marknsarge

Here I am… Diga miss me?  Well I will tell you that continuing your education can be rough.  Like joining one of Kama’s teams… I am sweating more now finishing my Bachelors degree than I did on Parris Island.  I also altered my educational goals a bit.  Applied to and got my masters program in Gerontology.  With any luck, I will complete my coursework in March 2016 and become Dr. Mark 2.0… The evil twin…

WTF happened to the old food journal and calorie counter that added everything up??? We used to be able to log for ourselves… This change sucks…

The 9 months of ups and downs… had to undergo some very painful therapy for my lower back pain.  During that time I put on about 35 stubborn pounds… Just chiming in for a little motivation… Still have physical therapy twice a week.  But have started a walking and WII-Fit Routine… So I will be around for a little while - in and out… Maybe even see some of good Old Sarge… I have missed you guys… Hope you will have me back…

Having read some blog entries here, I honestly believe I have failed some people here at Buddyslim.  I have had a RYGB and I did not talk enough about what went into it.  First I apologize to everybody for not posting this sooner. 

I started talking to my doctors about a RYGB in September 2006.  I was 480-490 (Clinically SUPER-Morbidly Obese) and sick and tired of being sick and tired.  Having been mostly active, overweight my entire adult life — I was diagnosed that past May, with the following:  Diabetes, Hypertension, Peripheral Artery Disease, Lower Extremity Cellulitus, Venuous Insufficiency Syndrome, Deep Vein Thrombosis, Cellulitic Abcesses with ulceration, Severe Sleep Apnea with hypertachypnea, Lymphatic type cellulitus, cellulitic sepsis, Venuous Stasis with Dermatitus  — is the picture becoming clear. 

Every disease that accompanied obesity hit me like a sledge hammer in the forehead, all at one time.  I had to make a decision, loose weight or loose limbs…  Health was no longer something that I could take or leave.  The surgery was an option now only because, having been overweight my entire adult life — I had tried every pill, powder, potion, plan, program, portent…ect.  I would not find out until later, that after all that ‘yo-yo’ dieting the only thing I succeded in doing was “KILL” my metabolism. 

“Kill my metabolism,” was the statement used by the physician I consulted at the Cleveland Clinic.  He is the Specialist in Abdominal Laproscopy and the head of the Bariatric and Metabolic Institute at the clinic; and has been the past president of the American Bariatric Surgical Association.   I had no idea that the metabolism could be killed, but that is what he said had occured within me. 

As a part of the pre-surgical consideration, I had to speak to psychologist.  I had never considered myself - CRAZY but I tried it.   I had heard of underlying issues and things like that.  But my weight problem, I was certain  had something to do with that whole beneath my nose.  So went to the psychiatrist for two sessions, and ended up seeing a psychologist for 7 months, but I was not crazy… 

In speaking to the psychologist - I learned that there were subconscious triggers to my eating habits.  I also learned that fixing other people was not my top priority.  I was broken, tremendously and couldn’t see it, because I would focus on everybody - but myself.  Through the counselling I began to recognise that I should not think about fixing other people, until I started fixing myself.  When I told her that my doctor said I had killed my metabolism, she told me that this was a common problem.  How could something I had never heard of be so common?  Because it was not something I wanted to hear - I was happy with the old doctor I had who would say, “Mark - you are relatively healthy, overweight but everything else is good.”  I had heard that statement so many times that I choose only to hear ‘Mark - Healthy - Everything - Good.’ 

Nothing about what I was doing with the diets to my metabolism, nothing about the potential for health complications down the road.  I was in my mid-upper thirties… and everything was good. 

April 2006, I was 39 years old and fighting lower leg pain and a fever that was on and off  for about a month.  I was walking into work on May 6th, 2006, when the lymph gland on the outside of my right ankle physically exploded, spraying a shower of puss and blood in the parking lot in front of my boss — who promptly called 9-1-1.  I looked at my ankle and seeing that much blood and bone that was my own must have been a little upsetting to me, because I passed out.

I woke up in a hospital bed three days later, the doctor there whom I had never met; said rather tritely -”So, how long have you been a non-compliant diabetic?”  I answered - since about the twelfth of NEVER…  She then said you have multiple abcesses that need surgically drained, you have surgery tommorrow.  It is important to we control your sugar after surgery, so you can heal - you will be on insulin.   I spent the next 18 days flat on my back, with 14 holes in my right leg.  They would not let me walk.  They had me on high protein and protein supplements to heal my wounds, so I was putting on more weight. 

