Story Time: Day of Surgery

 Here it is, more details of my surgery experience. This part of my story pertains to the actual day of surgery, at least, as much of it as I can remember.

Woke up in the motel room about every 2 hours.  Checked the clock and I would go back to sleep.  Finally, the clock said 5:00 am.  I figured that's enough time to shower, dress and get to the hospital by 6:15.  My dad was up already, he's one of those weird people who can't manage to sleep past 4am.  Or, at least, that's what it feels like.

We get to the hospital, follow the directions I clutched in my sweaty little fist to find the Day Surgery section of the hospital.  I know, I know, this isn't day surgery, but this is evidently where everyone goes to get an IV and the fabu hospital gown.

I go to the lady at the desk, say my name, tell her I'm here for surgery.  She grabs my mother's chart.  I repeat my first name.  She gets my chart, and hands both of our charts off to some other nurses who sit at a desk just around the corner. 

At this point, I take off my nose-ring and give it to my dad for safe keeping.  Then I just wait.  Being short has a unique and wonderful advantage.  When waiting in most chairs, if I scoot my butt back all the way to the very back of the chair, my feet don't touch the floor and I feel like a little girl, my legs swinging.  I love that feeling.  It's soothing.

A nurse called me in, brought me to a bed that had some funky socks and wrappings and a gown laying on it.  My backpack was placed in the chair next to me. I'm instructed to get into the gown and put these weird white socks on. They've got a hole that's sposed to go on the top of your foot.

I undress, placing my shoes and clothes in a little plastic bag that had "Campbell, T" written on it. I've never liked it when my first name isn't spelled out.  I mean, what if there's a Theresa or a Tanya out there, and I end up with her clothes? Anyway...

I'm sitting on the bed, wearing funky socks and a gown that's open in the back. Whee! At this point the nurse brings my mom over to the bed next to me and I can hear the same instructions repeated.  Then that same nurse comes to me and has me lay back so she can put these funky orange and white leg braces on over my new funky socks.  It's quite an ensemble. 

Feeling nervous at this point, I feel the need to explain to every single person I come into contact with that I'm not wearing sunglasses because I'm cool, but because my normal glasses are in the shop and these are prescription.  I do this the minute a new nurse comes into my little curtained cubicle to inform me that she's going to insert the IV. 

She's middle-aged, blonde, and she looks tired.  She asks which hand I write with, I tell her, "My right," and gesture, just in case she might not know which is which.  She comes over to my left side and begins searching for a vein.

Normally, nurses love me and my poppy veins.  They tell me I should be a test subject for new nurses my veins are so good.  Evidently, to have good veins, you need to be hydrated.  apparently, not being allowed to drink water until 5:30pm the previous day, and stopping all intake of fluid at midnight made my veins go into hiding.  But, blonde-nurse decided to try on my left hand. 

She tells me she thinks she can feel a vein, and pokes.  I can't watch.  I feel some pain, but nothing outrageous.  Then I hear blonde-nurse curse under her breath.  I ask, "What's wrong?" She tells me she burst the vein.  I'm thinking to myself, "That's not a good thing."  She bandages up my left hand and comes to my right side, finally deciding to insert the IV under my thumb on the side of my wrist.  She pokes again, things seem to be going well, I ask, "Did you get it."  She tells me she did, but that I'm now bleeding all over.  I just close my eyes and lay back.

She finally gets the IV attached and fluid coming into me, but now the clean-up op has begun.  Three nurses are around me, changing my gown, bringing in towels and changing my blankets.  Everything looks very bloody. It doesn't make me feel any less nervous.

Meanwhile, over in happy land, my mom's IV seems to go in magically, and all is well. My nurse glances over as mom's getting her IV and says, "Sure, you get the one with the skinny hands."  At this point, I just want to kick blonde-nurse.  She's an ass.  And, I've determined, completely incompetent.

Fluids are rushing into me at this point, and a little known fact about 2000ml of fluid being pushed into your body... It makes you freezing cold!  For the first time, but definitely not the last, I am loving the fresh hot blankets.  Yay for warmed blankets!

Mom and Dad sit next to me, he's holding her hand (awww... sweet) and they're chatting.  Eventually, the guy who wheels beds around comes for me and takes me into a room labeled, post-anesthesia recovery.  I'm thinking the hospital must not like pre-op as a word.

I wait there, some fabulous south-african woman wearing pearls with her scrubs labels my backpack for me, and my sunglasses case.  I kinda watch some weird game show on a tv across the room, but since I can't hear it, it makes no sense to me. 

