Everything went well yesterday. I even lost a bit of weight, which was a shock after the three celebrations last week. The best thing was that I returned to my favorite weight management doctor who worked with me four years ago. It was like seeing an old friend. I explained about the pneumonia last September and December and my resolve to fight sliding into lung transplants. My goal was to lose ten pounds and to kick up my exercise routine. I actually lost over twenty pounds and still exercise eight times a week.
No more pneumonia.
She then went back into my records to find my highest weight. It was 2006, after being on large dosages of prednisone for a year. I never looked at the scale but I just knew it was bad as the photos during that time showed a HUGE face. I was stunned to learn how much I weighed. She then looked at me and said, "Do you realize that you have lost ninety-pounds?"
Ninety-pounds. Wow. That is a lot of weight.
She then told me that when they are dealing with obesity, they try to find the trigger to kick into the patients head. They suddenly get it and the weight falls off. Mine was life or death. It was not about what size clothing I wanted to wear or what I wanted to weigh. It was about meeting the 25-30 BMI to be prepared for lung transplants.
Right now is the most fit I have ever been. Being given a bad diagnosis made me deal with my weight for the first time. I had to face it head on. My job suddenly became working out everyday. It has been my primary focus beginning in 2006 when Dr. K. told me about pulmonary rehab. I know that it has slowed the progress of the fibrosis in my lungs and I have a much better quality of life than if I had just sat, depressed on a couch and waited for death.
I chose to fight to live.
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