Surgery For Ken

Hi there.

Being open and honest about myself in a public forum is something I’ve tended to avoid, seeing as how I could only imagine such open honesty leading to the kind of awkward embarrassment I’ve dreaded since taking up the mantle - unopposed, mind you - of “The Fat Kid” in elementary school.

Still, a title is a title, so I guarded it jealously for the rest of my young and then into adult life until just a few short years ago.

To struggle in private is to know that retreat remains an easy option, so I chose to make a public statement about my decision not to kill myself (albeit slowly) via my spiraling weight and set about actually doing something to fix my lifelong problem. (You can read that here: http://asitecalledfred.com/bit-of-a-chat-from-ken-plume/ )

Why the public statement?

To cut off that easy line of retreat.

Now people I knew and cared about (and a not inconsiderable amount of total strangers) knew I had embarked down this road to recovery.

So, about a four years ago, I set about trying to fix the mess I’d made of my life, and began losing weight through the radical method of eating less and exercising.

One thing I neglected to mention in that little statement of purpose (linked above) is just how much I weighed when I finally decided enough was enough. That’s because - while I’m being honest, and all - I really don’t know exactly. Oh, and I was embarrassed. And felt pathetic about… well, everything. There comes a point when the measuring equipment in your average doctor’s office simply doesn’t register your weight. I was literally “off the scale”. Short of traveling to a local zoo for the proper one, I just started giving a number. Every time they asked, I’d tell them “415″, and they’d write it down, and we’d both be complicit in this little farce that was my health. But the one thing I do know is that my actual weight was north of 500lbs. How far north, I have no idea. Possibly Manitoba.

So, let’s just say, for the sake of argument (and a starting point), I was 500lbs at my absolute worst.

Odd that finally saying that is like another weight coming off. But there it is. Terrible, isn’t it? The weight, I mean. Disgustingly, revoltingly, pathetically terrible in ways almost too numerous to count, but I’d wager the total’d be around 500. Or so.

Anyhoo, my necessary downward spiral (weightwise) began, and about 6 months into it, I wrote that little piece about the journey and blah blah blah, one foot in front of the other.

Anyone who occasionally peers at my Twitter stream over the past few years (or the streams of friends I’ve encountered on my journeys) will probably notice that I’m wearing a jacket in every photo. It’s a very nice fleece jacket - which is perfect for chilly weather, but not too perfect for anything over, say, 80 degrees Fahrenheit.

AND YET, I've worn this coat (not the *same* coat - I do have a few of them) in temperatures over 100 degrees, in Atlanta, California, Floriday, at theme parks, in New York City, when I go to the store... Everywhere.

I must be insane, right?

Possibly.

But I definitely am embarrassed.

Since I’ve already traveled this far down candor road, I should let you know that while I’ve lost massive amounts of weight, there’s a terrible legacy that can’t be lost. Consider it my body’s scarlet letter marking everything I inflicted on it for decades.

Take a balloon. Notice how it looks when it’s new, prior to inflation. All small and smooth. Now blow it up as much as you possibly can, short of bursting. Now tie it off, and let it sit around for a few weeks, until it slowly deflates. Now take note of the saggy, baggy latex left behind. Hey HEY! THAT’S ME!

Short of expensive surgery, there’s no way I will ever be “normal”. Granted, I’ve never been “normal”, so I have no idea what it’s like to be “normal”.

But that, my friends, is why I wear the jacket.

I recently had the opportunity to housesit for a friend in Brooklyn, and while housesitting, I learned that there was a plastic surgeon that performed the very basic, most medically-impactful form of what is known as "body-contouring", the "panniculectomy". This is where a massive hunk of that enlarged balloon is lopped off and the bits of you are sewn back together. It's grisly, but life-changing for someone like me who just wants to have a semblance of "normal" after a long, difficult journey to health. You can listen to the conversation I had with the surgeon here: https://www.patreon.com/posts/bit-of-chat-with-7061709

The surgery is possible, but expensive. An opportunity to have the procedure done before the end of the year, by the surgeon who is preeminent in the field, has presented itself. Why before the end of the year? Because my current health insurance plan (the entire tier for anyone who was on it) has been eliminated by my carrier, and will be downgraded to a lesser plan next year.

I know this is a big ask, but this surgery is an important thing for me in emotional and deeply embarrassing ways. Normally, I would speak nothing of this, resign myself to it not happening, and move on. But I was encouraged by friends and family to reach out to any and all who may be willing to help. If you've ever enjoyed anything I've done, or ever wanted to support me or just show you care, supporting this would mean the world to me.

And, for anyone who is interested - And because it's what I do - I will be documenting the process, with the participation of my doctor, in hopes that it may prove illuminating to others either curious or on a similar path.

Thank you for your support...

-Ken