past decade). Hot-off-the-press news from Thursday gone by, is that they requested a security clearance form because I hold dual citizenship. If all checks out (there's no reason they shouldn't) the CAF will send me to Trenton, ON to take another aptitude test, including an introduction to flying and an exercise in flying a simulator. They will be testing how well candidates react to new information, for example, "this instrument measures the turn rate of the aircraft. Now change heading from North to West at a 30 deg. bank angle." Doing this on a simulator allows them to measure the performance on a computer.

Success in Trenton will culminate in an offer of employment, induction into the military at a ceremony, and finally check-in at the military training base in St. Jean sur Richelieu for 13 weeks of basic officer training, then on to the flying. The basic officer training is more glamorously named than it actually is. This is military boot camp training intended for 18 year olds.

I would never in my wildest dream have imagined that I would be contemplating my childhood ambition to become a professional pilot.

Not to put all my eggs in that basket, a fortnight ago Tuesday I drove 3,200 km roundtrip over 4 days to Ft. McMurray, AB to interview for admission to the haul truck course conducted by Keyano College. This is to operate those monster, 3-storey high pieces of heavy equipment that transport oil-soaked sand from the mines to the refineries. On Thursday I was offered admission to the course starting 7 Jan, and by the time I accepted the offer the next morning, the Jan. class had filled up. I'm therefore scheduled to start training on 4 Feb but am on the waitlist in case of cancellations implying the possibility of a November start date.

Finally, finally, things are looking up! And two years ago when I weighed 360 lb, none of this seemed possible. My 'green' and 'pacifist' street cred is on the line, but some have sold their souls to religion for less.