The In Between...

I feel as though that’s the story of my life sometimes! Not to be all philosophical on you here, but are we ever really content? I always kind of feel like I’m at an “in between” stage. Waiting… waiting to lose weight, waiting to get the perfect job, waiting to meet the man of my dreams (do you know anyone?), waiting to be a mom one day… I guess it’s just human nature to always have these goals and feel like you’re waiting.

But faster than ever, my life seems to be headed in the right direction; the waiting line is slowly dwindling away and I’m headed straight for You-Did-Its-ville. I guess that’s good, right? Well it doesn’t go without saying that along with accomplishing a lifelong goal comes anxiety. And lots of it. I experienced this a few weeks ago before my first surgery, but I feel anxiety overload now.

I was in a good spot before the last surgery. I was ready. No matter the dilemma, nothing would stand in my way. But now… yes, now… I worry. Maybe it’s because I’ve had too much time on my hands to think about all that could go wrong (in the name of disappointment, really). This has always been a major personality flaw with me. I’m a positive person, but I dwell on the what-ifs. What if I don’t lose much weight? What if I lose a lot quickly and my skin makes me look like a decrepit former fat person who has aged 30 years in six months? What if all of my body looks great and I don’t lose any weight in my arms? What if I’m really just a terrible person altogether and people truly don’t like my personality and that’s why I haven’t dated anyone in years and it had nothing to do with being fat? What if I can’t afford new clothes? How will I ever afford cosmetic surgery? The list goes on…

Yesterday was my first day back to work. After being off for three weeks, I’ve realized how stressful my job sometimes is. I am constantly pulled in fifty different directions. But I’ve been successful, still. “Anne, there’s a Hispanic couple at the front desk that needs help… Anne, this is the ER calling. Can you speak to this Hispanic patient who showed up over here?… Anne, a patient has questions about bills. Anne, this lady speaks Korean and we’re having a hard time understanding her.” That last one is always my favorite. I don’t speak Korean… or Arabic… or any language other than English or Spanish for that matter. J

Last Monday was my post-op visit to my doctor. Things went well. My weight was down. He told me I could skip the liquid diet as long as I kept my weight down. “Mark my words: If I can skip the liquid diet, I will be keeping my weight down!” I told him. Yesterday the insurance guru/surgery scheduler called. My next surgery will be October 9, 2012. The Physician’s Assistant, also named Anne, said I need to do the liquid diet for a week. Hmmmm. Slight disappointment, but what’s a girl to do? I will clearly have to do bowel prep again—probably the one thing I’m looking MOST forward to (insert hint of sarcasm).

Since my lap band is now gone, my stomach feels larger than life with lots of room. And I don’t have exact restrictions on what I can eat, so I haven’t been making great decisions all of the time. Pizza for dinner last night, Skyline over the weekend… But I’m keeping my portion sizes down and am starting to pay more attention to it now that I’m back to work.

So I guess this is the hurry up and wait period (even though I’m sure it will go rather quickly, as I said). If you’re praying people, keep this gal in your prayers. I am confident everything will go well with the surgery; it’s the aftermath and the mental coping and change that will be the most difficult, I predict.

Discussion Questions: What are you “waiting” for in your own life? Are you ever completely content? If you are considering weight loss surgery or have had weight loss surgery, what do you fear most?

The Surgery.... and the not-so-surgery

I apologize that I am just now getting around to posting... in the middle of this whirlwind that is my life here recently, I decided to apply to graduate school... graduate school started the day before my surgery!

So... here's the scoop. I have always been a supporter of Mercy Hospitals--especially my beloved Mercy Fairfield. But when I knew I was going to be there as a patient myself, I was suddenly concerned. Would my nurses be nice? Would I get my own room? Will I hate my hospital stay?

The day before was not so bad with the clear liquids. I had tried to sleep as late as possible (never a difficult task for me). So when I woke up around noon, I immediately left the house and did the few last-minute things I needed to get done before surgery. The bowel prep was terrible to say the least. Sometime in the midst of my hypochondria, I got it in my head that maybe I had Irritable Bowel Syndrome (IBS) or some sort of Ulcerative Colitis. My doctor sent me to a specialist who sent me for a colonoscopy. (I had occasional colitis, but nothing major). Point being, this was not my first rodeo when it came to bowel prep!