My anesthesiologist comes in and asks if I have any questions, but all my mind can do is repeat, "my god he's cute.  I'm very glad he's cute.  yay!"  Another nurse comes in and tells me she's going to be the nurse in the operating room.  I think, "cool, have you seen how cute my anesthesiologist is?" 

After about 45 minutes in that room, the bed-wheeler dude comes back to take me away.  My mother had evidently just been wheeled to the other end of this room, I ask if I can say a brief "hi-bye" and do so. 

And that, folks, is all I remember before surgery.  I have no recollection if the OR was left or right after we left that room, I don't remember anything at all about the OR. Nada, zip, zilch.

So, here I fade to black....

 

Waking up from the black was kinda traumatic.  Everything was so busy, so many people were around me, the lights were so bright.  And my god, my brain was fuzzier than it has ever been in my life.

Going with the theme of "Fuzzy Brain" everything for the next few hours feels like something out of a Terry Gilliam movie. Here is what I can recall.

• Fabulous soothing darkness of my hospital room.
• My dad's bright orange shirt walking into my room like a ray of sunshine.
• Babbling at my dad, then falling asleep mid-sentence.
• Some evil nurse holding my breathing tester up to my mouth and forcing me to inhale.
• Same evil nurse making me hold the breath tester myself.
• Tremendous dissappointment that I had a pain-ball instead of a morphine pump.

Finally, around 6pm I started feeling less fuzzy.  And that my mouth was hideously dry.  Everytime my nurse came in she would force me to test my breathing capacity and I would wait until she was gone and then just put the damn thing down.  She caught me once, came in two seconds after she had left and tsk-tsked me. 

I kept asking Dad, who was just reading quietly in a corner of my room, if mom was out of surgery yet.  I think she was, but I don't remember exactly when.

At 7:00 pm, my nurse came in and asked if I was ready to go for my first walk.  I said "sure," as my back felt sticky, and I just plain hate laying on my back for any length of time.   At 8:00 a couple nurses came in and took my leg compressors off, then I discovered my bed was magical.  Seriously.

They were able to tip the whole thing up and up and up, so that all I had to do was hold onto the rails at the foot of my bed and step down a few inches.  Magic, I tell ya.

I did one lap of the nurses station, and stopped in briefly to wave at my mom, who was feeling very fuzzy-brained at the time.  I doubt she even remembers me visiting her at that point.  Got back to my room feeling completely drained, and ready to lay back down.

Sleep is not an easy thing to do in a hospital.  Every hour or two someone comes around and places a death vice on your arm to check blood pressure, they prick your finger, stick a thermometer under your tongue, and force you to breathe in that stupid little plastic machine.  Plus, unable to really bend my right wrist, I couldn't get my pillows arranged to maximize comfort. 

Unable to sleep, I paged a nurse at 11:00pm and asked if I could go for a walk again.  She said, "Alrighty."  At about 12:30am I finally got my second walk.  This time, Gilda was my nurse.  She got my leg cuffs off, made the bed do its magic to stand me up and just as we were about to leave, some other nurse came in saying she needed my blood.  Gah!  So, Gilda helped me plop down into the armchair next to my bed.  My blood was taken, and Gilda helped pull me out of the chair.

We went for a walk together, then Gilda took me to my bathroom. (I didn't have to go, thanks to an evil invention known as a catheter that no nurse realized hurt like hell when they pulled or bumped it.)  And in the bathroom, Gilda washed my back while I brushed my teeth.  It was the most heavenly feeling in all the world.  I washed my front and brushed my teeth again while she changed my sheets and got me fresh pillows. 

Clean, and feeling semi-mobile, I got back into a clean bed and got a little bit of sleep.

Thus ends my Day of Surgery.

Home again

Well, the days in San Diego were sunny and hot.  Filled with lots of walking at fun places.  But also, pain, pain pills, and sharing a tiny hotel room with my parents.  So, I'm glad to be home again (even if just for a week) so that I can enjoy the comfort of my own bed and room once more.  But, it was a lot easier to find reasons to go out and walk walk walk when in San Diego.

Also, because I have been busy, I didn't post on Tuesday that we're allowed real food again!  Sorta.  Mushy high protein foods.  But not broth and jello.  It's time to happy dance people.

I've been keeping a food and exercise journal since Monday.  And it boggles my mind that I'm averaging about 150 calories a day.  Add in all the hours of walking, and bam! net loss of calories has been somewhere around 1100 a day.  That's just crazy.

