This is the fourth in a series of I-still-have-no-idea-how-many parts about a gastric bypass operation that I underwent in 2006. To read the first part, click here, to read the second part, click here and to read the third part, click here.
By January of 2006, after months of trying to get on Dr. Perfect's waitlist for Gastric Bypass Surgery, I was starting to seriously think I might not go through with it. That is, if I ever got on the list and if I didn't have to wait until the following decade. One thing that scared me a bit was a remark by one of the many technicians who administered medical tests I had during 2005. I don't remember which test — there were a helluva lot of them — but I remember talking to this one gent about the process and he said — well, let me see if I can re-create the conversation for you. It went something like this…
HIM: I had a buddy who had it done and it did wonders for him. He dropped a ton of weight.
ME: Did it have any downsides for him?
HIM: Well, the obvious ones…buying all new clothes, getting used to ordering tiny meals in restaurants and not being able to finish them. I'd say the biggest problem he had was the carbonation thing.
ME: What carbonation thing?
HIM: After the surgery, you have to give up carbonated drinks. No Coke, no Pepsi, no Mountain Dew…none of that stuff. Didn't anybody tell you?
No, no one had told me. That afternoon, I was on the phone to Dr. Preston who said, "Geez, I could've sworn I told you. It's not an absolute no-no but you kind of need to cut those drinks out. After the surgery, your stomach will be about the size of an egg and it'll be enough of a struggle to get enough protein into it every day without those gas bubbles filling it up. Is that a problem?"
For me, it was. One of the reason I'd gotten so large was that I was addicted to soft drinks. I was putting away around a six-pack a day…usually Pepsi or Coke during daylight hours, something without caffeine (usually 7-Up or Canada Dry Ginger Ale) in the evenings. That was so the caffeine didn't keep me up all night. Sometimes though when deadlines required me to be up all night, I used a cola or two or three to make that happen…and no, I never liked coffee.
Working well into the night was one of the things that caused me to get hooked on the stuff. Another was that there were times I'd find myself dozing off during the day or at inopportune moments like — and I actually did this — when I was driving on the freeway. I downed a lot of colas to keep awake in those situations.
This was before I was diagnosed with Sleep Apnea. Once I was, I managed to get the dozing-off under control but I still had the addiction to sodas and, believe me, I tried to quit. Many times. I was honestly afraid that even after Gastric Bypass Surgery and massive weight loss, I'd be suffering whatever G.P.S. patients suffered as a result of chug-a-lugging a Pepsi.
On a scale of one-to-ten with "10" denoting certainty I'd go ahead full speed with the operation and "1" denoting a complete chicken-out, I was at about a "7." The news about having to quit sodas knocked me down to a "5" or "6." Fortunately in February, three things occurred that got me back up to…oh. I'd say a "9."
The first occurred on February 5, 2006. I took my lady friend Carolyn up to Freud Hall at U.C.L.A. to see the musical City of Angels — book by Larry Gelbart, lyrics by David Zippel, music by Cy Coleman. It was an excellent production of an excellent musical and because I was with Carolyn, we were late getting there. Carolyn was a lovely, talented, wonderful lady but whenever we went anywhere, even when I lied to her about when we had to be there, we were late. We got to our seats about one second before the show started and on the way in, I was in too much of a hurry to grab a program book.
Everyone in the cast was terrific but the standout performance was by the guy playing the head of the movie studio, Buddy Fidler. I didn't recognize the actor but he was incredible — funny, energetic, dynamic. I made a mental note to grab one of the ersatz Playbills at intermission and find out who this person was. When I found out, I was amazed. It was Stuart Pankin.
I'd seen Stuart Pankin in many TV shows and movies. He was very talented but he was also very chubby. Somehow, he'd lost a pretty significant amount of weight…enough to look slender and to have tremendous energy on stage. There was even one scene where he had his shirt off and I thought, "Oh, if I ever lose as many pounds as I want to, I hope I look that good with my shirt off." I left the play more determined than I'd been in a long time to undergo the Gastric Bypass Surgery.
