Average Height Of A 13 Year Old Boy In Ft Surviving Death

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Surviving Death

In October 2016, I grew (again) to 386 pounds. Decades of self-inflicted abuse culminated in the discovery that I was at the lowest point in my life and that I had to make a change or things would get ugly.

I made the difficult decision to have a vertical sleeve gastrectomy with a world-renowned surgeon from Mexico. I was on the liquid diet for two weeks and immediately lost 20 pounds. I flew to Mexico and had the surgery which went well. I seemed to have no complications and was smart in my approach to the process. I did everything my doctors asked and followed the rules strictly.

During the pre-op phase, I was told to focus on drinking 100 grams of protein every day. This included pounding Muscle Milk like a champ. Obviously I drank water and juices, along with chicken soup to get me through the 14 days.

After my surgery, the doctors were happy and told me to do another 2 weeks on the same liquid diet and then I could switch to “soft food”. Doing exactly what I had been doing for the previous 2 weeks, I drank my muscle milks, ate sugar free ice creams, enjoyed egg soup and did so, ad nauseum, for almost a month.

On the last day of my liquid child, I croaked.

You read it right. I was dead for over 11 minutes and if it wasn’t for the first responders and the female staff at Vitacare in Tulsa, Oklahoma, I would not have survived. Apparently there are two things your body desperately needs to stay functional – potassium and magnesium.

I did exactly what I did before surgery and drank my Muscle Milk like a good boy. In fact, I should have been drinking more Powerade Zeros and Gatorades. When your body’s potassium reading drops below 2.0, your heart simply stops working.

As I passed through the morning, I had a slight pain in my stomach, which was no different from anything I had experienced before. I’m always tired and I didn’t really feel like walking that day. My friend went to Vitacare to get his C-PAP machine cleaned and when he came back, I wasn’t there.

Distraught, he ran inside and called 911. The women had CPR training, so they ran outside and pulled me out of the car. They massaged my heart until the ambulance arrived. When they got there, my clothes were shredded and they pulled out this thing called a “Plunger” which was an easier way to give CPR.

An average sized person usually gets 4 oar bursts. Because of my large size they gave me a 7, for some reason. They said that since each explosion I have shown signs of improvement, but I still haven’t revived. The seventh was the last stroke I experienced and luckily for me, my heart started beating enough to take me to the hospital.

The next stage of my journey was the hospital of St. Franje, where they put me in this “ice suit” and induced a coma that lasted for 2 days. During those 48 hours, the doctors told anyone who would listen:

a) I will most likely die.

b) If I don’t die, I’ll be a vegetable for the rest of my life.

c) I have less than a 1% chance of survival.

d) Chances of stroke or other complications are high.

While all this is happening, my Facebook account flooded with thoughts and prayers, friends have driven up to 6 hours, just to sit in the waiting room for an answer. They knew they wouldn’t be able to see me in the intensive care unit, but they wanted to come by car to pay their respects.

Even today, I am still humbled and amazed by the love I received. We tend to go through life, simply being who we are and sometimes unaware of what we leave behind. This death experience showed me that I am not worthless, that I have made a positive impact on people and that I am valued. I lived with an internal false narrative that I was insignificant.

According to the paramedics, I had been dead for over 11 minutes and was having seizures due to lack of oxygen to the brain. This has led to some short term memory issues that I have only recently started to experience.

When I got out of the hospital in December 2016, I couldn’t even walk to the bathroom without help. I had to walk slowly and focus only on what I could do. My energy level is still very low and I am not able to do my usual daily work. Being known as a chameleon, I had to improvise a bit.

Over the last 13 months I have worked hard to push my limits and can now walk several miles a day. The hardest thing about dealing with this “new” life is that I’m the same guy from head to toe as I’ve always been. I think I can work 60 hours a week, walk a few kilometers every day, eat a big plate of food and do all the things I did before I died.

My new reality, unfortunately, is that I’m going to do exactly what my lower body tells me to do and I love it! Naps every 5 hours, being able to eat a fraction of what I used to be able to eat, avoiding foods that wreak havoc on my stomach – THIS is the new reality.

The hardest part about this new life is rewiring my brain to learn new routines. There is an emotional attachment to every single type of food I eat. Food from an ordinary restaurant can evoke a fond memory from more than ten years ago. It’s hard to admit that I’ve been an emotional closet eater all my life.

Some people choose illicit drugs, others choose alcohol or gambling. My vice has always been food. I’m definitely no angel and I’m far from my goal goals, but my new weekly routine consists of doctor visits, blood tests, earning money through the Postmates mobile app, looking for JobSpotter help-seeking signs, blogging about social media, going to church regularly, and finding ways to feel relevant and productive.

I suffer from anemia and have no energy for almost 30 years. I’m tired all the time. While the doctors continue to work in the lab to find out exactly what is causing my problems, all I can do is write about my experiences, stay positive and suck the guts out of each day.

For some reason, I’m still on this planet. I may not have the right answers, but I try to make every day mean something. I took my place in this world for granted until this situation happened. The way I see it, this is all “bonus time” and I want to make a difference.

When I died, the lights just went out. Fortunately, when I woke up, there were people who told me what happened. There were no pearly gates, white lights, angels or any of that. There were no warning signs that I noticed. Abdominal pain, lights out, death, revival, lights back on.

The current result is that I have lost 115 pounds, I can walk farther than I ever could before this happened, I have no swelling in my legs, and I am finally looking forward to a future where I can be somewhat productive. Before I decided to have stomach surgery, I was pessimistic, I didn’t think much about my life and I thought I would die alone and miserable.

I wrote this to share my experience and tell you that no matter how (in)significant you think your life contributions are to date, you are important. There are people in your life who care about you. There are people you have positively influenced. You may not know that you have made a difference in their life, but they are there.

Live every day with a purpose and surround yourself with people who only want you to thrive. If you have people in your life who constantly shoot down your ideas, tell you “No”, repeat “you can’t” and make you feel like you should never take risks, break up with those people. Life is hard enough without other people always holding you back. Take a risk. There is no growth without a little pain. You won’t grow if you just sit on the couch and watch the world go by.

Take a trip to a nearby town. Explore streets you can’t pronounce. Do something “against the grain”. Say “YES” more and see what this life has to offer you. The couch will always be there to sit on. Try something different for a change of pace and stop stressing yourself out mentally. You matter!

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