On Wednesday, after enjoying yogurt and cheese sticks and cottage cheese, I realized I might be having a mild lactose issue.  So, I've cut out lactose products for a wee bit.  Yay refried beans, eggs and deli chicken slices.

I'm easily managing to get in my 64 oz of water a day.  But where I'm having difficulties is with the protein.  We're supposed to be taking in 60 grams a day.  And with three teeny tiny meals, I'm lucky if I hit 18 grams. Hrmm. Time to start exploring the wonderful world of protein supplements.  My mom tried proteinex, and hated it.  But, I might give it a whirl this morning. See how it goes.  

We have very different tastes, my mom and me.  She loves those Flintstones chewables, they make me extremely nauseous.  Hence, she tells me she just adores the chewable chocolate calcium supplements and I'm wary.  BUT. I need to get over that because I need the supplements, whether I like them or not. 

Here I go, wish me luck.  Oh, and more surgery stories will follow, I just wanted to keep everything post hospital a little up to date.

Story Time: Pre-Op Testing Day

Instead of backposting my dates, I'm going to post my surgery story as I have time.  Hope that works for y'all.

 
Well, as (I think) previously mentioned, my mother and I were on a clear liquid diet starting Saturday before our Tuesday surgery.  Clear liquids being pretty much just what it sounds like.  Any clear liquid.  In the case of two Type-II diabetics though, the honey and maple syrup were not options to flavor our broth.
 
This diet gave me a monster headache that first day.  I had to go get myself some Tylenol (as that was the only doc approved painkiller) so I could sleep on the flight to San Diego.  Also got some little jello cups to snack on as I highly doubted the airplane meal would fit the clear liquid diet.
 
Arrived in San Diego just fine and dandy, almost enjoying our cups of broth and jello, now that we discovered we had a working little freezer in our mini-fidge, we got some sugar-free popsicles to savor as well.
 
Here comes Monday morning.  I'm excited and nervous all at once.  I load my backpack with books and music to keep me busy because the paperwork said the day of pre-op testing would be long and full of downtime.  We get to the doctor's office a half hour before they open and head back downstairs and outside where we notice another large lady waiting, with a plastic baggy of books and snacks.  We introduce ourselves and ask if she's here for Dr. Wittgrove.  She is Pam. She's first on the surgery list tomorrow.  Pam is our surgery sister, Yay!
 
Finally, 8:30 rolls around and we head upstairs along with some other large ladies of various sizes. 
 
The  office opens and its a beautifully decorated office.  I'm first to the front counter and get my paperwork to fill out.  Pretty soon, all the couches are filled up with other women and their friends/family. 
 
As is my nature, I filled out my sheets and turned my whole packet in first.  Yay competitive nature!  Then I wait.
 
I wait some more.
 
My mother and I wait as every other person in the room is called in and taken back, then sent to some other office for testing.
 
Finally at about 10:30 my mother is called in, I keep waiting.
 
She comes out, and tells me she's going to go get an EKG.
 
I wait some more.  And during all this wait time, did I read the books I had packed.  No.  I read, cover to cover, every single issue of People Magazine in that lobby.  I listened to music once I got tired of listening for my name to be called.  I studied the curve-laden interior design of the office. 
 
Finally my name is called and I go back with a cute skinny girl in scrubs.  She takes my blood pressure, my temperature,  my weight, my body fat levels, and then my picture.  I go back out to the lobby and get my instructions to go down to Dr. Hiser's office. 
 
In the good Dr. Hiser's office there is a scary looking blonde nurse at the front desk.  My mother is there waiting.  I feel like I'm in some kinda weird race.  I wait some more.
 
Mom gets called in, and then comes out.  I get called in.
 
I sit in a little room with copies of Van Goghs on the wall.  Yay Van Gogh!
I am instructed to take off my shirt and bra and move my skirt to below my belly.  I do this, and put in a robe that's a little too tight.  The velcro keeps popping off.
 
Nurse comes back in, attaches electrode stickers all over my chest.  Tries to attach the electrode cords and all the stickers start peeling off.  So, the stickers get reinforced with tape.  Finally, all wired up, I'm told to hold very very still.  First EKG reading doesn't work. So, I have to hold very very very still, and it takes.  I get dressed and wait some more.
 
Dr. Hiser comes in.  A good looking SoCal type.  He says my EKG is normal.  We talk about my diabetes, my thyroid problems, and then about his son's desire to go into the film industry.  Finally, after a nice conversation that referenced Joseph Campbell, I'm on my way back upstairs.
 
