One man's war on obesity

OK, New Jersey property taxes are the highest in the nation. The state’s unemployment rate is soaring. Urban decay is unprecedented. The gubernatorial race focuses on…the girth of the Republican candidate.

Democratic incumbent John Corzine, GOP candidate Chris Christie and independent Chris Daggett are scrambling to hit the 21 counties of this state in an effort to sway voters their way. Neither man seems up for making New Jersey a better place for all. They offer empty sound bites and little detail, and the press is not pressing them for more.

In fact, in the past few days, the focus has been on Christie’s fat. So let us go there for a sec.

Yep, the man is fat. He will not reveal his true weight – on the Don Imus Show this week, Christie joked that he weighed 550 pounds. He stands about 5-foot-10-inches tall. Images of Michael Meyers’ Fat Bastard come to mind.

However, this is not laughing matter. Christie would fall into the category of obese. He will not publicly tip a scale, but he appears to be more than 20 percent over his ideal weight. That ideal weight must take into account the person's height, age, sex, and build.

Christie is not alone: one-third of Americans are overweight; more than 20 percent of us are obese.

The reasons for this range from overeating to not exercising enough to antidepressants to corticosteroids to…just check out this link. Also, being overweight is liked to so many illnesses, including type 2 diabetes, heart disease, etc.

But there is no need to feel overwhelmed, my fellow Americans. We do not have to take this fat thing sitting down. We can fight back.

We can eat better, exercise re-evaluate our lifestyles and choices.

For some of us, there might be things in our background that are difficult to overcome. Still, we can reshape our bodies, health and destinies.

Back in March, I could hardly breathe because of cardiac and pulmonary sarcoidosis. Today, I can walk a few miles without feeling as if I am going to pass out. I want to be able to do more. Specifically, my goal is to get off every freaking medicine prescribed to me in this war against sarcoidosis.

So I am going to hit the gym. I have gone as far as I can with the makeshift gym in my basement. And while the trails of the Pine Barrens still call…I could use a little climate control. Some A/C.

My fellow Americans, I theater for my war will be inside. Rows of shiny dumbbells and barbells and Stairmasters, elliptical and treadmills will be my weapons.

The immediate goal is to get through the challenging holiday season. I plan to maintain my weight through the horrid holiday season of temptation and inflation - of the mid-section.

The ultimate goal? Lose….quite a bit.

I say 50 pound, but I need to weigh in and then set a goal. I’ll share with you after the weigh in. I will not be shy about the weight because it is a temporary condition as far as I am concerned.

Thank you for your ear, New Jersey, America. Good night. And God bless the United States of America.

Winning an important battle

My heart is getting better. There is no need for an implantable defibrillator.

Oh, Happy Day! Really, few words describe the mix of relief and joy I am feeling. This song actually sprang into my head when I got the news Friday, and I'm not really a gospel guy. Click on the link and enjoy. Then come back and read the rest, OK? Thanks.

The test results show evidence that my heart muscle has improved since the last echo back in March when I was diagnosed with sarcoidosis. Back then, my heart was so weak that a cardiologist at Northwestern Medical Center wanted to install a defibrillator. I decided to try a pharmaceutical regiment, exercise, got serious about quitting smoking and other lifestyle changes. All that is paying off.

I am winning a battle, in a long war.

“I know they were talking about defibrillator and stuff like that, but at this point, you do not – I repeat - you do not need anything like that at this time.”

The cardiologist told me to keep with up with my heart medicines - carvedilol, lisinopril, hydralazine and hydrochlorot. He also said he would speak to the rest of my docs about reducing prednisone I am taking to control sarcoidosis.

I am excited. I know healing takes a while. I have tried hard not to give myself deadlines (One to two years! I can't help it!) and I still have a ways to go. But this is a significant development. I am excited about it and relieved. For the past eight months, I have been wondering whether sudden cardiac arrest would claim me and what it would do to my family. I thought long and hard about having the defibrillator installed. I came very close to asking for the procedure in August when I moved back to New Jersey.

However, I held off because I believe in the human body’s ability to heal and my ability to overcome. I believe that God helps those who help themselves. I am thankful to my family and friends for helping me get through these challenging times.

I’ve a ways go: Sarcoidosis is still affecting my heart and lungs. When - will - it go into remission? What will a CAT scan of my lungs, to be done in late November, reveal? What organs might it strike in the future?

What is the correct dosage of prednisone and methotrexate that will continue to control sarc without dangerous side effects?

Will I ever get off of these pharmaceuticals for good?

