The Day of Surgery (Part Three) – Plus a Brief Update (504 as of 05/04/15)

I resigned my attempts to get my husband to go home – truly I hated him seeing me this way. I was terrified, but trying very hard to be brave. A second nurse, the one Nurse Jill referred to as the real “pro” at getting IV’s in, approached me with a big smile and a bit of a giggle. She was older, with salt and pepper pixie-cut hair. She had large glasses that almost looked like magnifying glasses; they made her eyes look huge. She introduced herself, though I can’t remember her name, and quickly began to search my arms for a vein. She had a sense of urgency about her- like she was in a perpetual hurry. She thought that she had found one in my upper arm that she could use. I braced myself once again as I felt the needle go in.

My stomach was, by this time, really betraying me. She gently twisted the needle about, trying to find the vein. She paused and looked at me with concern – my nausea must have been palpable, because she quickly withdrew the needle and wiped my arm down. She explained that she was not comfortable trying again because she was afraid of ruining my veins for the anesthesiologist. I nodded, but inwardly sighed – I was no ready to be poked again anytime soon.

Like these guys! I honestly think
They could have had their own sitcom. 

No sooner had The Pro finished cleaning up, than a team of three handsome men in scrubs walked into my room. I had heard them coming down the hall; they were in a jolly mood and seemed to have great rapport with one another. One, whom called himself Brian, immediately took my hand and introduced himself and the others. They were on the surgical team and were here to take me to the OR prep area. I felt like bolting; changing my mind and making a run for the door. Brian put a warm, firm hand on my shoulder and smiled knowingly at me.

“We’re going to take great care of you, Katherine.” He said it with the most genuine smile I have ever seen. I relaxed a little and adjusted myself in the bed, lying back and pulling the sheet tight against me. I could see my husband looking over at me. Brian adjusted the bed so that I was only slightly reclined rather than laying all the way back. My husband asked if he was allowed to come with me. Brian frowned a little, but said that he could come along and stay as long as it wasn’t too hectic in the prep area.

Off we went; Brian at the foot of the bed, one of the other men at my side, and the other steering from the head of the bed. As we passed the nurses’ station I saw Nurse Jill sitting at the desk. I blew her a kiss (for some reason) and waved at her, and she did the same as she exclaimed that she would be up to check on me in recovery. We passed through several doorways on the way to the prep area. Brian also backed into a security guard pretty hard, who smiled and patted him on the back. Most of the ride consisted of some pretty amusing banter between my three escorts on who was the worst driver of them all – I think Brian was the declared winner.

I was taken into a large room with several curtained off areas inside. My bed was parked inside of one of these areas, and a chair was brought for my husband to sit on next to me. He sat and grabbed my hand, squeezing it tightly and staring at me blankly. He smiled nervously when our eyes met. I began to say something to him, but my anesthesiologist (Dr. McDreamy himself!) walked up and took my other hand. He gave me a reassuring smile and glanced down at my hand – the smile quickly fading to a frown.

“Why didn’t they give you an IV?” he asked, brows furrowed. I explained that they had tried several times, but were unable to do it. He sighed and nodded, then looked over his shoulder at a female nurse who was hovering nearby. She said that she would get him the supplies he needed and scampered off. He began to raise my bed up higher and higher. I was so high that I could look down at the top of my husband’s head by the time he was done. The nurse returned with the supplies and he looked at both of my hands. He frowned at the left hand, which was covered by a tattoo, and said that he couldn’t use it. He tied off the right arm and began looking for a vein, making humming and tsking noises as he looked it over.

“I can see why they had problems. You’re not going to like where I have to put this, but I’ll make sure you experience minimal discomfort.” He gently turned my hand palm-side up and tied off on my lower forearm. I turned my head and looked at my husband, hoping that I wouldn’t throw up in his lap. My husband looked mortified, but he caressed my left hand gently as he peeked over at what Dr. McDreamy was doing. He put the IV in my inner wrist area. The very thought of that IV makes me queasy to this day. The IV itself did not hurt at all. I felt pressure and he was done, immediately. He used extra bandaging and instructed me to not move my wrist at all.

I gingerly rested my wrist on my stomach and smiled at him weakly as he excused himself for a few minutes. My surgeon appeared with a gigantic mug of coffee and a ton of paperwork under her arms. She was not much older than I was with tan skin, brown eyes, and recently chopped-off black hair. She smiled sheepishly as she set all of her things down on a table and came over to me. She asked if I was ready and let me know that her partner surgeon (who has been doing the procedure much longer than her) would be joining her in the OR to give her some tips. I assumed that this was because of my extra-large size. She excused herself to go get ready and I began to panic again.

I felt like a small child lost in a huge crowd. People were rushing around; there was a constant sound of movement. I could hear another woman in the room talking to her nurse; complaining about her pain. I felt the familiar gentle squeeze of my left hand and turned to concentrate on my husband. He was the only thing there that wasn’t terrifying. The well-meaning, gently smiling nurses and staff that walked by me only made me feel more uncomfortable. I began to cry a little – just a little; a few tears slowly streaking down my cheeks.

The next part is really blurry for me; and then I remember nothing aside from waking up in ICU. Dr. McDreamy came back to check on me. He asked me how I was feeling and I think he must have noticed my tears. He asked if I wanted him to give me something to help me relax. I immediately said yes; though I briefly had my doubts after the yes came tumbling out. He quickly fumbled through a cabinet behind him and pulled out a small syringe. He asked me if I knew how…. "something” worked. I can’t remember what that something was – the type of drug he was about to inject into my syringe, I assume.

<insert inna gadda da vida here>

As he adjusted something on the syringe and gave my IV a second look he explained, in much detail
filled with medical jargon that I clearly did not understand, how this miracle drug would work. He injected it into my IV, tossed the syringe, and then stood in front of me; studying me intensely. He asked me how I felt; did I feel like I had been drinking? I remember absolutely nothing after this. I have no idea what else he said to me or how long it was until I went to the OR. My husband tells me that I answered his question by saying, “I used to smoke a lot of pot and...woah”. He also tells me that I did say goodbye to him before they took me back.

Needless to say, surgery day was a huge deal for me, as it is for anyone undergoing weight loss surgery. It is the beginning of a new life, and it is terrifying for many different reasons. I am glad that I went through it and even more glad that it is over.

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Now, small update – I haven’t been back to the doctor’s office to weigh in since May 4th, so I really have no idea how much I weigh right now. At my last visit I was 504; but that was over a month ago. I am eager to see where I’m at now, and will be able to do so when I go in on the 25th.

I had some major slip-ups over the last month. I got really lazy and started eating takeaway regularly. I would eat “better” things, but this is still something that I have to not do because it is a bad habit for me. Side salads will turn into cheeseburgers, and indeed they did. I cannot, of course, eat much of either but it is the good eating habits that will carry me to my goal in the long-run. I can still only eat about a ¼ to ½ cup of food at a time. I still get nauseated regularly, though not quite as much.

I will also be trying out a food blog that I am developing now. I’ll be making things from Pinterest and reviewing them; also adjusting them for bariatric patients where they need to be adjusted.
Thanks so much for reading!