Thursday, October 17, 2024 at 1:55 AM
Hey Friends and Conspirators, here’s this week’s Fatman Journal. Still hanging at 329, down from 377 at the first of August. I’m on my 12th week of Mounjaro. And I’m still working at working the plan, but honestly, I think I fail more often than not. I need to figure out how to juggle priorities. Of course, there’s the whole career thing, but mores to the point, I’m easily distracted by the latest pet project, or beating the mental shit out of flat earthers and Apollo deniers here online. Before I know it, it’s late, and I haven’t space pantsed yet. Or worse, I was up real late, (why do my ideas always come at 2:30am?), and then I’m up real late in the morning with no time to pedal or put on the damn compression socks. I gotta get it figured out.
Thank God (said the atheist) for the Mounjaro. Dr. E wrote me a script bumping up the dosage, so I’ll be turboing the weight loss. But also damn Lilly and the new insurance. Four weeks and four doses of that sweet sweet liquid willpower retails for $1,400. Discounts get it right down to a grand. Dr E’s minion said the new insurance is pushing back. They only perscribe if I’m diabetic. Slim chance I might be pre-pre-diabetic. I could probably swing a month or two paying out of pocket, and I’m working with the Doc’s office for alternatives. It’s a very real possibility I’ll be going the compounding route. It’s a bit scary, because it’s made and not manufactured; it’ll most likely be a traditional shot instead of the handy one dose injector; and it’s possible that rug will get yanked out from under too. Don’t know if you’ve been following the news, but the FDA put the kibosh on compounding because the shortage was over, which was overturned after some pretty nasty lawsuits, and I’m also seeing that Lilly’s lawyers are going hard on patients who are relying on the compounded Monjauro. They’re asking people if they legit need the compounded, (are you really a diabetic?) where they get it, how much, etc… They’re asking people they’ve priced out of the market to rat out those who are helping the most. God forbid they should knock 8 or 900 dollars off the price. No, I’m not googling “How do I fake diabetes on a blood test?”.
Something that’s been on my mind alot lately is how quickly embarrasing workarounds and kludges for morbidly obese problems become accepted and normal. I’m really (too?) good at creative solutions to the little nuisances and most of the “big” dilemmas. I’ll spare you the details about the more graphic and silly bodily function tools and hacks. Did you know that there’s an entire industry devoted to devices that solve any particular problem that comes with being “a man of a certain size”? Google “morbidly obese aids” sometime. You’ll be shocked and amazed.
If you know know me, you know that I am clumsy personified. I drop stuff All.The.Time. Bottle caps to french fries; Security access cards for the job to entire bottles of Aleve for my aching and swollen body. In my house, everything eventually winds up on the floor. If it’s down and I need it back up, I need to get myself down and then back up. Which means I need help. I can’t just stand up. Which means dragging a stool to the scene of the crime to pull myself back up again, which means the stool needs to be dragged back to where I got it. Or not. I found the perfect hack for those situations. An extra long set of rubber coated barbecue tongs. Never mind what they were originally for. But what I can’t tong up more often than not gets kicked under something and I keep the ant spray handy for those invetible droppings of food. I’ve even full on dropped myself twice in the past nine months. Falling down terrifies me. It hurts, and if I do fall down again, there’s a good chance I’ll have a busted lip or gigantic bruise to show for it. But what really puts the fear in me is if I fall and there’s nothing to help me back up. No nearby chair, stool, or box to help hoist my 300 and then some pounds back up. Do I army crawl to the nearest low surface? Do I just lay there, hoping somebody will show up? Do I tell Alexa to call 911?
Speaking of embarrasing fat man problems, I’ve had family and friends and even a few not very close aquaintences tell me that they were worried about my health. The not so subcontext being that I am enormously fat and I might die. That should be plenty of motivation, right? But honestly, it’s really not all that motivating. Absolutely I’d like to avoid it if I can, but the reality is I’m worth more in the box than out. The kids get a free house and enough cash to fuel any education/car/marriage/business/hobby need that they might have, and I’ll finally get a full night’s sleep. I’m much more motivated by the idea, (I was going to say fantasy, but that’s not positive thinking, is it?) of finally getting under the kitchen sink and fixing the disposal; of putting on shoes with actual laces; of putting on pants without having to sit down; and of being able to reach parts of me that I haven’t reached in a very long time. I dream of being normal. I just got to work the plan, and it’ll happen. I know it will. I just hope it happens sooner than later.