Surgeon Social Update (448)

Another day and more big changes for me. My surgeon’s office had a meet and greet thing yesterday (which happened to be my birthday). I dragged my poor husband down so I could weigh in and (sadly not) have a look at the clothes closet – plus get free samples of stuff because free stuff is awesome. The free stuff did not disappoint! I got lots of swag. Pizza flavored protein crisps, Chili Lime Soy Puffs, and lemon meringue protein crisp bars were among my absolute favorites. There was also an amazing selection of Bariatric Advantage vitamins and supplements to take home and try. Their chewable vitamins are great. The lozenges? Just say no thank you; ECSPECIALLY to the mint one. I also got a nifty shaker bottle with a mixing ball for the protein shakes that I honestly never make. Oh! And another nice tote bag from bariatric advantage. Good stuff!

I also met a really nice lady named Ava that I scheduled an appointment with for an exercise evaluation. She is going to go over what kind of exercises I should be doing and how often to help me maintain my loss AND to help me tighten my skin. I honestly already have loose skin so this is really needed. I have been doing squats on my own on the good advice of my very close friend who informed me that it will help me avoid the dreaded flat, flabby white girl ass.

My weigh in results were great! As you may have noticed I am down another 20+ pounds since my last check in. 448! I mean, that’s closer to the 300’s than the 500’s. I am a little disappointed in myself, not because I didn’t lose more but because I have found that I am relentless in my negativity about this. If I lose 20 pounds I feel like I should have lost 30 pounds. It is hard to accept that this is going to take time.

I got a little extra information than usual during my weigh-in. The office scale is one of those that gives BMI and calculates how many calories per day I would need to eat to maintain my weight – plus it gives fat mass, or the percentage of fat versus bones, skin, water, et al.  At my weight right now I would need to eat 2769 calories a day to maintain it. Crazy. It makes me wonder how many calories a day I was eating before all of this. Too many. At this point I still shoot for 700 calories a day, but I often get around 800 and sometimes all the way up to 900. I think that as long as I stay in the triple digits I will be okay for now. Also, according to the scale, I am approximately 260 pounds of fat. I mean jesus. My fat weighs more than my goal weight. Like way more (100 pounds more). So yeah, I guess this is one reason why it is difficult for me to celebrate my small victories and easy for me to be pessimistic.

Other issues to update on – my skin is a wreck. I can see lines in my face that were definitely not visible before. I am guessing this is just an aging thing that is more visible now that there is not as much fat on my face. Also I have dry skin issues on my face now and I never have before. I find that I have to use a good scrub (I am currently using St. Ives oatmeal scrub) on my face prior to putting on makeup or I have this weird flakiness around my nose and lower cheek areas.

My hair is also making me quite sad, though I am told that this is a phase that many women who have weight loss surgery go through. It is dry and falling out. It was always frizzy, but it is even more so than usual. I need some good product, but I am at a loss as to what to try. I may try some coconut oil, or maybe some Jamaican black castor oil.  I will update when I find something that works (or doesn’t work!). It may simply be a matter of waiting it out, however. From what I understand this phase should ease up at the six month mark (September for me).

I am still trying really hard to get in my water. Some days I nearly hit my goal, others I don’t come close at all. I actually feel much better on days that I drink more, so you would think that would be motivation enough. However, I have to have my water really cold. I will pull a bottle out of the freezer and drink about a quarter of it only to let it sit out and get warm. Once it’s warm I don’t want it. I am still working on a solution for all of this (I have no ability to make and store ice like a normal person).

Hopefully I will be updating again soon with more good news! Woot! And thanks, as always, for reading!

Very brief Weigh-in Update (470)

So, I just got home from my three-month checkup with my surgeon. I confessed all of my diet/exercise sins and was scolded. They couldn't complain too much, however since I lost about 30 pounds in a month. I honestly wasn't sure that my loss was going to be as good as it was. I could have done better. I should have done better. And yet, it is still a nice loss. In total I have lost about 130 pounds - that is a person. I cant quite wrap my head around it. Even as I stood on the scale I felt mystified that I have somehow lost so much. And yet I have so far to go. Will I ever even make it to the 200's? Who knows.

