Found And Lost, Part 7

 (Juparo - Broke For Free)

Most men probably don't appreciate lingerie as much as they should, or for all of the appropriate reasons.

I'm not saying that we don't appreciate it. I'm just prepared to take a punt that most guys won't appreciate some of the specifics about it that they should.

Like how much of a pain in the ass it is to put stockings on.

This is the point where I should probably mention that I've never had to put stockings on, but I'm told that the process bears a striking resemblance to what you have to go through to put compression socks on, and HOLY HELL, it's a pain in the ass!

For the uninitiated, the whole point of compression socks is to squeeze the leg they cover to help encourage fluid circulation.  Once you get the things on, most folks agree that they feel wonderful to wear.  Getting them on, however...

Compression socks don't want to go on.  They want to stay in your drawer, sleeping peacefully.  Putting one on involves a process conceptually similar to the application of a male prophylactic.  You get the inner tip of the sock over the tips of your toes and then sort of...roll/pull the sock on over your foot, your ankle, and then your calf.  You have to do all of this while keeping your seams straight, or there could be discomfort.  A lot of it.

Like lingerie, they look great once they're on, and BY GOD, they work.

Well...when I say they work...

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"I won't lie, you've got less swelling here than you did a month ago, but I'm still not really happy with how much edema I'm seeing," my physician said while palpating my right shin.  

"After everything we've been through so far, are you really surprised?" I asked dryly.  We were in the first half of October and the weather had still not gotten cold enough to merit the wearing of long pants for those of us more generously insulated.  Shorts made the exam easier anyway.  

I had weighed in earlier at 435, and avoided yelling at the scale again.

"...That's fair," she replied, sitting back up on her stool.  "Can I made a radical suggestion?"  I shrugged and made a little 'Go Ahead' gesture with my head.  "If you're retaining this much fluid, your body may need a little help getting the evacuation started.  I'd like you to consider a low dose of something called Hydrochlorathiazide.  It's referred to as a 'Water Pill'."

She waited for a moment then, watching me process everything:

- My physician knows I don't like to take pills.
- My physician knows that I'm going to leave this appointment, go home, and do my own research about the med.  She knows that this research will involve a phone call to a Pharmacist/Chemist/Microbiologist friend of mine who will give me the skinny as bluntly as possible.
- ...In spite of all of this, my physician is still suggesting this to me.

"Alright," I said slowly.  "Walk me through this."

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Turns out, there wasn't much to walk through.  HCT is one of those ancient drugs that we pretty much know everything about.  It was originally designed to treat high blood pressure.  Over the years, a whole host of other uses for it have emerged, and it's now the 'Go To' drug for anyone retaining a crap-ton of water when they shouldn't be.

My physician was adamant that this was not going to be a maintenance medication, and that once my edema had receded, I wouldn't be required to take it any longer.  She was also adamant that I could stop taking the drug whenever I wanted to; a standard 25mg dose would be out of my system in short order.  Doubly so considering how it worked.

HCT is a diuretic. Translation: You pee a lot when you take it.

I was given four additional instructions with regards to taking it:

1. Start taking a Mens Multivitamin.  I would be passing enough liquid through my body on the HCT that I would need to be sure I was replacing anything that I was rinsing out.

2. Take it with food.  You'll regret it if you don't.

3. Drink more water.  At least 64 ounces a day.  Your urine should be faintly yellow and not have much odor if you're consuming enough water.

4. For the love of God, take it in the morning. not the evening.  Otherwise, you'll be sleeping on the toilet.

It wasn't any more complicated than that, really.  There was one extra item that my physician didn't really warn me about though:  

5. Be near a toilet.  Always.  When it happens, it'll happen like a hammer blow, and you'll have about 60 seconds.

The running gag around my friends was, "Well, if you'll excuse me, it's been 40 minutes..."  It would have been funnier if it wasn't so damned accurate.  My God.  