My mum is there waiting.
 
At this point we start talking to Trish.  She's having the surgery on Wednesday.  She wants to start writing screen plays, so I talk to her about that, we exchange emails, and I feel like I've made a new friend.
 
Trish gets called in. 
  
Mom falls asleep and we wait.
 
Mom wakes up and we talk to a nice lady named Valerie who had the surgery done three weeks earlier.  Like everyone we've talked to in this office, she's a sweetheart who is ecstatic for us.  Give me good feelings.
 
Finally, the nurse comes out and asks if we want to see the doctor together or separately, we say in unison, "together," as we are just sick of the waiting.
 
Dr. Wittgrove is a kinda soft-spoken, nice man.  He goes over the surgery again in detail, asks us some questions, answers some questions.  He seems pleased that I've been practicing small sips with my water, and know the pouch rules. The coolest thing I learn in his office was that he uses two basic kinds of staplers.  The straight stapler staples two sides and cuts.  It's used to separate things.  The circular staple is a bit bigger and used to connect things.  The circular one goes in through our lower left side and needs a bit larger incision.  Hence, the left side will probably ache a bit longer.
 
We're sent to separate rooms to strip and put on a gown so he can examine us.  I stare out the window at the beautiful hillside beyond.  Finally, Dr. Wittgrove comes in and asks me a few more questions.  Shows me exactly where the incisions are all going to be.  Give me a breast exam as I stare back out the window going "la la la" in my head.  He pushes my internal organs around, then has me breathe, listens to my heart.  Says, "Alrighty, get dressed and I'll go see your mother now."
 
I go out, peer at my folder, then my mom comes out and we're sent to get some testing done.  Whee!
 
Go downstairs to a much dinkier, dingier office and wait some more.
 
My mom, being the chatty lady she is, makes friends with an old couple and a mexican couple while we wait.
 
Finally, a lady named Tina calls us back.  I think to take my blood and urine. But no.  She just wants money.  Which Dad has, and he's roaming around town. (though, most likely just hangin' at the hotel)  We tell her we REALLY have to go to the bathroom as its heading on close to 4:30 by this point and we haven't gone to the bathroom all day.  So, Tina sends us down to the lab.
 
At the lab, I barely make it in the cup, I have to go so bad.  But, they get their sample, and their blood and we're back upstairs.
 
Dad has arrived with money.  He pays for mom, I give Tina $100. Some other lady hands us some bags with a little breathing tester machine in it, some anti-bacterial soaps, and at about 5:30 we're sent over to Radiology at the hospital (across the parking lot).
 
The radiologist is busy with someone.  So, we get our chest X-Rays done first.  Then we wait some more, but by now, we should be professional people who wait.
 
The radiologist is a nice lady with a Boston accent who gets the joy of smearing jelly on my belly and looking at my insides.  Then, she gets to insert a fun fun fun instrument up inside me and look around some more.  Evidently I have a tilted uterus.  I'll pocket that info and figure out what it means later.  I clean up, head out to wait for the nice Boston Radiologist to finish up with mom, and slurp up two jello-cups and down a bottle of water.  Nothing ever tasted so good in my entire life.
 
Mom's out, and we head back to the office we started in.  It's about 6:30.  We've had a long day, we pay the surgeon and assistants their money (we actually give it to someone else, but we got a receipt so all is good) and are told exactly when we have to be at the hospital the next day.
 
I have to be there at 6:15 am. Mom at 7:15.  The two ladies left in the office can't figure out what took us so damn long to get everything done.  We tell them we waited in their lobby for almost half the day doing nothin' but twiddle our thumbs.  They go, "hmmm."  And we're off to the joys of drinking Magnesium Citrate.
 
Now, my parents have been telling me horror stories of this stuff.  Evidently the last time they drank a bottle of the stuff they didn't know about flavors.  But the cherry flavored Magnesium Citrate was, well, not good, but not bad at all. Kinda tasted like those salty sour worms I used to get at the movies.
 
We drank that, traded places on the toilet for about 3 hours.  Then drank some more water.  Then went to sleep ready for our big day.

Feelin' Good

Well, my mom and I made it through surgery just fine.  She's still leaking a little from where the circular staple went in, and her belly button (where the camera goes in) too. 
 
We're gonna head to the beach today and do some more walkin.
 
I'll give more details when I'm feelin' even better.