The visit went pretty well in general! My blood pressure was kinda low, but hopefully nothing to worry about. It could explain why I am always so tired. I really need to check in with my pcp, but I am in the process of trying to find a new one right now. I have not seen him post-op at all. Maybe I'll be able to get off of my blood pressure medication soon.

I got a keychain from my surgeon! It says "SCB 100 Club" - SCB is for Suncoast Bariatrics. It was given to me for losing a hundred pounds. I wonder what they will give me for losing 200?

My personal goal is to lose another 100 pounds before my six month checkup on September 18th. I think that if I get my protein, drink my fluids, and start exercising again I can do it. That's 33 pounds a month. If I cant do that I would at least like to get under 400 by then - that's 70 pounds, or about 23 pounds a month. I can at least do that, I think.

Also, I start with a new therapist on July 9th - I honestly cannot wait! He is a triathlete and horse trainer an is all about accountability and self-betterment. He is described as being very proactive - this is what I need!

Unrelated but still exciting for me - I also finally made a dental appointment for myself. I am afraid that I wont fit in the dental chair, but I am not going to let that fear stop me anymore.

As always, thanks for reading!

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.

*******************************************************

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!

The Day of Surgery (Part Two)

Well, it looks like there will actually be three parts (or more!) to this. I suppose that I remember a bit more than I anticipated.  As always, thanks for reading!

The long walk ended in a pair of heavy, double doors. The officer jogged ahead of us, his keys jingling loudly, and pressed the large, metal button on the wall. The doors swung open slowly, and revealed a large area with an unmanned nurses’ station and several beds separated by curtains. “Helloooo?” the officer said as he gently placed a clipboard with my chart in it on the station desk. He looked at us, a little embarrassed, and walked around the corner. We could hear him chatting with someone for a few moments as we stood awkwardly in the doorway.

He reappeared with a tall, blond nurse that I recognized from my last visit to this hospital - Jill. She had cared for me when I was here for my endoscopy a month earlier. She and I had got along very well – she was funny and reminded very much of Lisa Kudrow. She gave me a huge smile and bobbed her head in the direction she and the officer had come from. “Let’s get you prepped!” she said with a smile.

She escorted me to a curtained-off area with a bed, a chair, and the usual accouterments of a hospital room – blood pressure cuffs, oxygen tubing, and bio-hazard sharps container. She pointed to the hospital gown and the pair of rubber-grip socks on the bed and instructed me to take off everything I had on and put them on. I nodded as she pulled the curtain closed and I began to undress. Never have I
felt so naked. My husband was smiling at me reassuringly.

When I picked up and unfolded the hospital gown I knew that it was far too small – a usual problem for me. Everything seems to be too small. I tried, sheepishly, to get it on and it covered exactly half of me. My husband found a blanket for me and then called out to the nurse. He poked his head out of the curtained area and explained the issue to her. I heard her jog off and return with another gown. My husband thanked her, turned towards me, and beckoned for me to turn around. I heard him chuckle a little at the sight of my naked ass. I glared over my shoulder at him with a faux anger that only made him chuckle harder as he helped me pull the gown on.  He tried, with great difficulty, to figure out how to tie the things up before feebly tying a few strings and calling it good.

I sat down and pulled the yellow, rubber-grip bottomed socks on. They were really tight around the ankles – I had some pretty severe swelling, especially around my left ankle. I pulled them down my ankle just a bit so that they would not feel so tight, and laid back in the bed, pulling the blanket over me. Nurse Jill returned a few moments later with a cart full of equipment. She asked me a series of questions, many of them repeats from the admittance questions, but with the addition of health background related questions. Between hospital visits and doctors’ visits the past few months I had answered this type of questionnaire so many times that the answers are automatic.

After the questionnaire she took my vitals – my temperature and blood pressure were perfect. She apologetically informed me that she would need to get my IV started.  I smiled weakly and nodded; getting blood drawn or putting an IV in me was always a chore, even for the most experienced nurses. Nurse Jill had done it successfully last time on the second try, so I had confidence in her. As she gathered the tubes and needle I went down the hall to the rest room to take a urine test – the anesthesiologist required me to take a pregnancy test before the surgery.