I got out of the hospital on May 25th - my doctor said that I would be clincally disabled until my wounds healed.  Under the impression that as long as I took the insulin I could continue to eat high protein — to heal — and everything would go back to normal.    I became sick again - and again - until January 2007, when my new doctor gave me some, good old —IN Your Face, Dr. House meets Dr. Frankenstein dose of reality.

It is not how he said it - it was what he said.  “Mark, I do not know why your kidneys and liver are still functioning — you and a maple tree have alot in common.  You are both pumping syrup; your average blood sugar is 550 and I am afraid the next time I see you I will be cutting off one or both of your legs - below the knee.  You need to get aggressive in the control of your blood sugar, now — not later.  I will send somebody to talk to you tomorrow, she is a diabetic educator.  She will explain things you can do.”    

It helped that she was young, hot and said I was too good looking to let this happen.  How can you argue with logic like that?

I attacked my health at every facet.  I started here in March of 2007 and had a complete Rouxen Y Gastric Bypass on August 28th, 2007. 

GBS has to start with a MENTAL MAKEOVER — FIRST.  If you have the smallest doubt in your ability to follow rules and regulations regarding a new diet than DO NOT HAVE A GBS… 

A friend of mine said…  Don’t take the “easy” way out!  Even if the surgery goes well, you still have to learn how to eat right and exercise or it just comes right back on.

MOVEMENT, exercise, if you do not move after the surgery and continue with limited exercise at first and as tolerated - your body will not properly adjust to the NEW PLUMBING job.  

I have had a complete Rouxen Y Gastric Bypass.  My stomach has been surgically reduced from the size of a regulation NFL football to the size of a babyfood jar.  My small intestine was 22 feet long, like the normal human — is now 26 inches long.  The roux limb has bypassed the duodenal arch and sphyncter, so my new stomach is now gravity feed, so I will frequently take a walk break if I am having a big meal with family.  

Anything with concentrated sugar, any chocolate or  anything with caffeine and do not block the bathroom door. 

The horror stories about GBS can all be tied to the same root problem –  After the surgery you must…  It is NOT a want it is a MUST DO…  START like a baby, with baby food and retrain your NEW PLUMBING… one step at a time. 

Leaks on the inside are caused by one of many things –  No chewing enough, Eating the wrong thing (acidic or spicy - too soon), eating anything with a high GLUTEN content, overeating, carbonated liquids or a LOUSY SURGEON. 

Now I know why baby’s make those faces… Cause their food tastes HORRIBLE! 

As for low blood sugar (anything below 60) two words - complex carbohydrates.  I drink a ‘Glucrena’ shake or eat a supplement bar before bed.     

PERSONALLY my GBS was the best thing that happened to me.  My before, during and aftercare have been second to none.   Vitamins, supplements, eating right and exercise ARE your life after gastric bypass.  MAKE SURE you know what you want then DON’T CHEAT — because you are only hurting yourself.      

Straight from the floor of the First Session of the 111th Congress, Joint Resolution - H.J. RES 14 AND H.J. RES 5

Currently under Consideration by both the House of Representatives and the U.S. Senate…

These are Amendments proposing to repeal the term limits for members of Congress and the term limits for President of the United States… Effectively turning the United States of America into a Dictatorship…

You gotta love that DEMOCRAT majority…

If you are opposed to the United States of America becoming CUBA del Norte Estados…

Write your repersentatives and express your displeasure — or learn how to goosestep comrade!

A TEENAGER’S VIEW OF HEAVEN

17-year-old Brian Moore had only a short time to write something for a class. The subject was what Heaven was like. ‘I wowed ‘em,’ he later told his father, Bruce. ‘It’s a killer. It’s the bomb. It’s the best thing I ever wrote..’ It also was the last.

Brian Moore died May 27, 1997, the day after Memorial Day. He was driving home from a friend’s house when his car went off Bulen-Pierce Road in Pickaway County and struck a utility pole. He emerged from the wrec k unharmed but stepped on a downed power line and was electrocuted. 

The Moores framed a copy of Brian’s essay and hung it among the family portraits in the living room. ‘I think God used him to make a point. I think we were meant to find it and make something out of it,’ Mrs. Moore said of the essay. She and her husband want to share their son’s vision of life after death. ‘I’m happy for Brian. I know he’s in heaven. I know I’ll see him.’

Brian’s Essay: The Room… 

In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room. There were no distinguishing features except for the one wall covered with small index card files. They were like the ones in libraries that list titles by author or subject in alphabetical order. But these files, which stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly endless in either direction, had very different headings. As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was one that read ‘Girls I have liked.’ I opened it and began flipping through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I recognized the names written on each one. And then without being told, I knew exactly where I was. 

