Shouldn't I have two of these?

I didn't really sleep too well in the couple of days preceding my trip back to Detroit for the Centurion Club ceremony and my one-year checkup. The speech had me pretty nervous. I didn't have any idea what to expect, I suppose. I was picturing a similar set-up to the seminar Erich and I attended before my surgery: Small room with about 25 people. Um, I was not correct.

Weighing myself Tuesday morning, that damn number staring back at me was like a slap in the face. Gained three pounds? Whaaaa? Seriously? I'd never gained more than one pound - one time - since my surgery. And I would be expected to give my present weight at the door when I went into the ceremony. Hm. Well that sucks. But I could still claim 50% of my total body weight gone, which still sounded good.

When we got to the residency on campus and checked in, I changed clothes and went over my speech. As I mentioned in my last blog, I wrote out what I wanted to say. I didn't want to take it up to the podium with me though. Past experience has taught me that I would simply either read it word for word or look back and forth from the paper to the audience enough times to get whiplash.

The first person on staff I saw was Wanda. As they said when they introduced her, she's kinda like Cher or Madonna in that she needs only one name. She is the patient coordinator for the program and helps Canadian patients in particular with all the government red tape we have to navigate to get approved for the surgery outside the country. She once faxed me 36 pages of documents to my office in Ontario to read and fill out. And she went the other way, too; I was in her office in Detroit post-op when she filled out and faxed off to Ontario the forms required by my Canadian insurance company so I could get the paid extended medical leave I needed. I didn't have to do it; she did it all for me. Her job is to get people in there so their lives can be saved. Her no-nonsense, sarcastic personality immediately resonated with me. I feel like she, along with Dr. Genaw, is a big part of my success story.

She didn't recognize me at first. I had to show her my before picture. "NOW I know you!" she yelled. "OH MY GOD!!" Then she gave me a big hug and said "Did you ever think? I mean, really. Did you ever think?" No, I told her. I don't think I did. Here's me outside the ceremony room and with Wanda. As always, click to enlarge:



We walked into a quite large room and by the time it filled up, there were at least 150 people there. Gulp. The stories were beyond inspiring and the things everyone was saying...well, it's like you're home. You're with people who 'get it'. Most everyone was near their goal. You wouldn't be able to tell the person next to you had lost 110 pounds because he or she looked completely normal.

This was a big deal to me. I won't ever look at a 'normal' person the same way, with the same judgment. Or that is, always automatically assuming they are judging ME and have no idea what I went through, what I put up with on a daily basis. I always had it in my head that most thin people looked at me and were disgusted. It made me put up defensive barriers with people right away. I know - that's awful, but it's true. But you never know the story people carry with them. I understand that now. Just as I didn't like it when people judged my book by its cover, I won't ever do the same to others again (in reverse).

On the other hand, I could also pick out a lot of the patients. So many of us, especially the women, had that same sagging neck and pear-shaped body that I know all too well comes from excess skin around the stomach. I truly believe it's a damn shame insurance companies don't pay to have this taken care of. It's part of aftercare and essential to the patient's emotional well-being, in my opinion. They pay for the surgery; they should pay to finish the job. I hear story after story of OHIP (the Ontario Health Insurance Plan) paying for some procedures and not paying for others. Then you hear of 2-year waiting lists. Then you hear NO, they pay for nothing. Or they pay for nothing unless you've lost 300 pounds. Then the next day you'll hear about someone who had a tummy tuck and boob job, all on the government's dime. I don't really know what to believe anymore.

Erich and I sat, enthralled, for a good hour till the speaker stumbled over a name. "Forgive me if I mispronounce your names..." she began. I started to get up. DING!! I knew it was me. "Cynthia...." she said. I said "Schiketantz" and started walking to the podium. We always know when people pause or something that they're attempting to say our name and it's our turn!

Then she said something different that she only said when I approached the podium. "Cynthia, we have you down for 151 pounds but is that right?" I stopped walking and said "Well, if you're counting from just the surgery date, that's about right." Then she asked me what my weight loss really was. "All together 222 pounds," I said and everyone burst into loud applause. I still don't know why she asked me for a corrected number. They didn't do that for anyone else. In fact, others were correcting it themselves when they'd speak. They really should include the pre-op number; it's all part of our journey.

