Realization & Motivation

I remember the morning well. It's the day I decided to live. I woke up as usual, took a shower, and checked my blood sugar. 287. Not good. Opened the medicine cabinet to take the two prescribed pills for diabetes, and the one prescribed pill for high blood pressure. As I popped the pills into my mouth, I swallowed them without drinking any water to help them down. Right then I was compelled to step on the expensive electric scale somehow we inherited a while back from Kris' parents. 301.

That was it.

For the next five minutes, I stood there in the bathroom staring at myself in the mirror. Fear, anger, and embarrassment had finally all come together. But why now?

Jake.

My son was going to help save my life.

Type 2 Diabetes, high blood pressure, sleep apnea, overweight, and bald. Well, nature started the baldness, the razor and I finished it. I was successful shaving off the hair on the top of my head, but could never defeat the enemy better known as food. I ate too much and too often, and it was going to kill me. Food had become its own addiction. When I ate, I ate way too much. When I was bored, I ate. When I was pissed, I ate. Add to the fact that I ate all the wrong foods, and drank all the wrong drinks, including alcoholic drinks.

Alcohol. I watched my mother and father drink every single day. My mother never lost control when she drank, but my father—well, that's another story. He used to brag about being Irish, and how alcohol was invented to prevent Ireland from ruling the world. Basically, my father was a bad alcoholic. When I say bad, I mean really bad.

Before moving to Florida, we lived in Cicero, Illinois, and the neighborhood we lived in had a corner tavern that my mother and father loved to frequent. I remember being five or six years old, and walking into the tavern to see if my mother and/or father were in there. I was five/six years old walking into a bar looking for my parents. Tell me that's not a bit off.

When they would come home after time spent in the bar, it wasn't an odd occurrence for them to start arguing about something. I absolutely hated the screaming. I would bury my head under pillows asking God to make them stop. He didn't answer. Finally, I found a way to make the screams disappear. I had this eight-track tape player, and I would turn it up. That, of course, would piss my father off, so I would put my ear directly on the speaker. The volume wasn't so loud so that my parents would hear it, but it was loud enough to drown out the screams and other lovely things coming out of their mouths. When my ear would hurt or start ringing, I would switch to the other ear. I would close my eyes and allow the music to take me somewhere else. The music also taught me how to dream, and the wonderful dreams I would have. Most of all, music brought peace and serenity to my life. To this day, I listen to music and allow myself to drift off to another place. Music is better than any drug I've ever taken.

Back to alcohol. In my house, alcohol and cigarettes were more important than anything. Countless times my needs were put to the side if it compromised my parents’ ability to have beer, liquor, and/or cigarettes. Again, I was told several times that I was a mistake and not worth the time or space I took from them, and the way they acted towards things I wanted or needed sure proved those words. To this day, I struggle when I feel I am not liked or ridiculed. On the outside I may put up a good front and act like I don't care, but on the inside, my heart aches and stomach drops to my feet. Yes, to this day I feel totally inadequate, and it is so hard for me to explain to those that do care about me.

I enjoy drinking beer and liquor. When I started drinking in high school, I soon found out that I was a piss poor drunk. I embarrassed myself more than once, and alcohol has this wonderful way of multiplying my anger exponentially. I did and said things that were out of this world—just like my father. That scared me.

It also made me realize that when I became a parent, my child would never see me intoxicated. Nor would I allow myself to get drunk if my child could see me. Since I reminded myself of my father when I was drunk, there was no way I would ever allow Jake see me out of control, or be in a position to embarrass him. To this day, I drink a beer or two monthly. I may pour myself a glass of scotch on the rocks as a treat after a long day, but that's about it.

Food, however, was different. It took the place of alcohol. It was my crutch. It was my go to when I needed a pick-me-up. And it cost me big time.

So there I was staring into the mirror. Jake was about eight months old, and I realized that if I didn't make a change I would never see him grow up. I would never see him go to college. Perhaps I would die before he even hit his first home run, or caught or threw his first touchdown pass. I wanted to see his first girlfriend. I wanted to see him graduate high school. I wanted to see him marry and start his own family. Most of all, I wanted to be the father I never had, and I had to live to do it.

It was time to bet on science.

Gastric bypass surgery was something in the back of my mind for quite some time. A few people at work had it done and had great results. I figured I needed to lose eighty to one hundred pounds if I was going to get the diabetes and high blood pressure in check. I knew I couldn't do it alone so I reached out to the medical world for help.

First, I had to schedule the appointment which wasn't easy for me. Two ladies I worked with at the cable company (sorry, no free advertising here) just had it done, and recommended a doctor out in Jacksonville Beach. When I went to my appointment, I remember sitting in the waiting room with others who were looking for the magic bullet. You see, that's what I call it now because too many people think all you need to do is have the surgery and poof! Off goes the weight. I'm afraid not.

After the initial consultation, it was off to the psychiatrist. Yes, the local shrink had to make sure I could take the stress of not being able to eat for a month before starting to eat real food again. Yes, I said one month of no food. I was about to going from eating 6,000 to 7,000 calories to zero calories. For the first month, I was allowed only a liquid diet: water, clear liquids, no sugar, no soda, no solid foods.

When I came home from the surgery, I was so weak I couldn't walk from the bedroom to the living room without feeling like I was going to pass out. Two weeks into it, I was back to work. While I was out, there was a promotional opportunity that I had posted for, and just before the surgery I flew up to Baltimore to interview. I felt I had a decent shot to get the job once the interview concluded, but had no idea they were going to move so fast. So against my doctor's orders, I was back to work because I was offered the job.

I had two weeks to get ready to move to Baltimore and start the position. I was far from one hundred percent recovered from the surgery, but I was excited about this new gig. I was finally getting out of my old job and away from another new boss that was life-sucking from the get-go, so I couldn't wait to get there. During the interview, we discussed what my roles would be, and it was exactly what I wanted.

But as in life, every good thing has a bad or challenging thing tied to it. Jake was eight months old and not walking yet. He was still struggling to sleep through the night, and I was about to leave Kris with raising our son and selling our house. Thankfully real estate at that time was hopping being a seller's market. Nevertheless, Kris still had to work 40+ hours, take care of Jake, and have the house ready to show to potential buyers since we decided to sell it without the help of a REALTOR.

What I didn't realize was the heartache I was about to experience. When the day came for me to leave for Baltimore, a hurricane was crossing the state of Florida, and by the time it got to Jacksonville it was down to minor tropical storm. With a packed car, I gave Kris and hug and a kiss, and took Jake into my arms to say goodbye when he looked and smiled at me. Immediately, tears starting streaming down my face.

I wanted to stay right then and there. Come on, a storm was blowing through Jacksonville; I could have used that as an excuse, right?

I should have stayed, but more on that later.