This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system for my life. Here were written the actions of my every moment, big and small, in a detail my memory couldn’t match. A sense of wonder an d curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening files and exploring their content. Some brought joy and sweet memories; others a sense of shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching. 

A file named ‘Friends’ was next to one marked ‘Friends I have betrayed.’ The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird ‘Books I Have Read,’ ‘Lies I Have Told,’ ‘Comfort I have Given,’ ‘Jokes I Have Laughed at.’ Some were almost hilarious in their exactness: ‘Things I’ve yelled at my brothers.’ Others I couldn’t laugh at: ‘Things I Have Done in My Anger’, ‘Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents.’ I never ceased to be surprised by the contents.

Often there were many more cards than I expected. Sometimes fewer t han I hoped. I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived. Could it be possible that I had the time in my years to fill each of these thousands or even millions of cards? But each card confirmed this truth. Each was written in my own handwriting. Each signed with my signature. 

When I pulled out the file marked ‘TV Shows I have watched’, I realized the files grew to contain their contents. The cards were packed tightly, and yet after two or three yards, I hadn’t found the end of the file. I shut it, shamed, not so much by the quality of shows but more by the vast time I knew that file represented. 

When I came to a file marked ‘Lustful Thoughts,’ I felt a chill run through my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its size and drew out a card. I shuddere d at its detailed content.

I felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded. An almost animal rage broke on me. One thought dominated my mind: No one must ever see these cards! No one must ever see this room! I have to destroy them!’ In insane frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn’t matter now. I had to empty it and burn the cards. But as I took it at one end and began pounding it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card. I became desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when I tried to tear it. 

Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its slot. Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let out a long, self-pitying sigh. 

And then I saw i t.. The title bore ‘People I Have Shared the Gospel With.’ The handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused. I pulled on its handle and a small box not more than three inches long fell into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on one hand. 

And then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that they hurt. They started in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees and cried. I cried out of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all. The rows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever, ever know of this room. I must lock it up and hide the key. But then as I pushed away the tears, I saw Him.

No, please not Him. Not here. Oh, anyone but Jesus. I watched helplessly as He began to open the files and read the cards. I couldn’t bear to watch His response. And in the moments I could bring myself to look at His face, I saw a sorrow deeper than my own. 

He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes. Why did He have to read every one? Finally He turned and looked at me from across the room. He looked at me with pity in His eyes. But this was a pity that didn’t anger me. I dropped my head, covered my face with my hands and began to cry again. He walked over and put His arm around me. He could have said so many things. But He didn’t say a word. He just cried with me. 

Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files. Starting at one end of the room, He took out a file and, one by one, began to sign His name over mine on each card. ‘No!’ I shouted rushing to Him. All I could find to say was ‘No, no,’ as I pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn’t be on these cards. But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, so alive. The name of Jesus covered mine. It was written with His blood. He gently took the card back. He smiled a sad smile and began to sign the cards. I don’t think I’ll ever understand how He did it so quickly, but the next instant it seemed I heard Him close the last file and walk back to my side. 

He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, ‘It is finished.’ I stood up, and He led me out of the room. There was no lock on its door. There were still cards to be written. 

‘For God so loved the world that He gave His only son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life.’-John 3:16.
 
‘I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. ‘-Phil. 4:13.  If you feel the same way, forward it so the love of Jesus will touch their lives also. 
 
My ‘People I shared the gospel with‘ file just got bigger, how about yours?

IF THERE IS ONE EMAIL THAT I HAVE READ THAT NEEDS TO GO AROUND THE WORLD, IT IS THIS ONE, FOR THE CHRISTIAN OR NOT! 

 
MAY GOD BLESS YOU ALL! 

  …ABSOLUTELY… With my boot in your a$$!  You just keep at it and remember who the BOSS is…  I run a tight ship so just you MOVE IT!    DID you here me???  Carry on!

The new me is within sight…  I have an appointment to see a plastic surgeon, that specializes in bariatric reconstruction.  That is all they do.  He will discuss what is involved with what he called a ‘Full Body Tuck.’  As scared as I am anxious, I plan on enjoying my New Years Eve tonight, and I will be talking to you all soon…  My appointment is January 12th, 2009… 

Without regret or mental reservation, I am putting in notice…  In 4 pounds, I am cancelling my membership in the 300+ club… 

When you least expect it…  I’m STILL WATCHING YOU…

Hugs and Kisses, and all that other MUSH!   SARGE!

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