That was 2/5/06. On 2/9/06, I was scheduled to fly up to San Francisco to be a guest and conduct panels at that year's WonderCon. I didn't make it because on 2/7/06, my feet started hurting a lot — both of them — and they were uncommonly pinkish in color. The pains kept me up much of the night and the next morning, Carolyn came over and we took a cab (since she didn't drive and I couldn't) to my podiatrist, who I'll call Dr. Bunion. He took one look at my lower extremities and asked me who my physician was. I told him it was Dr. Preston, whose office was conveniently in the same building.
Dr. Bunion phoned Dr. Preston and I heard him say, "I've got Mark Evanier in my office and I think he has Cellulitis. I'm sending him up and you need to take a look at him." We went upstairs and Dr. Preston confirmed the diagnosis. For those of you wondering what Cellulitis is…wonder no more. Here's another cut-'n'-paste from Wikipedia…
Cellulitis is usually a bacterial infection involving the inner layers of the skin. It specifically affects the dermis and subcutaneous fat. Signs and symptoms include an area of redness which increases in size over a few days. The borders of the area of redness are generally not sharp and the skin may be swollen. While the redness often turns white when pressure is applied, this is not always the case. The area of infection is usually painful.
Cellulitis, I learned, can be a very serious condition but as Dr. Preston assured me, we'd caught it so early that it was extremely treatable. "Here's what you're going to do," he said. "We're going to check you into a hospital and you're going to lie there for four or five days while they pump antibiotics into you through intravenous therapy." So they checked me into a hospital and I was in bed there for four or five days while they pumped antibiotics into me. But first, of course, I called the folks at WonderCon and told them I wasn't coming.
It was the first time I'd been in a hospital since my age was in single digits and my appendix needed to flee my large intestine. I remember thinking of it as kind of a rehearsal for if and when I ever got to avail myself of Dr. Perfect's specialty. The nurses brought me three kinda-edible meals a day and then every evening, one would come by at 10 PM and check my blood sugar. If it was below a certain number I don't remember, she'd have the hospital kitchen send up a hamburger for me, then check a half-hour after I'd eaten it to make sure my blood sugar was now in the proper range.
I'm not sure if that was the main reason but it was probably a contributing factor to what was for me, a minor miracle. On my last day there, I suddenly realized I'd gone the entire time without a carbonated beverage. It was not a conscious effort. In those strange surroundings, ordering my meals from a menu that didn't include sodas as an option, it had simply not entered my mind. I vowed then and there I would never consume another one and as I write this, I've kept that vow for over nineteen years and seven months.
So that problem was solved…and the day after I was released from the hospital, I got a call from someone in Dr. Perfect's office telling me I was on the list. That was the good news. The bad news was that I was scheduled for January of 2007 — eleven months away.
Dr. Preston told me to not to take that seriously. A lot of people would drop off the list, either because they chickened or because they grew impatient (or couldn't afford to wait that long) and went to another surgeon. A week or two later, he worked whatever magic he had at his disposal and suddenly, I was scheduled for mid-August of 2006.
I remember thinking that was a fairly good date. That year's Comic-Con International in San Diego was July 20-23 and I didn't want to miss it. Dr. Preston had told me that following the surgery, I should spend at least two weeks — preferably more — staying home, taking it easy. So having G.B.S. after Comic-Con seemed preferable to having it…say, in early July. By now, I had pretty well decided to go through with it.
There was just one possible snag: I hadn't met Dr. Perfect yet. I had a date in early April to go in and meet him and be examined by him, after which he would do a thorough review of the medium-sized mountain of test results and scans his office had accumulated about me. I asked Dr. Preston, "Is it possible he'll look all that and me over and find some reason not to do the surgery on me?"
"Highly unlikely," Dr. Preston said. "I wouldn't worry about it." And he didn't…but I did. To be, as they say, continued.