That is my ultimate goal.

I don't take this win for granted. It will fortify me for the challenges ahead, and I know they are plenty. I am ready for them.

But today, I celebrate winning a battle.

Resisting the call to join the Rude Culture

No, @#$% you, buddy! And get out of my way!

I am on the verge of speaking like this all the time (and using the real F-word, not symbols). I am on the verge of being sucked into what I consider the New Jersey Rude Culture. I am trying to resist the Culture the way a good Jedi fights the pull of the Dark Side of the Force.

Rudeness plagues the nation. Just watch the news and what passes for health care reform debate. Nearly 70 percent of people questioned in a 2005 Associated Press-Ipsos poll said people are ruder than they were 20 or 30 years ago. The poll was referenced in a recent Chicago Tribune article about rude behavior in college classrooms and beyond.

I've been back in New Jersey, the place of my birth, for about six weeks. Here, rude has been elevated to an art form. The mix of foul language, hand gestures and obliviousness of fellow human beings - often fueled by hyper-caffinated drinks - is much more intense here. People who experience it for the first time are often left speechless.

I am experiencing 'Jersey rudeness for the first time in three years. I am often left speechless.

People here shout words that mean nothing into their cellphones, shattering the peace of all around them. Parkway motorists drive their cars up the ass of yours because you are driving 75-80 miles per hour in the slow lane...In the slow lane. People shout you down during conversations to make their point. Loudest and most obnixious wins. They are pains in the butt.

And, I admit with sadness, I can go there. I can definitely act like an asshole, but I try not to. Part of it has to do with getting control of my heart and lung sarcoidosis. I need to cool out and be chill. A calm, relaxed mind is essential to helping the body heal. there is no way around it.

I also think being decent, and respectful is the right thing to do. I see myself as a gentle giant because of nature and nurture. My mom and grandmom taught me to live by the Golden rule. I am a man who tends to keep to himself, minds his manners, keeps the peace and only lifts his hand in defense of the weak. The gentleness thrived to a degree in Greater Lansing, Michigan and Chicago.


I have no illusions about either place. The Midwest has its share of nuts, bullies, bigots, misogynists, all the people we should despise. But Midwesterners are quite polite. They say 'thank you' and 'please' and allow people the right of way. They hold doors for each other, offer to carry this or reach for that. They are respectful of personal space. The smaller the town, the politer they are. In Chicago, I managed a group of reporters who exhibited Type A personality traits. Those reporters could dig for stories and were as relentless as any reporters I've ever worked with, but they were also nice, decent people. They would bare teeth and unsheath talons, but knew how to put them away after hours.

These days, here in New Jersey, the teeth and talons are bared and unsheathed 24-7. (The customer service at Barnes & Noble in Howell, N.J., is a refreshing respite. I give this store props because it is a cool place to write. I love the vibe. Folks there are pretty polite, especially the baristas). And I am assuming that New York and Connecticut are as rude as ever, too. Curiously, you can still find polite people in Manhattan – so many people living there are NOT from there, you know?

I am trying to maintain my public politeness, but the Rude Culture might be winning. Every time I try to get out, it pulls me back in. Warning: I can be a real asshole. My cousin Dwayne likes to say that some folks are not assholes. They are the cheeks, the pimples on the ass, the crack…The entire ass. Yeah, I can be that, I fear.

I just want to be a good guy. I really do. New Jersey, you could really help, you know? Be decent, for crying out loud.

I'll try harder, too.

To (expletive here) or not to (expletive here)...

The headline is a play on one of the most famous lines in world literature, “To be or not to be, that is the question…” The headline also teases and invites the reader to fill in the blanks.

The question I ask myself is a simple one: To use profanity or not? I must admit that I like using profanity. I am good at it, too. I had good teachers, including my childhood friend from Elizabeth, Plainfield, Fanwood and Scotch Plains, N.J., and many of the journalists in every newsroom in which I worked or visited. A lot of journalists can let the blue language flow with aplomb.

However, I am trying to curb my profanity because….because my mom reads this column, also her friends. Also, I am tempered by my training and 20+ years of experience. If this column ran in a traditional “family” newspaper, it would have to be expletive free. Children rarely read newspapers, but they still reach a broad audience that includes folks who find blue language upsetting and offensive. Can’t lose any more readers! I would have to use the word “expletive” in place of the actual expletive.

Some folks do not curse at all. I admire that. Someone once told me that smart people don’t curse. They can find other words to express themselves. That is bullshit. If I smash your thumb with a hammer or I stomp your foot, what are you going to say? “Oh, David, why would you do such a cruel and dastardly thing?! Hell no! You’re gonna rip some nasty words and you're gonna try to kick my ass.

