Death by Food

I am angry. 

I had to interrupt my dream trek on John Muir Trail but that does not make me angry - sad and disappointed, yes,  but not angry. 

I am angry because of the death of a person still young, a person who had no business dying yet.

My brother in law died three days ago. He did not die of a heart attack or from diabetes. He died because he loved food. He loved it so much that he gave it all he had: his dreams and his life. 

The only time I remember him fit in trim was when, after graduating from college, he had to go through compulsory at that time in Poland military service. But that service for college graduates lasted only a year  and soon he was free to return to his love of eating and dislike of any physical activity. But in those days he was still young and his body took the abuse without complaining much. 

Years passed and with every visit to Poland I could see changes in him, subtle at first, but then more and more pronounced. I would notice he was huffing and puffing going up only two flights if stairs. Next time I would notice he was breathing hard just walking down the street. At the next visit I would see that going down the stairs was giving him trouble, and then even just standing became a big effort. Every time he seemed bigger and fatter but I kept telling myself that maybe I was just imagining things, that maybe I had just forgotten how big he really was.

It seemed to me I was the only one really alarmed by the changes in him. Those around him kept serving him seconds "or food would go to waste". Was it better to have his body go to waste? So I tried talking, explaining, pleading. I thought in my arrogance and naiveté that since I had been managing my food addiction with decent success, they would respect what I had learned and listen. They did not.
With every extra bite, with every second serving he was eating his life and his dreams away. 

He himself was in total denial too. His blood pressure was "under control", he said. To translate, the meds worked at least until he needed new, stronger ones. His blood sugar was "under control" also in exactly the same fashion as his blood pressure. At no time would he accept that HE, not the meds was the only one who could actually help his condition.

Stories of my friend's mother who lost both her legs and eyesight to diabetes and then died made no impression on him. After all he still had both his legs, weaker maybe but "under control"

One time I noticed bruises on his shins. I was told they were several months old. Alarmed, again I tried talking to him and those close to him. Again, I was told that all was "taken care of and... under control". Doctors, I was assured, were pleased with how the medication worked. Only when I talked to his primary care doctor, a close family friend, I was told a different story of her pleading with him to undergo a stomach stapling surgery since obviously he was not able to manage his food addiction on his own. He kept saying he would think about it. Later. Tomorrow. Next year...      never...

Last spring I learned that he had to undergo a partial foot amputation because a simple scratch got infected, would not heal and became gangrenous. I was not surprised

Even before the surgery he had been unable to leave the house, too heavy for his atrophied muscles to support all his weight, he spent days, weeks, months immobilized on the sofa, which with TV became his entire world. Now with most of his foot gone, he moved even less. 

One would think that all that would shock him and the ones around him and make them see what was happening. Not really. The close ones made sure my brother in law was well fed. He could not go shopping so this was a perfect chance, I thought, to help him but instead of loosing weight he kept on getting bigger and bigger. 

So I am asking myself a question, was it only a slow motion suicide or was it...  dare I say the word? ...

I know I sound harsh. Yes, know I am angry, very angry. I want to scream at this attitude of denial. Nobody in their right mind would offer one more drink to an alcohol addict. No one in their right mind would clam that one more fix of a drug was harmless and would actually help kick the addiction. Yet when it comes to food people don't hesitate to have "just one piece of cake because saying no to it would only increase the cravings" Yes it will make you crave it more but only for a while. If you have one more then you will want another, and another, and then you WILL loose your foot, maybe your leg, your vision, and then, your life.

Do not fool yourself that one more bite of junk food will not harm you. I promise you that it will and it will make you die a miserable death.
If you need more persuasive arguments, read this post

(I promise to write about our JMT adventure another day)