“You need to get rid of that,” said the skinny bespectacled..almost – but not quite – scrawny doctor seated before me.  “Get rid of what?”, I half asked, only realizing what he was referring to that very instant. “Its like a Buick bumper,” he proclaimed as he sneered at my belly.

“You’re too young to remember The Old Buicks,”  he continued, now trying to humor me.  Actually, my childhood next door neighbor Mrs. Flohr had the coolest tan convertible Buick which seriously floated like a boat through our neighborhood. Helga would steer her beautiful boat down our river..I mean street ….effortlessly and I kid you not: with her pinkie on the steering wheel!  Not her hand..Not her arm.  Her pinkie.

I don’t remember that Buick’s bumper at all.  Obviously I’m trying to distract you from the admonition from this knowledgable internist at LA’s medical mecca Cedars-Sinai conglomerate metropolis. Why does the opinion of an internist seem more serious?  I don’t know but I didn’t really want to stick around and find out.

So, I quickly and curtly…ok…bitchily… jumped up and asked to use the restroom, leaving his office even though I didn’t have to go to the bathroom. I went to the bathroom wanting to cry…but instead said “fuck him” to my self…over and over  “he’s not a real doctor…he’s just an internist,” and then continued to have a pout-fest alone all to myself.. in the bathroom. Pouting was a childhood hobby, that for some reason, I never fully gave up.  No one other than my mother could foresee..call out and narrate my pouts better than my former colleague Chris Cuomo.  He would love to say “Awwwwww….are you gonna pout now?” after a ridiculous editorial argument…about something silly like using the word “and” or “but” …then his question would be followed by a dead on imitation of me.  How I miss that man’s tough -and funny- love.

I wanted to leave, damn…I had left my mega murse (its a backpack, or “knapsack” to those over 40) in his office.

But something gently came over me.  I came back and listened. And listened more. I’ve only recently entered my 50’s and he said the very bad potholes of health (stroke, heart attacks and cancer) surface between 50 and 70, and are dealt a deck that your earlier decades have stacked.  My stack was wrapped around my tummy….again.   But on this day, for the first time I learned something huge….and was hearing it differently.  He explained how that pressure on those vital organs causes sleep apnea and serious acid reflux (the reason why I was seeing him). Those are just the Paul Revere’s for those very dangerous potholes.  I’ll need more than Helga’s smooth Buick to navigate around them.

He certainly hit a nerve.  And this, for sure, was not news!!  I had yo yo’d for years.  I spent a fortune on the two most famous food rehabs in the country. Twenty grand for a month at Pritikin in South Florida in 2008.  And I proudly can announce that I was in the final summer class at the famed Raleigh- Durham Rice Diet Clinic in 2012.  No wonder they closed the place: I ate all the food.

The only good news is that I stopped gaining.  And that I’m 70 pounds less than I was in 2004 when my horrifically gargantuan body blobbed in at 270 pounds soon after my mother’s death.  Its horrible to see in pictures.  Friends know to burn those photos. Pardon the me-hating and self loathing, but I don’t know how gorgeous Diane Sawyer could even be seen with me…let alone work with me.  I was a house.  Even though I am a shadow of that glob now, I am still a hefty 30 pounds overweight.  “Oh, not just 30 pounds…more than that!” exclaims Doctor No  (More Chocolate).”   Subtle as a housebrick, he is, this Brooklyn born doc who looks 60 for his 70 years and exercises every single day.

So I got right to work..and within the week, I crossed the big bad border: Back over to the 100’s.  For you normal weighted people that means under 200 pounds.  I know the 200’s must seem like a far away place.  But, hey a few decades at Krispy Kreme, hangin’ with Kit Kat and you can join.   My alcoholism and addiction taught me not to play the shame game.  Most of what I have written in this chapter, most notably the numbers…I would never ever ever EVER  had divulged….before my sobriety. Isn’t that something. Chalk one up for group therapy.

I was so used to crossing back and forth that border (between the hundreds) that I would secretly buy two or three sizes of the same exact shirt. Same color, same year.  Even with my crazy Ted Baker collection: 99 shirts with several “dupes”.  Simply ridiculous.

I kinda had a feeling this bad news was coming and about a month ago I began to start my day and stick to my high fiber oatmeal (I add Chia, flax and cornhusk) and banana slivers and a few berries as breakfast with a side of protein (egg whites or turkey).  Snacks now are apples, almonds or a 100 calorie snack pack of ANYTHING!  Processed, whatever who gives a ——. Its 100 calories.   Look…. this is now becoming a cooking blog/book.

Lunch is now ONLY a huge salad.  I add some berries and half an apple, diced. And low fat blue cheese dressing with dash of Cholula hot sauce mixed in..  But loaded with lettuces, greens and tomatoes of all types.   Dinner is low sodium soups I make with raw ingredients and a Nutribullet.  Every other day I’ll have some low sodium turkey.   What a diet superstar I am!!!   NOT!

Congratulations, Brian!  But guess what. You’re still fat with a Buick bumper- front and back! 

I actually started this salad soup domination a YEAR ago.   But up until a month ago,  I was cheating.  All along.  Thanks to my partners in doom:  Chocolate and cookies and of course, any combination thereof.   Earlier in life, chocolate eventually introduced me to his sugary creepy old uncle Jack. (Daniels)…who late in life introduced me to some real nasty dopamine dynamite.  But chocolate never left me.  I could always count on a Kit Kat. Reeses. Hersheys with Almonds when they were REAL candy bars..not like now… the size of a stick of gum!  My dream date for a Friday night for years was a tub of Chubby Hubby Ice cream. Thank you Tom and Jerry!

I am a work in progress…not perfection. Just yesterday, I was in that snack emporium (and evidently heart attack palace) Trader Joe’s grabbing a raft of delicious cookies.  I stopped and stood there dramatically for an entire minute..toying with the box…turning it in my hand and I seriously felt the pull and desire and the need.  Hmmmmm. Sounds …and feels familiar.

But, I put it down and walked away.  It’s something I know a lot about and you’ll read about in my book when I finally finish it.   With a special awakening by an angel, Dr. Joel Feinstein, I was reminded of the courage to change.

Now, if I could only get to SoulCycle to use my 26 unused classes.  Thats for Bumper Reduction: Phase Two.  Stay tuned.