After being diagnosed in March with lung and heart sarcoidosis, I briefly went through a time when I stopped using profanity. It was all part of the new me…

I was in a hospital bed and said to myself, If I get some more chance I will never, ever…fill in the blank. I was released after 10 days of treatment and it became, If I get one more chance, I will try to never, ever... A month into taking the drugs that fight and suppress sarcoidosis symptoms, it was, Where the ---- are my keys?! (some of these ‘scripts make me forgetful, and, What the ---- happened to my face?! (Prednisone causes moon face and I really hate that shit…No waxing eloquently there. And no fucking pun intended).

See, that’s what I like about the power of profanity. When used right, it drives home the point. After all these years, George Carlin's seven words you cannot use on television still works. Tell a Richard Pryor joke - poignant stories all - without blue language. Pryor describing the time he set himself on fire while freebasing or the reason he stopped using the N-word after visiting Africa...drop the controversial, provocative and saucey language and the power is lost.

Of course times have changed. Many of today’s comedians think they are funny just because they can string nasty words together.

I am keeping basic promise I made to my family, friends and myself when I first started writing this blog: I will do all I can to get well. I have quit smoking. I exercise every day. I take my meds with the goal that they will do their job, I will do mine and one day - on one glorious day - I will not need these meds.

But give up the use of profanity? I can’t. I am writing fiction and some of the scenes and characters don’t work with an occasional f-bomb, or worse….combinations of words including the F-bomb! I do plan to mind my manners. I won’t swear around, (most) women, senior citizens, in houses of worship... I know some folks feel that philosophy is antiquated, but manners do not go out of style.

So, I’ll watch my mouth and my writing most of the time. But occasionally I am gonna let the you-know-what fly because it feels right or drives home the point.

Cutting oneself some slack

(I shot this today while following my dad along a trail in Lakewood, N.J.)

Thursday, I had a blood pressure reading of 120/80 – the lowest my blood pressure has been in more than a year. My doctors’ goal was to get it to 125/85. I beat that.

Good for the heart and good for the mind. I was worrying a lot about the heart. This development is especially exciting because I am still on prednisone for my pulmonary and cardiac sarcoidosis. I am walking three miles a day and lifting light weights. I am sure that, combined with a reduction in the amount of prednisone I am taking – helped lower the blood pressure.

I’m trying to lose weight because I have obstructive sleep apnea, too, which makes blood pressure soar. I sleep with a CPAC - short for continuous positive airway pressure device (a mask attached to a tube attached to a small, quiet motor - but I want off of it. I am trying to lose weight even though prednisone is working hard against the goal.

Oh, I should give you an update: The pull-ups thing was a miserable failure. I gave it my best shot, but my body was too weak to make good on that promise. I sulked for a while about that and then accepted the fact that I would have to start from scratch to rebuild myself.

My goal is still there. The method is now more practical. Crawl before walking. Walk before running. In New Jersey, I started with a 1-1/2 mile walk. Now I am up to three miles. Every day. I walk with my dad and/or Tobie most of the time. I walk an additional 1-1/2 miles at night with my mom. Tobie’s in tow, too.

My dad caught me obsessing about my weight the other day – prednisone rage. My frustration was off-the-hook. I knew it and could not help myself. I was obsessed with the feeling of failure and futility. “From where I sit, this is a good day,” he said. “Your blood pressure is normal for the first time in a year and your clothes are fitting differently, and you know it.”

He was right. My clothes were looser. I was standing taller. My ample belly…was finally starting to shrink. The water retention, the back fat (prednisone really stinks)....it will go as I continue reducing the prednisone...

Dramatic change will not occur in a weeks or two months. I have to be patient and diligent.

And I have to cut myself some slack.

Taking advantage of the home field

By the time you read this, I will have kissed the New Jersey Parkway. I will have walked a beach and stared across the Atlantic to the horizon. I will have eaten a handful of the best cranberries in the world.

I am home. New Jersey. The Garden State. ‘Jersey.

For the record, no one I know from here says the line made famous by "comedian" Joe Piscopo: “I’m from ‘Joisey. Are you from Joisey?" There’s more to the state than The Sopranos, the oil tanks and chemical refineries along the northern corridor of the Turnpike, the crook politicians (Illinois, you've got nothing on the Garden State in that department)...

If you’re an out-of-stater, believe what you will. New Jersey has enough people anyway. Stay wherever you are. The mob or the smell might get ya!

