Monthly Archives: March 2012

Catalyst for Change: A Weight Loss Story

This is a posting about change and the process that occurs to make it happen, I promise.  But first I’ve got to tell you about what happened to me 2007.

In December of 2007 I weighed 300 pounds, roughly the size of three 6th graders.  I’m tall – six feet and three quarters inches, but I round up to 6’3 if anyone asks – so my body frame held the weight well.  I’d just completed my senior year at Florida Atlantic University, leaving with a bachelor degree and memories of playing football.

It was during that 2007 football season at FAU that I was struck with Bell’s Palsy, a neurological virus that paralyzes muscles in the face.  I went to sleep two nights before a game with a strange sensation in my tongue, and when I awoke I’d lost control over the left side of my face.  I met with our team doctor the next day, described my symptoms, and the first words out of his mouth were “Bell’s Palsy”.

The doctor informed me that there was no cure for the virus, no pill to take or fluid to ingest.  He told me the virus had to run its course and eventually, after a month or two, I would begin to regain control of my face.  After doing my own research, I also learned, grimly, that some Bell’s Palsy victims never fully regain total control of their facial muscles.

I played in that game the day after learning I had Bell’s Palsy.  Our team equipment manager outfitted my helmet with a protective eye visor because I couldn’t close my left eye completely.  That game was a surreal experience, I distinctly recall colliding with an opposing player and, whereas normally my eyes would close involuntarily before contact, now I saw it all through my left eye.  The initial effects of Bell’s Palsy didn’t stop me from playing, and I thought this virus wouldn’t be a big thing.  I was wrong.

In the days that followed my diagnosis, I started to experience and understand the long term psychological effects of the virus.  Because I couldn’t control the muscles in my face, smiling, frowning, and even spitting, became impossible.  I wasn’t able to show any emotion, and this fact quickly ate away my self-image.  I shunned simple enjoyments, like watching a funny TV show or chewing gum; for fear that people would see that something was wrong with me.

The ancient Roman philosopher Cicero wrote that “The face is a picture of the mind…”  If you were to see me when I had Bell’s Palsy then you would have thought I didn’t have a thing on my mind, however, that couldn’t be further from the truth.  The truth was that I was in pain from not being able to show any emotion.

A little more a month after the paralysis began, feeling began to return to my face and slowly I regained control. Although the virus only affected me physically for a short time, the true change went on in my head.  The experience was traumatic, imaging fearing that you would never be able to smile again and you’ll begin to know what I felt.

Prior to the virus, I didn’t place too much emphasis on my long-term outlook on life.  I was 22 years old at the time and I lived like it, focused on the present.  I most often ate the foods that tasted best; they were full of fried flavor and came through a drive-thru window.  I played football.  I exercised and lifted weights 4 to 5 days a week.

When the virus’ effects began to fade, and my smile started to return, I made myself a promise – to make sure that I did as much as I could of whatever made me smile.  Bell’s Palsy was a blessing to me; it served as an attitude adjuster and provided me with a catalyst to make several lifelong changes.

What’s most important to me is my love for God, my commitment to family, and sacrificing for my community – these are the things that make me smile the most.   I realized that for me to fulfill my promise, to have the greatest positive impact on the things I care about the most, I would have to be present.  Continuing the lifestyle that I held in 2007 would no doubt have resulted in numerous health illnesses over the years, diminishing my ability to live life to the fullest.

To make any changes in your life, whether it’s for health, financial, or personal reasons, there first has to be a shift in the way you see things.  Do you value faith? Is family central to your life? What is your place in our community?  Don’t worry if you don’t have an immediate answer for these questions, but do consider them.  Also consider, what do you do to live those values?

I now weight 206 lb., so I like to tell people I’ve lost the weight of a whole 6th grader.  Yes, I exercise.  Yes, I attempt to always make nutritious food choices. Yes, I’ll find myself eating cookies every once in a while.

What helps me to persevere, what maintains my determination, what has gotten me to the point I’m at weight and health wise, is the promise I made all those years ago.  Don’t wait for Bell’s Palsy, allow my story to be a catalyst for changes in your life.

Related Articles:

Overweight and Underappreciated

Leave a comment

Filed under General Interest, reflection, self improvement

When Hope Fades

Often we Native people speak of the society ills that affect us, like alcoholism, intergenerational trauma, and loss of culture.  It can feel like our hope is fading, down the drain like our beliefs and customs.  These ills are real; however, the chorus behind them can drown out our spiritual melody, masking our eyes from our own profound examples of love, commitment, and sacrifice.

Last week the cycle of Earthly life came to a close for a person dear to me, my uncle Roger Smith.  He was a man cut from the highest quality cloth, and he used it to love and protect his family and community.  Although he’s no longer walking this Earth, he’ll live on in my memories.  He also serves as one of those profound examples of love, commitment, and sacrifice.

My uncle Roger loved God.  He was committed to his family.  He sacrificed for his community. 

As I sat at the hospital, in his last few hours, my hope for many things began to fade.  As I sat I began to write, and as I wrote my hope was restored.  Read on for what I wrote:

When hope fades – it’s like the sun during dusk.  The night air brings despair, lurking, and lusting to overcome my senses and entrap my mind.

When hope fades – the darkness grabs hold and saps the warmth from my bones. It’s a chilling feeling that I can’t escape.

When hope fades – my breathing becomes short. The air is taken right out of my lungs by the weight of uncertainty.

Uncle Roger – as I sit here my eyes fill with tears. My heart aches with pain and sadness. My hands feel helpless and my hope is fading.

When hope fades, what’s left to fill the void?

When hope fades – faith is there to brighten the coming night.  It is the light that shines on my path and keeps me safe.

When hope fades – a loving smile is there to beat back despair and keep my thoughts free.

When hope fades – the everlasting love of family is there to bring back the warmth to my body.

Uncle Roger – Tears are shed for your remaining body, but I believe peace rests within your soul.  The strength of God removes any lingering doubts, as we know that men only have power to treat, but God has the power to heal.  Your time is almost past, but before you go I must tell you – my hope is renewed!

I thank God an Earthly piece of you lives on through my soul. I thank God for you in my life; your presence fills many of my memories.  I thank God for the example you’ve set, it is powerful and it will give me strength on difficult days.

Uncle Roger – You’ve done what an Uncle should, stood tall and given me shoulders to stand on so that now I can see further than you.

Most of all, Uncle Roger, you’ve allowed me to see the true meaning of family – love, commitment, and sacrifice.

I love you Uncle Roger.  Say hello to my grandpa for me.  I know I’ll one day see both of you again.

My uncle is gone, but let his example live on.  Remember to tell your loved ones how you feel, hug them, and give them your all.  Life without them is difficult, but they don’t leave us empty.  We’re filled with the joy and love of their memories, and the knowledge that we’ll one day see each other again.

1 Comment

Filed under life, Native American