Neeven Soodyall
Suddenly, I'm 12 days away from undergoing a vertical sleeve gastrectomy. It is almost too much to digest that this truly is the beginning of the end of my 15-year battle of the bulge?
The long-and-short of my story is that I was a chubby kid, athletic high-schooler, super-athletic collegiate (squash team) and, league player in my twenties and early thirties. A back injury (herniated disc) whilst training for a tournament spelt the end of competitive squash and any form of athletic activity. A job for a bachelor that involves numerous lunch meetings and after-hours cocktail functions is a recipe for rapid weight-gain. The trouble with athletes who suddenly quit working out is that they retain their appetites and eat with the same care-free abandon as they did when they were burning it up in the gym. Thus began my long addiction to food. A 10-year marriage-to-date to a wonderful wife and excellent cook fuelled the addiction. Despite periodic forays into the gym and some tennis, I went from 85 kg (187 lbs) in my playing heyday to my current 160 kg (351 lbs). I've gained the equivalent in weight of another entire adult human being.
Interspersed in this 15-year saga were numerous efforts to lose the weight, the likes of which are all too familiar on this forum: cabbage soup, exchange, Atkins, etc. There was one time that I managed to stick to a so-called 'detox' eating programme that caused me to lose weight possibly at the same rate as many post-ops here. I actually fought through the back pain and starting playing squash again. It was trememndously gratifying to fit into my college clothing once more. The diet itself, though, was tantamount to starvation and led to my becoming incredibly sad. Although not diagnosed as such, I came about as close as I can imagine to being chemically depressed. It makes sense, I suppose, that if you deprive yourself of fat and not take supplements, plus cut out salt and sugar without electrolyte replacement, you're not going to absorb fat-soluble vitamins which has to affect one's sense of well-being.
Short-lived was my renewed thinness because at the end of the two-month crash diet, my resolve came crashing down too. I celebrated with a hearty double cheeseburger from the world's greatest supplier of lard disguised as food and have been supersizing ever since.
Five years ago when my doctor noticed the increase in my blood sugar levels and expressed alarm at my increasing size, I took notice but was sure I had the strength of mind to return to my athletic ways. I didn't count on the severity of my backache nor the added damage that must have been caused to my back lugging all this weight around over the years. When he asked his assistant to find out who did bariatric surgery in Canada, I really froze in my tracks. A failed business contract, the commencement of accounting studies towards a different career and a home relocation found me in the offices of a new personal care provider. I discussed my weight with my new doctor and told him what the previous one had suggested. This time, I assured him, I wanted it too.
That was two years ago. The wheels of the Canadian public healthcare system grind slowly. It took about a year to first see one of only three bariatric surgeons serving our entire province. At the time, the wait-list to have surgery here for free was around 3 years. I had two visits with the surgeon spaced six months apart. In that time, the only hospital where bariatric surgery is performed in our province announced a 60% cut in the budget for the procedure. This futher clogged the bottleneck and increased the wait-time for surgery to 5 years.
I couldn't afford to self-pay abroad so explored a not-so-well-published option of out-of-country-funding by our provincial health insurance for elective surgery. When I was approved, it felt like I had won the lottery (indeed I may have in terms of longevity). In fact, the first time I knew the outcome of my application was when I checked my voicemail one evening early in November. There was a cheerful message from Virginia Mason Medical Center in Seattle regarding a referral. There was no mistaking then that funding had been approved.
Until a week ago, I was working nights as a security guard whilst studying accounting through night classes. I kept playing phone tag with the administrator of the bariatric office until we eventually connected and set the ball in motion. Since her first voicemail on Nov 5, I have been scheduled for surgery on Dec 23 and am seeing my new, American surgeon for the first time this coming Monday. The pace of things South of the 49th parallel is at lightning speed by comparison.
I had two final exams to distract me this past week but can now fully concentrate on preparing for surgery. I'm an irreligious 46-year-old skeptic so there's some irony in getting a gift of sorts (we actually pay a sizeable premium for health insurance so it's a right rather than privilege) when the rest of the Western world is exchanging trinkets and electronic gadgets in a State-mandated spending spree. I'm deliberately trivializing the arbitrary commercialization of the Winter solstice against what in my case will amount to better health and possible longer life.