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Everyone agreed that I was making solid enough progress that I could probably hold off of my next visit until after the Thanksgiving holiday..  I was making solid enough progress that it wasn't necessary for me to come in every month, no matter how much I wanted to.

That, in and of itself, was something that I was still getting used to.  I wanted to go back and see my specialists.  I liked going to see them.  Admittedly, that probably had something to do with the fact that I was making forward progress now.

Early December 2019 arrived.  If anything, I was even more eager to go and speak with my team of specialists than I ever had been before.  I'd found occasion to be up at the medical complex where my doctors worked between visits.  I couldn't resist running into the Bariatric Center and borrowing their scale to get a better look at where things had landed.

Thanksgiving hadn't been bad to me.  It had actually been rather good.  On the morning of my early December check-up, I weighed in at 428 pounds.

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I greeted my psychologist like an old friend now.  It wouldn't have been professional to give the man a hug, but it was close.  He would walk me back to his office, let me get settled, and then close the blinds behind him.  He'd figured out a few months ago that the light coming in from his windows was causing me some discomfort and had promptly sent a note around to everyone else that I was working with asking them if they wouldn't mind awfully pulling their blinds whenever I was in the room.

Like I said, everyone there is just...nice.

"You're close to your first major weight loss milestone," he said once we'd both gotten settled.  "You've lost close to 30 pounds now.  How do you feel?"

I wobbled one hand.  "I understand the number in the abstract, and I know how much 30 pounds is.  I just...don't really feel that might lighter."  I smiled a little. "Maybe that'll change once I finally break 420."  

My psychologist laughed a little. "Knowing you, I sincerely doubt it.  Let me ask you this: You just walked through the most food-centric holiday in America.  I would have been super happy if you'd simply maintained your weight, but you continued losing weight at your steady pace.  Any idea what you did to make that happen?"

"Absolutely no fucking clue," I responded immediately, and then laughed. "Sorry."  This made him laugh in turn, leaning back in his chair.  "I love talking with you, do you know that?  You're intelligent, motivated, and have absolutely no compulsion about speaking your mind.  I don't get that a lot."

I snorted. "That's me.  A big mouth and poor impulse control."  Then I shrugged. "I honestly don't know.  I could speculate though.  My general level of activity is higher than it's probably been in the last 15 years.  I eat better.  I eat less.  Assuming I'm still benefitting from my caloric deficit, I have to assume that's what's responsible."

My psychologist nodded. "That was our assessment as well, for what it's worth.  Are you happy with the progress that you've made so far?"

I hand-wobbled again. "Honestly? No.  I acknowledge that the progress is good, but my deficit supports a much lower body weight.  I get that slow, steady weight loss is ideal and that I should be grateful. I'd be lying if I said I didn't want it to happen faster though."

"It'll happen.  I imagine you'll have reached your next major milestone of 400 around summertime, and be well on your way beyond it.  Any plans for the holiday?"

"I need to start thinking about what I'm going to do after walking no longer turns the trick.  Sooner or later, it won't be enough to keep the stone moving, as it were.  I imagine I'm going to have to start looking at resistance band training or something.  No one seems inclined to recommend jogging or the gym to me right now."

"I was talking about plans with your loved ones," he countered gently.  "I know you want to focus on this and crush it to death, but now is an important time to talk about taking some down-time."  He gestured to me with one hand.  "You've got this thing by the arm now, and the temptation will be to simply step up what you're doing to make it happen faster.  I understand that urge, but it's a terrible idea."  He leaned in a little.  "You need to take at least two days out of each week when you're not walking and when you're not watching your food intake like a hawk.  Period.  Doctor's orders."

I blinked slowly back at him.  "I get the concept of cheat days, but..."

"Honestly, I hate that people call them 'cheat days'.  Taking time off is not bad.  Taking time off is not ill-advised.  It's not something to be ashamed of or a sign of weakness.  It's something to be planned for, to be anticipated."  For a moment, his voice grew slightly more stern.  "It's good for you."  Then he leaned back again, and his smile returned.  "Now, let's try this again: Any plans for the holiday?"