When I returned Nurse Jill was still fumbling about with various tubes and packages. My husband was sitting in the chair, visibly uncomfortable, and eyeing the needle packs with unease; he hated needles even more than I did. I sat back down on the bed and watched Nurse Jill open the needle pack, setting aside with other IV equipment on a steel tray on her cart. She smiled and chatted with me as she tied my left wrist off with a big purple tourniquet. As she gently pressed and smacked my hand looking for a suitable vein I stared at her scrubs, trying to find a neutral place to focus my gaze that was not on my soon-to-be penetrated hand. I noticed how scuffed her clogs were, and I noticed the imprint of an iron on her blue scrub pants. I smiled to myself; this was my kind of person – scatterbrained and a little messy, but with a good heart.

She popped her bubblegum loudly as she continued to search for a vein, moving from place to place; arm to arm. She inserted the needle three different times, each time groaning and sighing; once she said that she couldn't get it to “thread right”. Finally she resigned. She told me she was going to let the other nurse give it a try because she was afraid of messing up my veins. She apologized profusely and was obviously disappointed, but I made some passing joke that
made her smile before she wandered off to find her co-worker.

I felt a twinge of nausea; I think my husband did, too. He was looking at me a little wide-eyed, but with sympathy. He shifted in his seat and crossed his arms. His eyes were so red; he must have been rubbing them. I could tell he was exhausted. I suggested that he go home and get some rest and he rolled his eyes and shook his head. I continued to suggest that he go home, but Nurse Jill must have overhead me. She poked her head in and said that of course he was not going to go home; that would be ridiculous, and for me to drop it. He seemed to agree with that sentiment, though I could tell that part of him really wished that he could find a place to curl up and nap for a while.

The Day of Surgery (Part One)

It is a shame that I didn't write this up right after I got home from the hospital so all of the details would be fresh, but I just couldn't. Honestly, I tried – but writing, hell concentrating on anything, became really taxing for me for a while. Regardless, I will try my best to recollect what happened in as much detail as I can manage. I have decided to split this into two separate entries because, frankly, they will be pretty long. I hope you can find some insight, some familiarity, or at least some comfort in my experience.

I woke up to the sound of the cellphone alarm (the worst sound in the world) around 4:30 a.m. My husband roused me enough to get me up and in the shower, then he rolled back over for a few more minutes of rest. I lazily climbed into the shower and gently scrubbed myself down from head to toe with this stuff called Hybiclens. I had washed my hair the night before and washed with the Hybiclens then, as well. I had slept on freshly washed sheets, rolled up as tightly as possible in my top sheet so that my dog couldn't burrow her way under the sheet to cuddle with me as she usually does (fail, by the way).

 As I washed, my stomach began to churn violently. I hadn't had anything to eat or drink since midnight, as instructed, but that wasn't why my stomach was upset. I was terrified. I felt cold and alone. I continued to scrub – washing with Hybiclens is weird; it doesn't foam up like a normal soap. It feels heavy and has an odd smell. As I began to rinse I started to sob. My husband, who had been half-awake anyway, immediately came to the bathroom and did his best to comfort me. I continued to sob but I soldiered on. At some point while I was blotting myself dry with our one clean towel I decided not to cry anymore. I decided that if this was my last few hours alive, and the last bit of time I would spend with my husband, it wouldn't be spent crying.

 I got dressed mechanically, concentrating on each small task and trying my hardest to think of nothing else. The fear was there, sitting heavily on my shoulders. Instead of trying to shake it off I just accepted it and moved on. It did not go away. We left around 5:15 a.m., in the dark, and for once there was no traffic in the city.

The ride to the hospital was almost surreal. I had never seen the streets of my city so deserted. I watched the time carefully – I needed to take my nausea medication with a “tiny sip of water” at exactly 5:30. We sat in silence as he drove. I had the window down a little and listened dreamily to the dawn chorus of the first birds of the morning when we sat at stoplights. I recognized the songs of blackbirds and robins from my time interning at the wild bird hospital not far from our destination. I wished that I was going there instead of the hospital. The blackbirds reminded me of The Beatles song, and I quietly hummed the beginning stanza.


