How Did I Get Here?
I thought I would take a moment and write up a bit about my medical history. This is primarily related to my walking videos — how did I get here?
Teenage Years
From the time I can remember, I weighed around 325 lbs. I don’t know how old I was when I got to that weight — I just don’t remember weighing less. By the time of my late teens, that’s where I was.
This was in the ’80s, and the Big Deal™ back then was fat. My mom was overweight, and both of us tried any number of fad diets. I remember one where you were supposed to pick one thing and eat it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner until you got so sick of it you never wanted to eat it again.
I grew up on “healthy” cereals like Grape Nuts, bran flakes, unsweetened “adult” cereals — except I occasionally got Lucky Charms. So I picked Count Chocula. And I ate it three meals per day. We did that for a couple of weeks before my mother gave up on the diet. I was still happily eating the cereal.
None of the other diets we tried helped. I was always hungry. It was attributed to being a growing boy.
When I was 15, I got my first job in fast food. I worked at Church’s Fried Chicken, Domino’s, McDonald’s — basically for the following five years. I worked long hours on my feet. For almost a year of that, I worked at McDonald’s and Domino’s at the same time, both full-time. I’d wake up most days around 4 a.m. to get to McDonald’s by 5, work until about 2 p.m., go home for a nap, then head into Domino’s at 5 p.m. and work until midnight or 2 a.m., then home again for another nap. My days off were staggered, so I usually got enough sleep — but not always.
Early Adulthood
When I was 20, I got a job in customer service, then moved into tech support and help desk roles. Office jobs. Sitting down all day.
While working fast food, I had eaten more — but I was working harder, so I stayed around 325 lbs. With office work, I didn’t eat less — just sat more. Over the next few years, my weight crept up to around 385 lbs.
I was struggling to keep jobs. I didn’t know why yet, just that I had all sorts of problems. I also had trouble finding work other than tech support or customer service — and I was realizing I hated telephone work.
I remember getting hired at Verizon around 2003 because I couldn’t find anything else. Training was minimal, and once on the floor, I was completely lost. After a couple of weeks, I just couldn’t make myself go in anymore, so I quit.
In 2004, my wife’s parents were both struggling with cancer. We moved to Panama City, FL to help them out. Not long afterward, we inherited the house.
I continued struggling with work. I did a number of things — worked for a sign company, delivered flowers — whatever I could find. But I was more often unemployed than employed.
2007–2008
In 2007, I was diagnosed with diabetes. I was paying $75 cash for each clinic visit. They put me on metformin, which didn’t do anything noticeable. They increased the dose — again, no noticeable difference. Finally, they said, “Well, I’m sorry, but that’s what you can afford.”
So I figured I was just screwed.
Education wasn’t great — at least, not there, and not for me. I knew to cut sugar out of my diet. But I didn’t learn about carbs. Being poor, we lived on carbs — rice, bread, pasta, potatoes. That’s the cheap stuff.
Over time, my weight dropped back down to around 325 lbs. So I had changed my eating habits — but mostly because I was poor.
In 2008, I was diagnosed with ADHD. I got Ritalin, and it was amazing. But I couldn’t afford to stay on it. So I went back to struggling. I tried college again — my third attempt.
In 2009, I got to do an internship in Seattle, which was great. Also, in 2009, I had my 15 minutes of fame. lol.
In 2010, we hit financial difficulties — the IRS made a mistake we couldn’t fix and claimed we owed $14,000 we didn’t actually owe. But we couldn’t prove it. I lost my scholarships and financial aid as a result.
I kept struggling with work. Started my own company at one point — never really successful.
2017
My health had been slowly declining. Less energy. More struggle. I’d tried walking several times before — 2–3 miles daily or every other day — but never saw improvement. In hindsight, maybe it helped slow the decline, but I’ll never know.
One day in particular stands out. We had a show opening in two days. It was tech week for a theatrical production I had done sound design for, but I was also acting in it. I wasn’t running the sound — just had the show set up on my laptop. There had been issues the night before, so I installed it on my wife’s laptop as a backup.
It was July. It was hot.