I’ve always loved New Jersey, but I have not lived here since the mid-1980s. However, in my fight against sarcoidosis, I have made a tactical decision. I need and want the home field advantage. In sports, the homies have followed their team for years and the crowd is always loyal. Even when they are booing you for doing bad they are waiting for you to do well – and then they cheer loud and hard.

The hometown crowd’s support can spur a team to victory. It can inspire a battered boxer to get off the ropes and dig deep into his reserves to knock out his opponent.

Right now, I need my biggest cheerleaders, my mom and dad. They were eager to have me close so they can monitor my progress and help me in anyway possible. I am grateful – no, I thank God – for my parents. Not everyone has a rewarding relationship with his or her parents. Some folks have no one at all.

I began thinking about this in March after a 10-day hospital stay to deal with flaring pulmonary and cardiac sarcoidosis. I flew home so my folks could see that I was OK.

Everything about my ‘Jersey stay felt right. More than right. It was invigorating, rejuvenating. For the first time in more than 20 years, home was more appealing to me than the open road and new places to live in and see.

I'm tough and have always been able to handle life's challenges. Isolation, illness, pondering career options. Handling each problem on its own? No sweat. Bundle any two together, Bring ‘em on.

The three together? No thanks. Too much. It took me a while to realize it, but there's no shame in needing help and letting folks know it. Especially when you have people who are waiting for you to say the word so they can get involved. Word!

Now, I am no more than an hour or two from my loved ones in the Tri-State area. I’m looking forward to reconnecting with everyone. New York City and Philadelphia are an hour north and south of me, respectively. Greater New Haven, a 2-1/2 drive along tree-lined highways (Take the Garden State Parkway, go across the Tappan Zee Bridge and grab the Hutch north. Don't take the New Jersey Turnpike-Interstate 95 if you can avoid it. Ugly).

I lived in Chicago for the past year. My friends there, especially Megan Cottrell, Felicia Yonter, Steve Barrett, Tyler Via, Tim Yager, Fernando Diaz, Adrian Uribarri, Peter Sachs, Alex Parker, Kim Barrett, Matt Schad, Patrick Boylan (there are others but I hate Academy-award style thanks-yous, so thanks to everyone!) helped me during the most challenging time of my life. I was terrified, confused and alone in March when my sarc went berserk. My friends in Chicago checked on me daily and kept buoyant my spirit. Some drove me around when I could not drive myself. Some made me laugh.

They encouraged me to walk when I wanted to sit and sulk. Especially Megan and Felicia. They made me walk my ass off. I am definitely better off because of that.

They inspired me to recommit to my fiction and this write this blog (but my mom had the idea first, I must say).

My Chicago peeps, I am forever indebted to you and I will be back to visit as often as I can. I want you to visit me, too. The door is always open. You'll always have a place to crash.

But I am excited to be home. I liked kissing the New Jersey Parkway. I like hearing, seeing my mother and father at ease.

I love being home. I feel 10 years younger.

Home is where the heart - and healing? - is

th From the Jersey Shore" style="border: medium none ; display: block;" width="240" height="226">Image by Sister72 via Flickr

Rolan and I talk every night. We check in and check up on each other, learning about what happened during the day. Dishing. Commiserating. Supporting each other and enjoying each other as best as two people can when they are separated by 861 miles.

She is worried about me. I was wheezing during our conversation on Sunday night (things seem better today). We talked, said goodnight about 11 p.m.

Then she called about midnight because she could not sleep.

“I am worried about you. I do not want to lose anyone else and I do not want to lose you.”

This has been a tough year. Her uncle died of complications of lung cancer. Her grandmother is in the hospital after breaking her hip. In between, sarcoidosis rears its ugly head and lays me out for days. I’m recovering, but it is slow going.

Rolan wants me to come home. My mom wants me to come home (823 miles separate us). All my peeps in the East who know about my fight with sarcoidosis want me back.

Rolan, my mom, they are both right. One of my doctors even recommended that taking off the summer and going home to New Jersey would be a good idea. Get some rest, she said. Let your family love, support you and draw strength from them, she said.

If Rolan or my mom were sick and needed me, I would pack up and go back home to support them. No thought involved. Things are tough, but jobs can be replaced. Once a person goes, they are gone for good.

No doubt, you have read about my good friends here in Chicago – and I must stress that they are awesome. But can anything beat the home cooking that nourished you or the look of love and admiration from someone who’s know you for years (for forever)?

Home….hmmmm…