For my colonoscopy, I had to take something like six laxative pills, then drink a bottle of Miralax with Gatorade. This time, my prep consisted of a prescription for the HalfLytely system-- one tablet and then 2 liters of the most awful thing you've ever tasted... it was like a salty, thick sports drink solution. The set came with flavor packs (sounds not-too-bad, right?) to flavor the mixture anything from Cherry to Pina Colada. Lemon Lime was my choice poison. I could barely drink it. Saying it was awful is a serious understatement. At one point, I threw up. I could not drink any more... but I knew I had to... After advice from a friend, I stuck the liquid in the freezer and drank it ICE COLD. It helped.

After a somewhat-sleepless night, I arrived right on time at 7 a.m. and was sent to the lab for a urine sample (pregnancy test, I believe...). I was shown back to surgery and after about ten minutes, they called me back by myself to have me undress, put on a gown and geriatric socks (socks that have the little rubber strips on the bottom to keep from falling). The pre-op techs and nurses were great. They reviewed some things with me, started an IV, brought me a warm blanket, made sure I was comfortable, brought my mom back, introduced me to the anesthesia people... Eventually my surgery team came back. The nurse anesthetist explained to me what would happen, the team wheeled me back into the operating room. They had me move from my bed to the operating table,

It was show time. It was very surreal to me to be laying on the operating room table. It is literally a thin, metal table and kind of like what you would imagine-- lots of lights above, everything smelling very sterile, instruments place on a tray nearby... They put oxygen on me and told me to breathe deeply. That was probably the last thing I remember. I woke up and remember feeling like I couldn't quite breathe well. I could, but had been intubated, so there was a strong desire to cough.

Can you guess what was my first question upon waking?

"What did he do to me?" I had a lurking feeling that I was not able to have the Gastric Bypass Surgery...

I was right.

My post-op nurse confirmed that he was only able to take the lap band out at that time. Imagine the lap band as a rubber band that is maybe around your arm for 5.5 years. Once you remove it, it's sure to leave an indentation. Unfortunately, that indentation was right where Dr. Northup needed to cut and sew to create my new stomach or "pouch." Cutting above that line would've made my pouch too small. Cutting below it would've defeated the purpose of the surgery-- the pouch would have been too big. So they came to the consensus that I would have to have the Gastric Bypass Surgery at a later date.

I wanted to cry. I did cry. Until I realized I couldn't breathe! Every single time I thought about what had happened, I was overwhelmed with disappointment and I started to cry. How was I going to face my parents without being emotional? I was I going to tell everyone close to me-- friends, family, coworkers-- that I couldn't have the second surgery? Crying wasn't getting me anywhere except all worked-up in a hospital bed, barely able to breathe, even with an oxygen mask on... So I made a conscious decision to answer the nurse's questions and not think about what I had been told.

At that point, all I really wanted was to see my mommy. I knew even though she would tell me the same thing my nurses had been telling me, it would all I needed to hear to assure me that things were going to be ok. They assured me my parents would be waiting in my room when I got there.

"I need a private room." I'm pretty sure I voiced this concern to maybe six different people before and after my surgery. I didn't want to be a princess, and it's not that anyone else's reason for hospitalization isn't as important as mine, but I just really wanted to be alone. Well, you see, the thing is... they put me in a double. Go figure! But my nurse assured me that there was no roommate in there and that I would be fine.

And I was fine. They wheeled me to my room where my parents waited anxiously. I cried, but not for long. My nurse came in and she was excellent from the start. She made sure I was comfortable, made sure my family was comfortable. I was not in a ton of pain, but we kept the morphine up every two hours and it helped. I had six incisions total (small, of course). My incisions were tender and I there was some pain involved, but I mostly had discomfort in my shoulder from the abdominal gas build-up during surgery.

At one point the nurse manager, Mark, came in to say hi. He was extremely nice and helpful. I apologized for being a bit of a princess, but told him it was really important that I had a private room. I was actually thanking him for not putting anyone in my room, but I think he thought I was complaining and so he said he would find me an actual "private room." And he did! I told him it wasn't necessary, but he insisted!

So... the service was great. I was really impressed.

Coming up next: What happens next? And life between surgeries.