0.5 mg/0.5 mL.
Last Weight: 249.6 pounds
Down 19.4 pounds (7.2%)

So I think I partially fucked up my shot today.  I flinched when it first stuck me and I could feel a little bit of liquid in the area when it was done.  It’s surprisingly demoralizing to have one go poorly considering everything I’ve done to get myself here.  But I have had a lot of the same side effects over the last four hours—so I know a good amount got into my system.  It made me look at the actual website for directions on injecting.  It said you can also do the thigh—so I am going to try that instead of the stomach next time.

I broke the 250 pound barrier that i have been above the entire 5.5+ years I have been a parent.  It feels good.  And even after a big date night dinner last night, I was able to maintain it.  It has been helpful to mentally prepare myself for larger meals by eating a bit less throughout the day.  Although I did end up having to get one of my emergency snacks out on the drive home yesterday because I may have done a bit too little throughout the day.  I’m only five weeks in and my body is still changing, so it will take time to learn exactly what my body needs.  

I am getting worried about my irritability.  I am finding myself being frustrated at my spouse or the kids more often.  I don’t know if that is due to the medicine, the weight loss, or just changes in our lives. 

I am excited to be in the 240s.  I hope to break past 20 pounds lost in the week ahead and stay there.  Then I can look forward to the next crazy milestone—27 pounds down will mark 10% of body weight.  I want to be able to maintain that within four weeks.  I think that is doable.

2022 was the year that we settled into our new life in Tacoma, Washington.  We killed most of the grass in our front yard and turned it into a place where we could experiment with a wide variety of fruits, vegetables, and flowers.  Sofia became the garden master, but the boys loved to help.  We spent most of our time at Red Elm Cafe and Owen Beach. 

Noah had his second birthday on June 2nd.  Noah became a toddler this year and started daycare in January.  As a pandemic baby, he was part of a group of kids who never got the experience of a pre-Covid world.  It wasn’t until halfway through the year that he even saw his teacher’s faces.  Nonetheless, he prospered in his new environment.  He went from a handful of words to too many to count.  In fact, it is now difficult to get him to stay quiet.  He is an incredibly playful child who loves cars, dinosaurs, and ice cream above all else.

Henry turned four on December 27th.  Henry blossomed so much this year.  At the beginning of the year, Henry had near zero words in his vocabulary.  Today he has hundreds (you just have to pry them out of him at times).  He started daycare and preschool in January. He moved to a more inclusive preschool in September.  He loves it.  He is known as the captain of circle time—ensuring it is never missed and sometimes taking over as the one reading to the other kids.  He loves to ride the bus, going to Owen Beach, and hang out at “Mama’s Cafe.”

Sofia celebrated the big 3-0 on January 17th.   Throughout the year Sofia transitioned from stay at home mom, to community college student, to barista.  She powered through some of the hardest classes in her Sonography prerequisites (like organic chemistry).  With only a few classes left until she could apply for the full program, she came across an opportunity she could not turn down.  The cafe where she had been doing Sunday barista shifts went up for sale.  She jumped at the opportunity and dropped out of community college.  On December 22nd, she signed the purchase agreement to take over 50% ownership.  As of the first of the year, she will be a small business owner of a cafe with six employees (Red Elm Cafe).

Richard completed his first full year as Assistant District Manager of the Olympia, Washington Social Security Administration.  He was lucky enough to start teleworking from home two days a week, making the 35-40 minute commute much easier to sustain.  He spent a good part of the year waiting for his Steam Deck as he ceded control of the Switch over to the boys.  He spends his evenings and weekends trying to turn his boys into nerds and hanging out at “Mama’s Cafe” and Owen Beach.  In January, he will take over the role of community college student from Sofia as he works towards his bookkeeping certificate.

Last Thursday night, Sofia and I snuck into the boys’ room about an hour after we put them down.  I lit up the room with the screen from my phone.  I went over to Henry.  Sofia went over to Noah.  We pulled back the covers on them and shined the light over their PJs.  We held our hands to their chests to make sure they were breathing.  They were both perfectly fine…and a little annoyed at us for disturbing their sleep.

A few minutes before that, Sofia and I were laying in our own bed.  Sofia had just gotten her phone after 26 days of fighting with Google to get them to replace her broken one.  In those 26 days, I had sent her at least a hundred videos on TikTok (I know),  Now that she had her phone, she could finally watch them.  We were both tired so we curled up and watched them together.  We were about halfway through the last video when we were interrupted.

The sound of gunfire is distinct. From afar you may mistake it for fireworks or a car backfiring.  But up close, those three sounds are very distinct.  So when the sound of about 7 gunshots erupted in the street directly in front of our house, we knew what it was instantly.  We rolled off the bed, but it was already over.  I peaked out the window just in time to see an old green pickup not 20 feet from our front door.  It drove off.

Sofia came around and handed me the phone that was dialing 911.  I stayed on the line and answered their questions until the police arrived.  When they arrived I went outside and met a few of the neighbors  After talking with the police officer, I went back inside.  Sofia and I both agreed that the likelihood of stray bullets getting to the back of the house where the kids sleep was low.  But not zero.  So we went in and checked.

That’s something I never want to have to do again.  The boys will never know until they find this post or I tell them the story in 15-20 years.  But the idea that it happened so close to them and that they were in danger of gun violence is absolutely terrifying.  It was a year ago that our car was stolen.  Although that felt violating, it was not a violent crime.  This is different.  This struck fear into me, my wife, and my neighbors.

After verifying that the kids were okay, I went back out and talked with all of the neighbors and made sure everyone was accounted for.  As I talked with everyone, the full story came into view.  There were two trucks going in opposite directions in front of our house.  As they passed each other–the green truck shot at the blue truck.  The blue truck hit the gas and hit a parked car across the street from us before taking off.  Then the green truck took off–which is what I saw.

The full picture made me less terrified.  The initial fear I had was that a truck was driving around and shooting at houses.  As the cops did the rounds at the nearby houses and cars, they found no bullets in any of them.  So no stray bullets.  We may never find out what happened.  Road rage?  Feud?  And that’s okay.  

The fact that my neighborhood was not involved, but just the location, doesn’t strip away the safety I feel.  I love my neighbors.  I love my neighborhood.  Hilltop is a community with culture.  That is part of why Sofia loves working at the coffee shop at the center of it all.  This place is amazing.  Assholes will not ruin it for the rest of us.

It is hard to describe to someone who has not been through what we’ve been through.  Today I put my three year old son down for a nap.  As I opened the door to leave, he waved goodbye and said “bye.”  When I waved back, he put his hand to his lips and blew me a kiss.  I blew a kiss back and left the room in shock.  For most other parents of a three year old, this would be like any other day.  For us, this is a milestone.

Whether my son is on the spectrum or not is up for the doctors to decide.  I’ve come to realize it matters very little.  I want to raise a happy child—and he is such a happy child.  The hardest barrier he has is a communication barrier.  He has a few signs and he will grab our hands to lead us places.  But you can only communicate so much that way.  Before February, the number of words I would consider to be in his vocabulary would have been zero.  He would surprise us every once in a while, but nothing consistent.

But over the last week or two, that has started to change.  Two things are happening.  First, his younger brother is starting to pick up words left and right.  Secondly, after a couple of false starts due to COVID, he is going to school regularly.  The love of school and the desire to do what his brother is doing seem to be combining in a way that we long hoped it would.  Within days, he is waving and saying “Hi” when we come home.  He will see a bus and say “bus” (his brother will then yell “BUS!” like it is the most exciting thing ever).

It’s hard to communicate the level of relief at hearing his voice.  It was about 18 months ago when Henry first started saying things like “Mom” “Dad “Diaper “Doggy.”  But then those words started to fade—until there were none.  It happened in the first few weeks of his brother’s life—making it more difficult for us to realize what was happening.  The slow burn of the unknown is terrifying—especially when the unknown is your child’s ability to function in the world.  

Having him say “bye” is such a tiny thing.  

But it is impossible to overstate what it means to me.

He is going to be okay.

Sofia helped orchestrate a weekend getaway for me in exchange for her going to a two day concert.  I was going to have a full weekend away in Seattle–I would get to be alone, explore the city, and reflect on everything that had happened since we moved to Washington.  It started off so well.  I took public transit up to the city, had an incredible meal at a Vietnamese restaurant, then hung out at a brewery in an alley.  

After a restful night where I didn’t have to wake up to toddlers crying, I walked over to a fancy coffee shop.  I spent a couple hours at a coffee shop writting and researching public transit and adjusting to the new world that I found myself in. I wrote about the future—and the promise it seemed to hold with all the recent changes.  The move.  The promotion.  The house.  When I wrapped up, I dropped off my laptop at the friends’ house I was staying at and wandered to brunch.  

It had been so long since I ate alone at a restaurant.  It was amazing.  This brunch location was filled with millennials late on the Saturday morning.  Sitting alone I was able to skip the line and sit at the bar.  I drank a hard cider and watched the cooks do their thing as I ate.  It was a great meal.  I paid by scanning a QR code and paying online–something that seems to be going mainstream in the pandemic but the first time I ever did it.  When I left, I started back toward my friends’ house with a full belly.  I was thinking about taking a nap before heading to the Link and going downtown in the afternoon to seek out authentic Chinese food and fulfill a fancy bar recommendation I had received years ago..

I put in my earbuds, turned on some ambient music, and walked back.  The music cut out two blocks out from the house.  I was getting a call.  I pulled out my phone and saw that it was my wife.  I assumed she just put the kids down for a nap and wanted to talk.  I answered.  And, honestly, that is the last moment that I felt normal.  That I didn’t feel scared.

