I'm a few weeks shy of a year post takedown.
Is it all sunshine & unicorns & puppies? No.
But, I'm active, productive professionally, happy in my family life, and the issues the pouch presents--primarily gas for me, and farting off the toilet is not in my skill set--are modest next to how sick I was. I'm also in the best shape of my adult life, because I finally decided to get my lazy behind into the gym on a regular basis.
And, frankly, I mean this literally, I'm not dead, which was apparently a few short hours away for me when my first, emergency surgery was performed.
Not dead feels pretty freaking great.