I'm not gonna lie . . . . 2016 ended on a shitty note. In October of that year, I had ballooned to 386 pounds and made the decision to have a Vertical Sleeve Gastrectomy (VSG). Much different than the "lap band" or "gastric bypass" surgery, they actually reshape the size of my stomach to about the size of your fist.
I was at my lowest point. There were days where I wouldn't even get out of bed, much less leave my apartment. My energy was at an all time low and my desire to be productive had disappeared. I was sick and tired of feeling like crap, so I made the decision to actually do something about it. I had previously tried every diet known to man, but nothing would stick. I had to face the fact that I was (and still am) an emotional eater.
Fired from a job? I'd go grab sushi to comfort myself. Got a promotion? Let's eat Italian! You pick the emotion or real life scenario and I had a food sequence built around it.
So, I started a liquid diet at the end of October, the day after my brothers wedding reception. I coined that evening my "last supper". The next day, I began drinking flavored waters that were zero calorie and ate chicken broth. I proceeded to eat those items, drink Muscle Milks and have an occasional sugar-free popsicle for something different.
Photo Credit - Public Domain / World Atlas
Two weeks later, I traveled to Piedras Negras, Mexico to have the procedure. I was told that I had already lost 20 pounds, which put me in a great frame of mind that this was the right choice for me. The final meal cutoff was 10 pm that night and some of the other patients had decided to go to the buffet next door at 8:00 pm. Since I had a prior history of complications from anaesthesia, I stopped eating/drinking at about noon that day, so I opted to stay in bed and lay low.
After my surgery, the complications I experienced were minor. Some soreness around the belly and a few stomach burning sensations. Since I had nothing in my system, I didn't need to vomit or have gas pain. The other patients were having a lot of problems. I was so glad I stayed home that night.
Anyway, the final visit from the doctor was met with "keep doing what you are doing", get "100 grams of protein in every day" and in 2 more weeks you can "graduate to soft foods." I didn't know if I could make it that long, but I was determined to do my damnedest. The next day, I flew back to my family in Tulsa, Oklahoma, as opposed to flying all the way back to my permanent home in Pasadena, California. My logic was that the flight would be shorter, I could spend some quality time with family, enjoy the holidays and then fly back to California after the Rose Bowl was over.
So, I'm in Tulsa. The weather sucks. I'm pounding Muscle Milks, which I'm beginning to hate and I'm really getting cranky. "If I can just make it to the 14th day, I can start eating soft food, I murmured under my breath.
On the last day (30th) of my liquid diet, my best friend picked me up to run errands with him. Since I was on the mend, the plan was that I was going to drive his old junker car to the car crusher. He was going to follow me and then I would ride with him for the rest of the afternoon and we would reminisce, like we used to before I moved.
I spent 30 minutes trying to get the car to start and it wouldn't. This was odd because it worked fine the night before. The executive decision was to skip the crusher and move on to the other things he had to do. Next up was to take his C-PAP machine in to get serviced. While he was inside, I chose to stay in the car because I had a tummy ache.
When he came back outside, he found me slumped over and passed out. In a panic, he ran back into the store and told them to call 911 because I was having a heart attack. Me? I was out like a light and had no idea what happened.
(This is the exact spot where they began CPR and tried to revive me)
According to my friend, 4 ladies from inside the C-PAP place grabbed me out of the car and began administering CPR. The few other people that were there were praying and crying. In 4 minutes, EMSA showed up to use, what they call "The Plunger" to try and kickstart my heart (Motley Crue Reference #1).
A normal-sized person only gets 4 paddle blasts. For some reason, I was the lucky recipient of 7. The 7th zap did the trick because they whisked me away to St. Francis Hospital. Rather than type an even longer-winded rant, I'm going to condense the rest of this story into bullet-sized bits.
When they zapped me, they shredded my clothes.
I was officially dead for over 11 minutes and began to have seizures (no oxygen)
All of my identification was shredded (passport, drivers license, credit cards, etc)
In the Emergency Room, I was admitted as "John Doe - Aged 53". I was 46.
The next step was that I should be placed in an "ice suit" and put into a coma.
The doctor said I was too old and I could not have the suit.
My father and sister went to war with them until they put me in the suit to shut them up.
I was in a coma for 3 days.
The doctors told anyone that would listen the following :
a) I had a less than 1% chance of living.
b) If I did live, I would be a vegetable.
c) I would need physical and speech therapy, if I survived.
d) The chances of getting a stroke were high.
The big day arrived and they brought me back to consciousness, very doubtful that I would ever wake up.
Shockingly, I woke up, but had major short-term memory loss. They started referring to me as "Miracle Man".
I spent my first two days pissed off because I thought everyone had played an elaborate joke on me. There were people that came to the hospital from every era of my life. High School friends, College friends, Music friends, Wrestling friends, California friends, family members and neighbors.
I sat in my bed in complete disbelief as they retold the story to me. I still don't believe it really happened, but it did.
December 2, 2016 is the day I croaked and lived to tell about it.
16 months later, I am still recovering and healing from the Cardiac Arrest and am disabled. I spend my days learning about cryptocurrency, driving for Postmates on occasion and listening to music. I'm on government assistance and continue to work freelance as a copywriter, dogsitter, jack-of-all-trades, master-of-nothing.
Nice to meet you.
(All pictures are mine, except for the images from Wikipedia, which are Public Domain).