On the way to the theatre, I stopped at McDonald’s and got a McChicken and an unsweet iced tea. Ate the sandwich in the car, saving the tea for the theatre. I had this vision of walking into the air conditioning, sitting in a comfy chair, and enjoying that cold iced tea before rehearsal.
I got to the parking lot, grabbed the laptops, slung them over my shoulder. Thought, “Man, it is really hot today. These laptops are heavy.”
I saw a castmate heading inside. We’d had words the previous night — nothing terrible, just tension. I called out a line from the show — something that sounded rude at first but was actually a joke. He got it, grinned. But raising my voice took it out of me. I thought again — it’s HOT out here.
I started the maybe 40-foot walk to the door. Thought again: wow, this is hot. These laptops are heavy. There was a car parked near the door. I thought, “Maybe I’ll pause there to catch my breath.” Then: “Maybe I’ll need to lean against that car.”
Time started slowing down.
I thought, “I don’t know if I’m going to make it to that car.” Then, “I don’t know if I can take another step.” Then —
What the hell is going on?
Adrenaline kicked in. Time slowed more. I clenched up. My body reacted — panic, confusion. I crushed the iced tea in my hand. My brain was racing:
- Am I dying?
- Is this it?
- Is this all I get?
- DAMMIT, I WANTED THAT ICED TEA.
- Wait — are my last thoughts really “Am I dying?” and “Damn, I wanted that iced tea”? …REALLY?
And then I collapsed and fainted.
…
…
…
…
…
After a while, I started to come around. I slowly began to become aware—and to be aware that I was still around to be aware.
I had no vision. Not blackness—something weirder. My brain simply wasn’t taking in anything from my eyes. If there was a color, it might’ve been a sort of grey, but even that isn’t right. It wasn’t like closing your eyes. It wasn’t darkness. It was nothing. Super weird.
As I processed that, I remembered the thoughts I’d had while fainting—about the tea—and was faintly amused. But mostly I was just aware: I wasn’t dead. Not yet.
After some time—no idea how long—my body suggested maybe letting out a moan. Out of fear, maybe, or just testing the waters. The thinking part of my brain agreed. “Yeah, alright,” I thought. “Let’s try moaning.”
So I moaned.
No response.
So I knew: no one was around.
More time passed. Vision started to return—light and dark areas, at least, if not shapes. Then I heard someone call out: “Isaac? Isaac, are you okay?”
Now, I’ve never been one to seek attention. Never been one to ask for help unless it’s needed. When I get a cold or the flu? Aspirin, chicken soup, and sleep. That’s how I get better. I’ve always been independent—get my own coffee, make my own lunch.
So when I heard someone asking if I was okay, I thought for a moment, and said: “No.”
And because they knew me, they knew that was serious.
They said they’d get help and would be right back. And they were. The cast came out with a chair. By this point I was getting more vision back, and managed to climb into it. Damp with iced tea, I might add—only because I remain bitter about that.
My wife came over to check on me. “Do you maybe want to get checked out?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “I think that’s a good idea.”
She was already worried. But when I got into the passenger seat of the car, she got really worried. I *always* drive. I like driving. She doesn’t. She knew something was very wrong.
The ER
We went to the ER—a satellite location on the beach. (Panama City is divided by the bay: Panama City proper on the east, Panama City Beach on the west. The two main hospitals are in town.)
Spring break used to be a big thing there. You’d know it had started when someone fell off a hotel balcony. So one hospital had built an ER right there at the beach—it was a 30+ minute drive otherwise.
We checked in. They started tests. Hooked me up to monitors. My pulse was about 160. The high pulse alarm was going off constantly.
They did X-rays, a CT scan, tried various things to get my pulse down. Then, after I got back from the scan, about eight staff walked into the room. One stayed by the door. They had a cart with them.
My wife, who had some basic medical training from our work with adults with disabilities, recognized it immediately—a crash cart. She smiled and kept quiet so I wouldn’t realize.
Thing is, I had the training too. I recognized it immediately. I watched as they pulled out the paddles, lubed them, and placed them on my chest.