The radio was turned down very low, but it was so quiet that I could barely hear a song playing in those silent moments. I recognized the tune but it wasn't quite loud enough for me to place it. Knowing my husband it was probably Metallica or some 90’s rock band. I was freezing cold; I wasn't sure if it was because my hair was still damp, or if it was the fear chilling me. I stared intently at the clock, thumbing the reinforced paper pill packet in the palm of my hand as I waited.

When the digital clock in the truck dashboard changed to 5:30 I grabbed my half-empty bottle of water that I had set carefully by the door the night before, and opened my pill packet. The pill had cost us $80; it was the same drug that they prescribed to people undergoing chemotherapy. I took a moment to stare at this apparent miracle drug and then took it dutifully – with a tiny sip. I offered the rest of the water to my husband who took it with thanks and downed it in one gulp.


I looked him over, slowly as he drove, and realized that he was also afraid. He was awkward, quiet, and uncomfortable. I kept staring at him – he was so handsome. Hair disheveled, shirt and slacks from the day before hastily pulled on, hands gripping the steering wheel with a little too much force. He felt my gaze and glanced at me. He smiled calmly and said, “I love you”, then made some comment on the lack of traffic. I forced a smile back and the tension eased a little as we conversed about the ungodly time we had to get out, if we were going to make it on time, and whether or not my room would have a view of the ocean (the hospital is situated very close to the beaches). It took us almost 30 minutes to arrive, but we got there and found parking (unsurprisingly because of the time) very near the entrance.

We sat in the truck for a few minutes as I fought an impending panic attack. I took slow, deep breaths and stared at the seemingly deserted entrance. The yellowish-white light from the inside of the lobby beckoned to us. I swallowed hard and got out of the truck, straightening my clothes and collecting myself. My husband grabbed my overnight bag and triple-checked his wallet to make sure he had my ID and insurance card. We walked together, every step feeling like I was walking to my own death.


We stepped into the lobby and an elderly security officer appeared out of seemingly nowhere. He called me by name and then asked me to have a seat in one of two admittance offices. My husband and I entered the small office. He let me sit in the over-sized chair and he leaned on the door. A young, smiling woman sat opposite me behind her desk and asked me a series of questions about who I was, what I was there for, and how I was doing. She collected and returned my ID and insurance card; and collected (but did not return) my $250 co-pay. It was painful to hand over; I knew we would be tight on money for the next couple of weeks, but I also knew that it was necessary. Something about her made me feel at ease. She was familiar to me; her style of dress, her attitude, her smile – she reminded me of a very close friend I had in my hometown. She was done with me fairly quickly and I was sent away, down the very long and sterile hall, towards the day surgery/surgery prep area. The hall was deserted and our footsteps echoed eerily as the elderly officer escorted us to the area.

To be continued...

Update - with face pic + Notes on depression

First, a few quick updates on how things are going. I seem to be recovering very slowly. I have regressed a little as far as exercise goes, but I think that is mainly due to the way I have been feeling, but I also blame the god-awful humid Florida “Spring”. I am sick almost all of the time. I am dizzy every time I stand up or bend over. I have not been getting the nutrients or the water that I need and that is mainly because there is simply not enough room in me for it all. Ideally, I should have a 2 oz. breakfast, a protein shake, a 4 oz. lunch, a protein shake, and a 4 oz. dinner. I usually get in about 6 oz. a day total and I never get a protein shake in at all. The nausea after I eat is so overwhelming that I sometimes throw a portion of what I eat right back up. Also, I should be drinking plenty of water and taking my medications between all of this. There is no way. I often miss medications because of nausea. Every time I eat or drink I feel nauseated. It is discouraging and scary, but I trust that it is a phase that will pass eventually.

I can say with some degree of certainty that I have lost some weight. I cannot guess how much exactly since I still do not have a functioning scale, but I can wear an actual pair of jeans now. Also, more clothes that didn't fit before do now and it is a pretty great feeling. I will get to weigh in at my next doctor’s appointment, which is in one week. I am afraid that I will not have lost very much because I am fairly sure that my body has entered “starvation mode.” Many people in my online support group have upped their calories and been able to break weight-loss stalls.