My 151 number was one of the biggest of the night (only a few men had lost that much) but I didn't hear anyone saying they'd lost anything near 222 pounds. Believe me, I paid attention. LOL! If that sounds like bragging then ok. I'm bragging. I worked my ass off for those numbers and I'm proud of them.

I got up there and tried to implement a trick my English professor in college told me: Look over people's heads. If you get nervous looking at their faces, look just over their heads. It will look like you're making eye contact but you're not. That worked. I didn't hyperventilate or anything.

I started off my saying that when I arrived at Henry Ford, I weighed 444 pounds and was about to turn 40. I talked about how I was taking a fistful of pills every day, had severe degenerative arthritis in both knees, diabetes, high blood pressure, wearing the Darth Vader mask every night (Dr. Genaw loved the 'Darth Vader' comment - he even mentioned it to me the next day) and how I didn't think this could be 40. I was too young to be so disabled and sick.

I talked about my changed life. Ziplining, canoeing, running. How I'd lost 50% of my body weight and my husband bought me a Camaro! *cue wild applause and woots* I was interrupted a few times with either applause or laughter. I wanted to be funny because it makes me less nervous. LOL! I looked back to Erich a couple times and he was cracking up so I knew I was successful. I thanked my supportive friends and family, Erich in particular. I thanked Dr. Genaw for helping me to save my life. This is an important distinction, I believe. So many people thanked their surgeon for 'saving my life'. Dr. Genaw didn't save my life; he provided me with the tool so I could take matters into my own hands. That's how I see it. He helped me and I'm forever grateful to him. But he didn't do it alone - most of this was allll me. I feel it's important for patients to own their power. YOU did this. Bask in the glory.

I forgot a few things I wanted to talk about, including this blog. Can you believe I forgot to talk about the one thing I think has helped me more than anything? Yep, I did. I also wanted to show my heart tattoo and forgot that. Ah well. I'm just happy I didn't pass out or anything. And I didn't cry! I was sure I would but I held it together.

After the speech, I walked over to Dr. Genaw, who pinned the Centurion pin on my shirt. He whispered "Man...a car and everything huh? You've done so well. Fantastic. Congratulations." Then we posed for a picture. I look like I'm cracking up and I think it must've been because he pulled me to him so tightly. I've talked before about his bone-crushing handshake and it was the same way when he pulled me to him for this picture. I thought it was funny, I guess!



The other speakers were so inspiring. A lot said very little beyond 'thank you' but some were wonderful. One man in particular brought the house down. They hand you a rose when your name is called. He took it, strolled to the podium and said "I feel like I'm on The Bachelorette...hell yes, I'll accept this rose." LMAO!

There was a lot of laughter, tears and head-nodding going on all evening. We all understand each other. It was a very powerful night.



And shouldn't I get two pins since I've lost over 200 pounds? I'm just sayin'. :))

Erich and I hung around afterwards and talked to a few other patients. I saw one of my FB friends but lost track of her in the crowd after the ceremony was over! Sorry Joanna! We've since connected and she said the same thing; she wanted to come over to me but lost me afterwards. There were a lot of people milling around.

The photographer took a group picture and I can't wait to get a copy of that. My people! Awesome.

Some of the Canadian patients were discussing how OHIP is now denying coverage for the surgery in the States since more doctors are performing it here. My own family doctor has tried to send two people to Henry Ford since me and both were denied. I got in just under the wire, dude. It's a good thing that the surgery is being done more in Ontario now but I'm already hearing the wait lists are getting longer and longer. Some of us and Wanda were discussing the wildly different approach to patient care in Ontario versus Henry Ford. Wanda wisely said very little. I joked "Look at her, she's over there deep breathing." LOL!

This is me with my before picture I took to Detroit:

Erich and I went out to eat then back to our room and fell asleep quickly. I was completely exhausted. Emotionally and physically. I'd lived through that speech and felt a weight come off my shoulders. I didn't realize at the time the weight would be literal. More about that and my visit with Dr. Genaw in my next blog!