As I listened to her fumble through incoherent words, then nearly scream “I DON KNEW WATS APPENIN,” my world broke. I got her to mumble a few words that made it sound like she couldn’t feel her right arm.   I know the signs of a stroke—I’ve had enough cholesterol issues myself to learn what to look out for.  I told her to hang up and dial 911.  I immediately realized she would struggle to talk with the operator. So I dialed as well.  Seattle dispatch quickly sent me down to Tacoma dispatch.  Once I described what was happening, I was told that my wife was on the line of the woman next to my operator.  I clarified everything and they disconnected telling me dispatch was on their way.

I was back at the house when they disconnected.  Suddenly I realized how isolated I was.  I had taken public transit up.  No one was home.  I was an hour out–if I had a car.  I called Sarah.  No answer.  I called Kristen.  No answer.  I called Paul.  He answered, confused.  I choked out the words that I never imagined I would have to say: “Sofie’s having a stroke.  I need help.”  He told me he would figure it out and call me back.  I packed my bag as quickly as I could, filled my water bottle, and tried to make myself puke so I wouldn’t puke in someone’s car.  It didn’t work.

Paul called me back.  He said his wife would be there within ten minutes to pick me up and that Meg, a friend much closer to our house, was en route to be with Sofia.  I thanked him, hung up, and called Sofia.  The paramedics were with her.  I heard them kind of annoyed, telling me they were trying to get her to calm down.  Not wanting to make the situation worse, I told her what was happening, told her that I loved her, and told her I’d be there soon.

Kristen arrived much faster than expected.  She flew down I-5.  She was amazing at getting me to calm down.  I called my dad on the way down as well.  Between the two of them, I was able to center myself and prepare for what was ahead.  When we got close, we heard that the paramedics had not taken her–they called it a panic attack and left.  I’ll never forgive those faceless paramedics.  My wife had a phantom right arm and speech dispashia and they thought it was a fucking panic attack?! Fuck you.  I don’t care that she is 29–those are stroke symptoms and you don’t take chances with that.

She was taking a shower when we arrived.  We hugged for a very long time.  She tried to talk to me.  If she focused really hard, she could get some words out, but they were heavily slurred.  She often burst into tears when she couldn’t get a word out or couldn’t get her point across.  After less than a minute with her, I walked back into the living room and told Kristen that I would need her to help watch the kids–I had to take Sofia to the ER.  She expected it and was ready.  She was amazing.  And when Sofia came out, she got to see how bad it was.

We went to the urgent care next to the hospital.  I explained what happened to the woman at the front desk.  She immediately called a nurse over for triage.  When I told her what was going on, they told us to go across the street to the emergency room.  We crossed the street and checked in.  We were pulled back into the ER within minutes.  I was able to get past the “COVID No Visitors” rule by telling them she needed someone to help her communicate with nurses and doctors.  

The next four hours were a flurry of nurses, doctors, blood tests, CT Scans, and an MRI.  At the end, the doctor confirmed that my wife, at 29, had a stroke.  No matter how minor, the reality that something like that could happen was terrifying.  As they prepared a room for Sofia, I had to leave–the no visitors rule was much stricter outside the ER.  

I went home, relieved Kristen, put the kids to sleep, and started making calls and texts.  I updated everyone.  I updated the friends who helped me in my time of need.  I called my sister and my parents.   Then, knowing that I had put it off too long, I took a deep breath and called Sofia’s family.  That was probably the most difficult phone call I ever had to make.  They were all sitting together when I called.  I did my best to explain the severity of what had happened but also explain that she was okay.  Being able to tell them that her speech was normalizing helped soften to the blow—for them.

It didn’t for me.  In hours since she called, I had played out a hundred versions in my mind.  Ones where she was gone and I had two boys who have never been to daycare.  Ones where she spent months in rehab.  Ones where she was paralyzed.  And it wasn’t stopping.  As the calls ended and I was finally alone, the thoughts of her having a secondary stroke overnight hit me hard.  I put my phone on as loud as I could before I went to bed.

Sunday was strange.  Just me and the boys.  All day.  Mommy in the hospital down the street–except neither of them could understand that.  It was so lonely.  All I had to do was hold it together.  And I did. I walked the boys around in their stroller.  We went to the coffee shop with the kid section.  We walked by the hospital and waved to mommy through a window that we couldn’t see through—but at least she saw us.

She got out on Monday–after 48 hours in the hospital.  Our routine went back to normal.  We made dinner together.  We went for walks together.  But there are small things.  She had to wear a heart monitor for two weeks.  She questions herself when she stumbles over a word.  Her right hand gets tired far easier than ever before.  And I am still holding it together–frozen by the fear of losing her.

I am just so relieved that I didn’t lose her.