I have noticed so many issues that I have to deal with somehow. I have to get over my self-hatred. Even after a 76 pound (at last weigh-in) loss I still look in the mirror when I am doing my make-up and literally feel like I am putting make-up on a pig. Now that there is less fat on my face I can see some of my features and I hate them all. My nose, my chin, my eyes, my general facial structure; I hate it all. I will never look the way that I want to look. I will never feel beautiful. I have posted progress pictures on my Facebook page and have gotten many positive responses – people telling me that I am looking good and that I look beautiful. For a moment it makes me feel good about myself, and then I am ashamed. I decide that they are only saying these things because they are nice people – that they are lies. It is insane. Depression is killing me. I thought that after surgery everything would be okay – it’s not. If anything it has highlighted my issues for me.

This brings me to my main point for this post – my after-school special, “the more you know” main point. Weight-loss is not a cure for depression. And actually, it goes way beyond weight-loss. I know that I have a few people that I care about that read this blog (thank you), and I want to stress this point to them specifically. If you are having issues, deal with them now before they become too much to handle. I am still not sure whether or not I can actually deal with all of this – I hope so, but I don’t know. Before I had this surgery I fought the depression really hard. I had a counselor that I was seeing (that I have stopped seeing because basically he sucked), I had medication...I fought hard but I felt like it was all for naught if I didn't lose weight. I thought the surgery was my only hope to lose the amount of weight that I needed to lose (I still stand by that). But I also thought that post-op all of this would just, I don’t know, melt away like the fat. As if the depression were stored in the fat cells and would go away as I lost weight; it hasn't and it won’t. The physical stress on my body right now has made my depression worse, in a way.

An example:
My mother died a few years ago. She had multiple organ failures and I watched her slowly decay away; a woman who loved life and laughed so much. One of the ways that I was told I would know that her “time was near” was her appetite. Her birthday was in February and I brought her her absolute favorite pie in the hospital. She ate a good, healthy slice of it. By Mother’s Day, when I brought her another, she had one small bite which she visibly did not enjoy. She tried to pretend that she enjoyed it for my sake. She died on May 19th, about a week later.

I feel this way. I don’t want to eat. Food mostly doesn't taste great to me. I suffer when I do eat. I keep wondering – is this my time? Is it getting close? Is that what this means? Should I just stop trying and save myself the pain? I ask myself these questions every day. I know that the reason these questions come up is likely very acute depression. I do not think this surgery will kill me, but I often wonder if the depression will – and that has always been a danger for me. No matter how fat or skinny I am, as long as this dragon that is depression is breathing down my neck I will always be in danger. And finally, that is my point – if you are battling your own dragon, slay it and try to get on with life. Stop ignoring it, stop pushing it aside, stop hoping that it will go away when things get better because as long as the depression is there things won’t get better. Sure, you may manage to get a promotion, find a girl/guy friend, or lose or gain weight but you’ll still feel like shit. And think of how much easier achieving those goals, whatever they are, will be without depression sludging up your brain.

The pic on the left is me at my highest weight (601);
the pic on the right is about a week ago. 

Post-op Appointment (525)

I am long overdue for an update, so I apologize. Obviously, I survived my surgery. It occurred, as planned, on March 23^rd. I had my 2 week post-op check-up today and found that I have lost a little more weight. It was not as much as I had hoped, but it was a loss nonetheless. The past couple of weeks have been HARD. No food, just liquids. I was trying to “eat” about a ½ cup of soup a meal, but I find that I am really sick afterwards so I have reduced it down to 1/3 of a cup per meal. I have about a week until I can have pureed foods and I cannot WAIT. I have had a few slip-ups along the way. Yesterday’s was the worst. I had some ham (it was Honeybaked!!!!) at my mom-in-law’s for Easter. I snuck it little by little and it made me very sick. Otherwise I have melted a bit of cheese in my soup a few times. I don’t think that this is a huge deal.

The surgery itself went great. My surgeon fixed my hernia (which she gave me photos of today for some weird nasty reason). I was taken from recovery to ICU for care because my oxygen levels were low. I recovered quickly and went home the day after. I quickly got off of my pain meds and was relieved to get my On-Q pump pulled out by my mom-in-law a few days after surgery. There will be more on all of this in a later post.

As for now I just wanted to let everyone (all two of you that read!) that I am okay and am just about fully recovered. Today I feel like this song: