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:

Pre-op Appointment (548)

Well! As you may have noticed I lost 34 pounds!!! I am so excited. It is a RELIEF to see that all of this hunger, stomach pain, and dancing to subpar music is worth something! When I stepped on that scale and saw it bouncing around the 540’s I could not believe it. This means that I have lost a total of 53 pounds! According to the chart I am looking at that is the equivalent to… hmm; a small bale of hay. Okay! I’ll take that. 60 pounds is apparently the equivalent of an elephant’s penis so….looking forward to that, I guess!

Right. What I was saying is I had my pre-op appointment today and it was pretty basic. I decided to go for the On-Q pain pump which will eliminate the need for so much pain medicine, though she did write me two pain prescriptions just in case. Mostly, everyone was excited that I dropped so much weight on the pre-op. It really made me feel great. They give you this plastic cup full of colored stones, one for each pound, and when you leave you drop them into a big glass jar. At the end of the month they count them up and see how many pounds down everyone is.  My cup was overflowing with colored stones; I felt like a star the way everyone was cheering for me.

I haven’t done that well on following my pre-op diet this week. Not that I’m eating the wrong things – quite the opposite really. The past couple of days I have really struggled to get all of my calories in. I think that I averaged 350 to 400 or so. My dietitian wanted me to get to 700, but I find it difficult to. This is crazy coming from someone who ate over 2,000 calories a few months ago. Post op (once I’m on solid food) I should average around 800 or so – but that is a long road ahead. For now I am worried about making it these last four days before surgery. I have had quite a bit of nausea and an upset stomach today, I am thinking that it is because of the spinach I have been eating for dinner. Something about it is just not sitting right. This morning I looked at my husband wide-eyed and asked if he thought it could be the E.coli. He said he hopes not; I do too.

So this is it; the final stretch. I am afraid – I must admit that. Parts of me scream that this is a mistake. It is funny that someone who has had suicidal feelings their entire life can now suddenly want to live so much – and I want to. I want to build a life that I can be proud of. I have to swallow my fears and do this. I try to remind myself that I have been through hell and it has made me stronger. I have lived through torture and abuse; I can make it through this. Plus good drugs will help. I will make one last entry before surgery, or try to. Writing help keep me calm and right now I could use some calming down. 

Small update - PCP Clearance!

Well, I am recently back from my appointment with my primary care physician and he cleared me for surgery!  I think that all there is really left for me to do is wait now. I see my surgeon next Wednesday, and then surgery is the following Monday. SURGERY IS ELEVEN DAYS AWAY OMFG!!!!  Scary. Really, really scary. So far I have held it together pretty well. I had an actual breakdown a little earlier in the week. I actually cried for the loss of junk food. It was an eye opener. 

I never really believed in food addiction; I always kind of thought that it was bullshit; but wow. I have watched friends trying to beat addiction demons; what I would call real addictions, and the response that I had was identical to theirs. I was preparing the grocery list, flipping through a Publix ad and looking at all of this food that I will never be able to eat again and it freaked me out. No more chili dogs, no more pizza, no more cheeseburgers, no more mozzarella sticks… I mean, it’s just food right? I was ready to back out of the surgery because I won’t be able to eat junk food again. If anything, this shows me even more that I have to do this. I mean, it’s not like two or three years down the line I can’t have a slice of pizza. Maybe I freaked out because a lot of what my husband and I have done in the past involved food? Ordering a pizza and breadsticks and watching a movie; going out to all you can eat Chinese, having a picnic at the park with take-out; birthday dinners at my favorite Greek place…it never ends really. We have to find another way, and that is scary.

In the past I have had therapists tell me that significant weight gain, like mine, can sometimes be a self-preservation thing. This makes sense in my case. I suffered some pretty extensive abuse as a child, and maybe wrapping myself in all of this adipose tissue is my way of protecting myself. Maybe the thought of all of those protective layers suddenly not being there is scary and triggered something in me.  Even as a large woman I have occasionally had men look at me in a sexual way (guys who like big women are out there…) and it made me very, very uncomfortable. Even when my husband pays me a little attention it triggers something in me that feels very much like a fight or flight instinct. It is AMAZING how many issues this surgery is unearthing outside of simply being a fat person.

So, in other news, my husband found me some amazing flavored broths. Swanson has a Cajun, a Mexican tortilla, a Thai, and a couple of others that are saving my life right now. The Mexican tortilla was amazing. I had the Cajun a few minutes ago and it was a little…icky. But I am going to give it another shot later. ALSO, he got me 0 cal powdered cheese and bacon stuff. Omg! Omg! Omg! I am putting it on everything. He grabbed me some powdered butter (also 0 cal) as well. Lifesaving!

Oh, and my doctor prescribed Wellbutrin to me; we’ll see how that works for me.  It seems like I have heard bad things about it before, but I can’t remember what they were.  My doctor didn't want to put me on many of the usual suspects – namely Zoloft, because he was afraid that it would contribute to weight gain. Unfortunately, my doctor is one of those that think every single thing that may or may not be wrong with my husband and I is a direct result of our obesity. I’m not saying that the obesity doesn't contribute to many things, but I think it can be dangerous to assume that every ache, pain, or otherwise is “because fat”.  

Ah well, if nothing else, I should be checking in next Wednesday after my last pre-op appointment with my surgeon – with a weight update! Oh! And for christmas this past year I had gotten a really cute size 4 (4x) top from Torrid that sadly did not fit. I threw it in my "maybe one day" clothes pile in the garage and forgot about it. A couple of days ago I pulled it out and thought, "why not try as a reference point? and it fits great! Super excited! I need to dive into the pile and find some smaller pants as the ones that I wear now are getting a little silly looking they are so baggy. 

Pre-op Diet Woes and a Silver Lining

So, just a little update. I started my official pre-op diet yesterday and man, it sucks. I was already doing pretty damned good with eating 1,000 calories a day (in my opinion), and yesterday's calorie count was 402. I was miserable all day long and cried once last night as I watched my husband eat a meal that I cooked for him. That meal was hamburger helper. I believe that hamburger helper is an abomination that should not exist and I was honestly salivating for it. Bleh.

For breakfast I had a protein shake containing one scoop of chocolate peanut butter protein powder mixed into 16 oz of water. It was horrid. It looked as bad as it tasted. I plugged my nose and forced it down, but I decided to try a different approach for lunch. At lunchtime I used a scoop of the unflavored powder mixed into 16 oz of water, but I added a packet of fruit punch crystal light. People, hear me - do NOT do that. It was even more horrendous than the breakfast shake. It was like pepto pink bile. Again, I plugged my nose and swallowed it down. I felt like a beast afterwards, and not in a good way. Now, keep in mind that I do not, in general, mind protein shakes. I am not being a diva about this, I swear! It really was that bad.

When my husband gets home he always has a snack, and so of course I wanted one too. He reminded me that I can eat an unlimited amount of broth, so I had two cups of low-sodium chicken broth that I heavily seasoned with thyme and rosemary. It was heavenly! For dinner I had 2 cups of squash with some dill and garlic sea salt sprinkled on it and the saddest little 4oz tilapia filet I have ever seen (seasoned with pepper and lemon juice).

Other than water that was it! Now, I know what you're probably thinking, "So you had to be hungry one day, BFD". Yes, that's true, it was only day one; but that's the point! I know that as hard as yesterday was, I have TWO WEEKS of this! And at the end of those two weeks? I don't get a prize, I get 3/4 of my stomach cut out. Though, I guess in this case that is a prize of sorts?

First thing this morning I emailed my dietitian to clarify some things - first can I please, for the love of my gag reflex, drink pre-made shakes? She said yes (thank goodness!). Next, is 400 calories a safe amount for me? Because Myfitnesspal says it is not. My app is concerned for my safety and suggested that I contact a doctor. She says I need to eat about 700 calories, but she will get back to me on how to do that, whether it be to up my serving size of meat or add a snack somewhere. Either way, YAY!

So, the silver lining. Having been given the clear to drink premade shakes this morning, I dove for the one that was already chilling in my fridge - a water based (rather than the usual cream-type) that is new to me, Protein 2O, berry splash flavor. It is such a relief! It is wonderful! It literally just tastes like flavored water. It doesn't have any of the weird questionable murkiness of many protein shakes, There is sadly only one place very close to me that sells them, and it is in a mall, and they don't carry the flavor that I want. I would love to get my hands on some lemon flavored, as I love lemon water - but this berry flavor is just fine with me for now. I will likely buy some from their website, as it is cheaper there than from the Vitamin World in the mall. This is less calories (only 70 compared to 111) and tastes so much better. SO much better. I lose some protein with this one when compared to the powder my surgeon gave me, but honestly right now I don't care. I can make up for it by drinking a Premier shake for lunch, which has 30g of protein (more than my surgeon's vomit powder).

So, so far on day two, very little nausea and I am doing okay. Tonight I am going over to my husband's best friend's house. He is a chef at a local high-end steak house and he is making lobster mac and cheese for dinner (le sigh). It's okay! I can do this! I will update again after my pcp appointment on Thursday.