One man's battle to go from fat to fit

Editor's note: Register Metro Columnist Daniel P. Finney will share with readers his battle to shed weight and regain his health. Follow his journey through periodic columns, his ongoing blog Making Weight, on Twitter at @newsmanone and on Facebook at facebook.com/newsmanone .

I'm fat.

Scratch that. I'm morbidly obese.

This isn't being verbose. This is a medical diagnosis.

I've ignored it for at least five years, probably longer.

I ignored it after I was diagnosed as a Type II diabetic.

I ignored it when the scales at the doctor's office could no longer measure my weight because my girth exceeded 500 pounds.

I joke about being fat. We're supposed to be jolly, right?

But I cringe when David Letterman, a comedic hero of mine, pokes fun at New Jersey Gov. Chris Christie because of his weight.

It hurt more than I wanted to admit when some of the savages in our story commentary went after my weight when they didn't like one of my columns.

I almost cried when the young son of a close friend called me "fatty" when I was visiting during Halloween.

Still, I ignored it.

Until December, that is, when I injured my back carrying in too many groceries at once. I figured the sharp, hot pain in my lower back would ease in a week or two.

But a month passed, then another, and the pain only got worse.

Around the same time, I noticed I wasn't sleeping through the night anymore. I was waking up violently, my legs kicking and my arms twisting.

Finally, in late February, I went to the doctor. I knew what the problem was before I made the appointment.

My doctor is a kind woman at the Iowa Clinic who tolerates my fear of doctor's offices and flightiness in going to appointments. The X-rays revealed arthritis and narrowing of my spinal cavity.

The cause? Well, it would be the hundreds of pounds of extra flesh I carry around every day.

The nurse didn't say it like that. But that's how it felt.

My doctor prescribed some medicines for the pain. She referred me to the Mercy Weight Loss Clinic in West Des Moines for counseling.

She also referred me to the Iowa Clinic Sleep Center to be tested for possible sleep apnea — the culprit, of course, being obesity.

And she referred me to a physical therapist to work on strengthening the muscles around my back. The physical therapy is at a Mercy Clinic on the south side of Des Moines.

The therapist was encouraging. She told me I was going to get a lot better.

But man, I tell you, it's about as humbling an experience as I've ever had to be able to walk only about 150 feet without feeling extreme pain and needing to sit down.

***

I turn 40 later this year, and I saw visions of myself in a wheelchair or on motorized scooter.

I recalled all the jokes friends post in their social media feeds about fat people going through drive-thru on their scooters.

This worry is hardly new. It's been years since I could buy a T-shirt at a concert or ballgame.

I don't fit into seats at most public venues anymore. I'm too large to sit in booths at most restaurants.

And I'm always anxious when I visit an office waiting room with chairs that have arms. They're usually too narrow for my wide rear end.

My legs hurt. In the summer, I suffer a cycle of calf injuries.

One pulls. It heals. Then the other one goes.

Close friends have encouraged me in stern and comforting tones. Yet I ignored them.

WANT TO LOSE WEIGHT? Here are some options

I like food. I don't know if I want to go through the rest of my life eating a leaf of kale and two scoops of vitamin supplements and sipping a thimble of water.

I am exaggerating. But that's how it feels in my head.

The thought terrifies me of no more pizza, nachos, chicken wings, Mountain Dew or fries.

And even scarier: When I type that sentence, it frightens me how much I sound like an addict.

I know the obvious solution: Eat less. Move more.

It's good advice, but I've let things go to an extent that movement is difficult.

My good friend Aric West has helped me carry in groceries for a month or more because I just can't lift anything much more than a magazine.

I am terrified of surgery, in part because I've never had any.

This model has all original equipment, including my tonsils and appendix.

The thought of gastric surgery — cutting or altering my stomach — seems like such an extreme choice, even though I know my condition is deadly serious.

The good news is the nutritionist at the weight loss clinic was encouraging.

She described surgery as a last resort in a long list of options. For now at least, I'm opting for diet and exercise.

***

This is a long road and the hardest. More than 95 percent of diets fail, according to a study by the Council on Size and Weight Discrimination.

Sixty-six percent of dieters regain their weight within a year. Some 97 percent regain it within five years.

Were I to have surgery, I might be able to cut as much as 60 percent of my excess weight within a year.

I weighed 563 pounds at my last weigh-in. I could be down to about 338 in a year.

But that means cutting out a large chunk of a healthy organ that's functioning properly.

What isn't functioning properly is my decision making.

I'm not stupid. I know pop is liquid candy.

I know fast food is a poor choice, as are nachos and fried food.

One of the main reasons to have a gastric sleeve is that not only is the stomach made smaller, but the hormones that produce cravings are reduced.

Cravings have never been my problem. Depression and anxiety are my problems.

I eat when I'm sad. I eat when I'm anxious or manic.

I eat to socialize. I eat to feel. I eat to suppress feelings.

There's a wound inside me that just won't heal. I try to salve it by stuffing my face.

I work with a terrific therapist on these issues. Some of them are so deeply personal I won't get into them here. But therapy, my nutritionist notes, is an important part of weight loss.

By the way, I'm not writing off my obesity to mental illness. There's a difference between a reason and an excuse.

I know I'm responsible for my actions. And I'm the only person who can really fix the problem.

***

So, I chose the long road.

I know it's fraught with peril, and failure is commonplace. But that's true of being a journalist in the 21st century, too.

Yet I keep making paragraphs.

I've scheduled several meetings. I'm tracking my food on an app for my smartphone. I'm sharing this story with the readers of the Register.

And I've been sharing bits and pieces of the early stages of the journey through Twitter and Facebook.

I initially resisted this, but I've grown to like the cheers from friends old and new encouraging me.

It keeps me accountable. People are watching.

I'm setting realistic goals. Maybe a pound or two a week, 50 or 52 pounds a year.

It took me a long time to gain the weight. It will take time to lose it.

Often, when I tell a story about myself, especially a serious one, some angry readers will accuse me of wanting people to feel sorry for me.

That isn't the case.

Obesity, according to the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, is shared by more than a 1 million Iowans, and nearly 79 million Americans.

I write about my weight struggles not as a plea for sympathy, but to offer a voice in the cacophony of mean "fatty" comments and scolding moralists.

The message is this: After nearly three weeks and a string of doctor appointments, this was the first time in years I've felt better about my health.

I haven't lost 300 pounds yet. I've blown my calorie limit a few times.

But many times I've made my steps goal and been well below my calorie goal for the day.

Those days feel great.

My back hurts, but more so thanks to the therapy.

My second trip to the physical therapist, I made two laps before I had to stop.

The other day, I made the circuit upstairs at Valley West Mall.

I had to stop four times, but I made it.

That strength is born of knowledge and hope.

And no matter how bad things are in anyone's life or health, hope is the most powerful muscle there is.

DANIEL P. FINNEY, the Register's Metro Voice columnist, is a Drake University alumnus who grew up in Winterset and east Des Moines. Reach him at 515-284-8144 or dafinney@dmreg.com. Twitter:@newsmanone.