The nurse at the door said, “Soooo… we’re going to give you something called adenosine. It’ll slow your heart and hopefully reset it. Six units first. If that doesn’t do it, we’ll push twelve.”
They tilted me back, feet up, and pushed the 6 units.
Immediately, I felt very… heavy. You know when they take your blood pressure and your arm feels heavy below the cuff? Imagine that—but your whole body.
Markedly unpleasant.
The pulse started to drop:
160… 140… 120… (high alarm off)… 100… 80… 60… 50… 40… (low alarm on)… 30…
… 40… 60… 80… 100… 120… (high alarm again)… 140… 160.
Yeah, no good.
“Alright,” they said. “Time for 12 units.”
Repeat:
160… 140… 120… (alarm off)… 100… 80… 60… 50… 40… (alarm on)… 30… 20… 15…
… 20… 40… 60…
And this time it held. Finally.
Saddle Pulmonary Embolism
They told me I had a saddle pulmonary embolism—large blood clots sitting on top of both lungs. They were starting me on TPA, a very strong blood thinner. Those clots could break apart and stop my heart. Permanently.
They needed to move me from the beach ER to the main hospital. So I got an ambulance ride with lights (no sirens—it was late). They sent an RN with me. She was excited: “Ooh! My first TPA run!”
Thing about TPA—if you get even a scratch, you could bleed out. So, careful trip.
We got there. They kept me for ten days. And I was… basically fine afterward.
The Move
I told my wife: I need work. I need insurance. Or I’m going to die.
She agreed, even though we were afraid of losing the house.
I got a job in Virginia Beach and moved in July 2018. She joined me in August. I started trying to get my diabetes under control.
Then, in 2018, Hurricane Michael—a Category 5—hit our house.
We’d only brought what fit in two cars. Planned to go back later with a truck. But we couldn’t. Roof leaked. Eventually, we had to sell the house—for the price of the land. Not much, I assure you.
Heart Trouble
In 2019, my shoulder started hurting. Couldn’t sleep. After a couple of weeks, I went to the ER: heart attack.
They put in two stents—but couldn’t place them where they needed to. Veins too small. “Diet and exercise,” they said. My only hope.
So I tried. And I got my diabetes under control.
Lost that job, but found another. Been there since.
2021: The Foot
In 2021, I stepped on a bottle cap. Didn’t think much of it. Two weeks later: cold symptoms wouldn’t go away. Looked at my foot—the same spot—purple bulge.
Oops.
Went to the ER. Infection. They amputated just behind my toes. Happy birthday to me.
Seven months passed. The wound wouldn’t heal. I went to wound care weekly. Home nurses changed bandages three times a week.
Then: infection in the bone. IV antibiotics every six hours. Wake up, hook up, 30-minute drip, tear down, sterilize, try to sleep. But I don’t fall back to sleep easily. I was barely functioning.
The doctor said, “It’s not healing. We might have to amputate below the knee.” Next week: “Actually… maybe better.” Week after that: “Maybe not.” This repeated. Weekly.
I finally said: “Look, I don’t want the amputation, but I can’t live like this.”
So we did the amputation.
Recovery and Now
I healed. Got a prosthesis. But walking hurt—badly. Not enough energy. I’d go in, we’d adjust something, I’d be able to walk a bit—then get home and collapse. Repeat.
Eventually, I learned to make it work. But my health kept declining.
My kidneys failed. By early 2024, they were completely gone. I started dialysis in February. Three days a week.
Six heart attacks to date. Four STEMI, two NSTEMI.
There was a long period where I couldn’t walk at all. Just getting out of bed was nearly impossible.
Now? I’m not “better,” but I’m “less bad.” I have just enough energy to try walking again.
Why I’m Posting
So I realized—I could walk again. But I also knew: I hate standing up. It hurts. I’m tired. I’d never do it without something pushing me.
The only thing I could think of: post about it every day. And maybe, just maybe, get enough people watching to feel responsible. To feel accountable. To keep going because people *expect* me to keep going.
Every day.
Thank You
If you’ve read this: thank you. If you’re watching me walk: thank you. You are helping me stay alive.