Day of Surgery

Well, only about 10 minutes until we leave for the hospital to get prepped for surgery. Yesterday was a looong day of pre-tests and paperwork and questions. I get an IV at 6:15 today. Mom gets hers at 7:15.

I'll write more when I get back and feel up to updating. Heck. I might even post a picture or two. Right now though... I'm feeling just a teeny tiny bit nervous.

What am I doing?

Last night, I was looking around the table at my support group, looking at the faces. Some thin, some chubby, some fat. Listening to them talk about complications, and everyday irritations I thought... "What am I doing? Why am I mutilating my body?"

I was truly terrified, and for a brief second, I considered the thought of just not doing it. I mean, hell. My life hasn't been so bad. I've got amazing friends, a great family, and sure.. I'm not able to buy clothes so easily, but I'm happy. Most of the time.

It's like a little knot of fear in the bottom of my belly. Just curled up, absolutely terrified of what I'm about to do to her. I'm going to kill my belly. The cuts and rearranging will come first, but then the slow wasting away. I've done this sorta thing before. Leave friendships and relationships that are bad for me. But this is so different. I never thought I could get rid of her. My belly. We go everywhere together. She's my traveling buddy. How could I ever be lonely with such a soft cuddly friend right there with me all the time. Taking every nasty insult for herself, deflecting it from me, and just absorbing it.

Is that what my fear is? Not the me who writes this blog. But the voice of my life-long friend, my belly. She's not my friend though. She tears at my joints and my back. She unbalances me. She hurts me when I fall. She likes to talk me out of relationships with anyone else. She's always been all powerful in my life. And next week, her death begins. With her death, my life no longer has an anchor dragging behind, slowing me down.

All too often, when I think about this surgery, I look down at my belly, big, round and soft. And I give her a hug. Like I'm looking at a beloved old dog that is about to be put to sleep. Make no mistake though, this is going to be a battle. My belly will fight for her life. She will tear me apart emotionally. She will lie to me, and manipulate me. And I'm not going to let it happen. I will recognize that she's only trying to stay alive, and I will know that my belly can no longer be the domineering relationship in my life.

Fifty Reasons

I'm still pouring over other WLS blogs. Many of them have lists, written either before or way after the surgery, of what they want to do once (or now that) the fat is gone.

I've been daydreaming, of course, but since everything is official. I guess now I can speak my dreams aloud. Because until I say something out loud (or posted to the world) I don't feel like it is really possible.

Fifty things I will do once I'm not Fat.

1. Run for fun
2. SCUBA dive
3. Rock Climb
4. Play Soccer again
5. Climb a tree
6. Shop in a thrift store
7. Shop in a regular store
8. Wear thigh-high boots
9. Learn how to salsa
10. T'ai Chi
11. Yoga, (not doing alternate positions)
12. Learn to Dive into a pool
13. Buy a bra that fits properly
14. Play on a pottery wheel
15. Sit on someone's lap
16. Take part in an overnight hike
17. Learn to Rollerskate
18. Wear sexy shoes
19. Ride a rollercoaster
20. Take a ballet class
21. Surf
22. Jump rope
23. Sky dive
24. Bungee Jump
25. Climb a fence
26. Buckle my seatbelt on a plane
27. Use the fold down tray on a plane
28. Flirt
29. Wear shirts tucked in
30. Wear a belt
31. Buy and wear t-shirts at a concert
32. Run a marathon
33. Play raquetball
34. Play tennis
35. Whitewater rafting
36. Kayaking
37. Wear short skirts
38. Not worry about breaking any chair I sit on
39. Be flirted with
40. Date
41. Sit in classroom chairs (attached to desks)
42. Cross my legs
43. Pull ups
44. Be told I'm beautiful, and believe it
45. Grow a gigantic garden and tend it well
46. Sing in a piano bar
47. Write a one-woman show
48. Hold a laptop in my lap
49. Play with kids until they're tired, not me
50. Win an Oscar

There's probably more, but I tried to keep as many negatives out of this list as possible. Some of these activities are things I always wanted to try, but was too afraid. Too afraid I'd be slow, too afraid I'd fall and hurt myself, too afraid people would look at me and say, "holy crap, look at that ridiculous fat beast." I know I'll still probably have fears. As the cliche goes, the surgery's for my body not my mind. I have 28 years of a certain mind-set to overcome. But, thankfully, I've never ever let my fat stop me from doing something I set my mind on doing, so, maybe my obstacles won't be too massive.

Only 12 days until surgery. Holy crap.