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Dong-Hyun Jin Young is a high school student. Pan-Soo is a member of a criminal organization. When the two men wake up in the hospital, they discover that they have switched bodies.

About me

That tiny circle, the result of gastric-bypass surgery, has made an enormous difference in my life. My journey into fatness began around age 7, when I started stretching the seams of my Sears Husky Boys pants. I began reaching adult weight by the time I was in seventh grade, and I practically had to oil myself to squeeze into the school desk. In high school and college where I reached the magical pound markI had a couple of girlfriends, but mostly I had girl friends who wanted advice on, of course, their boyfriends. Like many fat guys, I simply shut down the libidinous part of myself.

One pathetic example: In college, I took a trip to Manhattan and had one night solo, the perfect opportunity to indulge in some primal pleasure.

Instead, I was in my hotel room, alone with. To be that fat was to be constantly self-conscious and uncomfortable. My thick casing of insulation meant I always felt trapped in my own personal sauna.

Carrying around more than extra pounds was a burden on my heart, physically and emotionally. Of course, after depressing and humiliating experiences like these, a guy needs some comfort. So on the way home from an interview, or any other fat-related rejection, I would hit the drive-thru and get a Big Mac, a Quarter Pounder, two small orders of fries, and a chocolate shake.

Two small fries? I always hoped this would fool the drive-thru person into thinking the order was for two people. When I got home I would top off the tank with some ice cream and cookies. Anybody see a cycle here? The only thing more frustrating than being fat was trying to get thin.

I tried eating grapefruit before every meal, all carbs, no carbs, high protein, low protein, liquid diets twiceand injection with the urine of pregnant women. It was through one of these dieting attempts that I met my wife.

We were both at the lower end of our yo-yo weight patterns, and throughout our marriage our weight went up and down, sometimes in sync, sometimes not. As with any relationship in which both people are addicted to something food, booze, cigarettesattempts to get unhooked led to either support or sabotage. When we were both determined to succeed, the teamwork was great.

As the years ticked by, the scale clicked higher.

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But at least my health, for the most part, was good. My big wake-up came during a routine visit to my doctor, Ed Miller, in When the nurse told Dr. Miller, the two of them went to another exam room and wheeled in a second scale as others watched, of course. I was shocked, scared, and red-faced with complete humiliation.

They put the two scales side by side and had me step up, one foot on each. One thing, though, was perfectly clear: My run of moderately good health was sure not to last. Miller said, and he recommended obesity surgery. He told me about the gastric bypass, a surgery that would forever alter my plumbing so that I absolutely had to lose weight and keep it off.

Two answers: restricted food intake and malabsorption. With Roux-en-Y pronounced roo-en-wythe most popular type of bypass, the stomach is divided into two sections: a tiny pouch for all future digestion and a larger area that will never hold food again. The idea is to make a patient feel full after only a few ounces of food. Next, a Y-shaped section of the small intestine is stapled and sutured to the new stomach to allow food to bypass the duodenum the first segment of the small intestine and jejunum the second segment.

Because most nutrients are absorbed by the small intestine, bypassing several feet of this digestive piping means fewer evil calories converted into fat. Due to the length of the operation, a pulmonary embolism—a blood clot in an artery to the lungs—is one rare but possible surgical complication.

Intestinal leakage into the abdomen, resulting in an infection, is another. Overall, the risk of death with Roux-en-Y is 0.

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Obviously, this is a complex, major operation, a true last resort in the fight against fat. The way Dr. Miller described the surgery, I would have a long, painful incision down my middle, days and days in the hospital, and weeks laid up at home. Despite my desperation, I balked at the scope and pain of the procedure. Not sure what else to do, I ate.

The result is minimal post-op pain, only a few days in the hospital, and a return to work in just 2 to 3 weeks. I made my decision. Miller checked out the surgeon, and I was on my way.

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Forty-one-year-old Philip R. Schauer, M. But how could I help it? Just the thought of that little stomach was enough to send me into food panic. Instead of looking forward to being thin, I obsessed about how in a few weeks the overeating that had given me comfort and pleasure for so many years was about to be gone for good. Yes, I spent hours on the turnpike just to gorge myself on a meal of stuffed kishke, corned beef, cheesecake, and matzoh balls. Now my stomach is about one-third the size of one of those matzoh balls. The actual day of the bypass meant early rising, a shower, and off to UPMC and la-la land, for my life to be saved and changed.

My operation took Dr. Schauer more than 5 hours to perform including some extra time because I also had a diseased gallbladder to remove. That was 6 years ago. Today, hundreds of surgeries later, Dr.

Schauer can complete a Roux-en-Y bypass in as little as an hour. The few days after surgery were, amazingly, no big deal.

As advertised, the laparoscopic method left me with little need for painkillers and just a few buttonhole incisions instead of one as tall as a magazine. Still, there was no denying that my gut had just undergone a major renovation. The replumbing, stapling, and stitching were so extensive that my new digestive system needed to be eased slowly back into eating.

So Dr. Schauer prescribed a three-phase diet regimen: Phase 1 first 2 weeks was liquid; phase 2 weeks 3 through 6 was pureed and soft stuff, like yogurt and canned fruit; and finally, phase 3 was real American solid food.

Phase 1 went pretty well, both physically and psychologically. I say psychologically because I tend to be a very visual person.

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It was easy for me to imagine chicken broth and iced tea sliding through my rerouted system. But when it came to the yogurt in Phase 2, I was a little shaky. It ended up taking me longer to eat a container of yogurt than it would have to eat an entire pizza just a few weeks earlier.

Once I had finished phase 2, real food—chewing food—was on deck.

One of the many ingenious aspects of gastric-bypass surgery is that the surgeon makes the opening the stoma from the new stomach into the bypass much smaller—approximately the diameter of the tip of your pinkie finger. When your stoma is blocked, it causes a dull but ificant pain square in the middle of your chest.

Actually, this blockage is usually no big deal. Often, the piece will work its way through. This is one of the things people hear about most when they start to investigate gastric-bypass surgery. I hear you puke your guts out!

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Most do so very rarely. I was a puker, and every wretched retch was my fault. The best example of this for me was taking my 9-year-old son, Alex, to a Pirates game. I figured, ballgame with the boy, gotta have a dog.

But I was too busy concentrating on the action to think about chewing, and a piece of Hebrew National got stuck. This was a bad one. In fact, it was the worst case of stuck-in-the-stoma I ever had.

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No go. I was too uncomfortable to stay at the game, so we headed home midway through. Alex was understanding about needing to leave. I had one hand on the wheel and the other holding a Pirates souvenir cup into which I was slowly coughing up my wiener. One appeal of the surgery is that I can eat practically whatever I want, just not very much of it. When I told Dr. And with alcohol, a little bit goes a long way. Recently, I was dining at a fine Italian restaurant and ordered a vodka and tonic.

I drank exactly half. When I woke up about 10 minutes later, my face was flat on the table, permitting a nice side view of my Penne Mediterranean. What I have done, though, is lose weight—every pound I had hoped to.