I'm Not Heavy, I'm Your Brother

In 2012, having been diagnosed some years earlier as diabetic, I went to a check-up at my doctor in Riverside, California. She did not have the best bedside manner. My weight was 147. 147. I am not certain how I pulled that off--but it was the lightest I had been since I was probably 23. I was based, amped, and stoked. I celebrated in front of the doctor. Her response--and I paraphrase: Don't get too excited. Your body is full of fat. If you'd like, we can schedule an MRI and I can show you. She told me that, like Wagyu, my body was marbled, there was fat everywhere interstitially. 

MGM Grand, Vegas, 2012

I didn't thank her for raining on my parade nor did I criticize her.  .   . at least not to her face. I told the story to anyone who would listen. I have never ballooned up like I was back in the immediate post-child having years. When I worked as general counsel, I used to eat lunch regularly at the Renton Uwajimaya, which was just across the parking lot from the office. That wasn't the sole culprit. I don't blame my failing pancreas alone, but on really poor choices and lack of exercise. I actually believe my peak weight, before diagnosis was over 200 lbs., close to 15 stone according to the Brits (why do we use English weights and measures but have eschewed the use of the "stone" measurement?). That was in 2008. I lost much of that weight well before moving to California in 2011 and just kept shedding it. Last year, before going on a GLP-1 for my diabetic ass, I was around 172. I am stocky, so I felt that wasn't great, but not terrible. My body mass index said I was obese at that weight. Yesterday, I weighed 155.8, making my BMI 25.1, obese. This morning, dripping wet I was 154.8--which equals 24.85 BMI.  For the first time since 2012 or 2013, I am measured as if I am at normal range. It has been a long, long road, with many a dining curve.  That said, not only am I still full of shit, but as the Riverside doctor told me, I am still a fat head.

All of my belts are too big and punching additional holes makes them incredibly long on the end that has already gone through the belt buckle. My pants won't stay on, and I am routinely nauseous--a known side effect of the medicine. I am barely eating and feel full constantly. My muscle mass is for shit, and I still have out of control blood sugar levels. This doesn't bode well for a long life, but I am resigned to this. What is the greater dilemma for me is that I don't know whether to proceed with the continued use of this second GLP-1--the first had me vomiting routinely, crawling on the floor to the toilet in the middle of the night on more than one occasion. I am sworn off sushi as a result. This second version has a greater threshold before nausea ensues. However, today, like yesterday, I can't fucking eat. Not a thing. I have zero hunger. I have the problem of looking at any food at times--like now--of instantly wanting to vomit. Just thinking about food almost takes me to Nauseria, the land of the vomitocious.