By The Way...

I've lost 29 pounds since leaving the hospital. The vast majority of that loss is from the IV fluids and gas I was full of when I left, so I think it's only really about 12 pounds of beneficial loss. Fat loss. 

The crazy thing is, I don't see any of it. My pants feel just as tight, my face looks just as fat. My mom explained that I probably won't see it for quite a while because I imagine myself as so much smaller than I really am right now. She said that there's a point where we stop really gaining weight in our mind, so until we get down to that picture in our heads, everything is still just 'fat'. 

That makes sense. Still--29 pounds and I can't see it? For most of the people I know, 29 pounds would totally alter the way they look. I imagine Skyelar losing 29 pounds. laughable. She'd be dead. But I have so much to lose that what consists of a third of her body weight is a small enough amount on me to be unnoticeable. 

Sort of more depressing than encouraging.

:-)

Post Surgery Update #2--A Week since Discharge

The last week has really tested my strength and my conviction. To put it bluntly--this surgery is kicking my butt. When they explained--pre surgery--that you'd have to drink all day to stay hydrated, it sounded like an easy task. I figured I'd be so hungry, that I'd HAVE to drink all day to stay sane.

 

Oh how naive that Dayna was.

 

My first week after surgery I struggled with EVERY sip, and I mean SIP, of any liquid. I was supposed to drink about a communion-cup full of liquid every 15 minutes. It sounds laughable. Who couldn't do THAT?! 

 

Apparently me.

 

It's difficult to explain WHY it's so difficult to stay hydrated. Part of it, of course, is the pain. The sutures--the strips where they cut through skin and abdomen--were very painful. Especially the larger ones, where the cameras and tools were threaded through for surgery. But that pain was mostly superficial compared to the real problem--the pressure. In surgery they pump your abdomen full of CO2 gas to lift your fat away from your organs, so that they can have room to work. So, it makes sense that the larger you are, the more fat, the more gas it takes to create that space. 

 

It took a great deal in my case.

 

This gas doesn't magically evaporate. And because your intestines have been re-routed and are swollen significantly, it's not as if you can belch or toot the gas out. The gas just sat there, pushing out at my recently severed stomach, at my abs, and at my sutures. It's like being blown up like a balloon, full to bursting. So though the suture pain was debilitating, it was really the bloating that beat me up.

 

That and my pouch--the shot-glass sized new stomach--was not very welcoming. This might be too much information, so tune out if you're not up for it. For every second or third sip of water I took, I was rushing to the bathroom to throw up. Imagine throwing up on less than half an ounce of water, and being told that I have to drink 64 ounces every day. You can understand the battle with dehydration.

 

That battle really summed up my entire first week. I sipped, threw up, ached, felt bloated, walked a little bit, and that cycle repeated itself every 2 hours. I slept fitfully because every position was painful. I regretted having surgery about every 10 minutes, and cursed myself for being so fat that I couldn't lose weight like a normal person. I wondered if I'd tried hard enough. I wondered if I was strong enough to make it through recovery. I got nauseous at the very sight or smell of food. I didn't want to see anyone, talk to anyone, email anyone. I just slid, slowly, into this depressed, painful funk.

 

And then my little brother called from California, and said that he and my parents wanted Ben and me to come down. For those of you who don't know, my mother had the surgery just over a year ago and has been extremely successful. They were all worried about me, and he said mom wanted to help. I knew I wouldn't be able to handle a car-ride, so I told them no. But Ryan (my adorable 19 year old brother) bought us train tickets, and said that I could walk around whenever needed that way. 

 

So sweet.

 

So we made arrangements, and 2 days ago we boarded the train. I don't know if it was coming home, or simply the passage of enough time, that was the turning point, but I've definitely improved since being here. First of all, I decided--at my mom's insistence--that hydration was not optional. She asked whether I'd rather pay a few hundred dollars in co-insurance to have IV fluids, or if I wanted to suck it up and hydrate myself. Put in monetary terms with Ben still out of work, the decision seemed so much more simple! Ha-ha. So I did something stupid--that actually worked.

 

I took a glass of water, about 12 ounces, to the bathroom. I decided that I was going to drink every drop in that glass before I left that bathroom. If I threw up 8 times, then so be it. If I was miserable afterward, ok. Whatever it took, I was going to hydrate myself. I wasn't going to be a victim.

 

I drank every drop. I was SHOCKED! Yes it took me about a half hour to force it all in, and I felt miserable for several hours afterward, but you know what? I survived. And I perked up. I felt less depressed--even though I felt physically bad. I started to feel like I might be able to do this. I walked more. I took another glass into the bathroom that night. It was the first time I'd topped 10 ounces for a DAY, and I'd done it in the span of a half hour!

 

I don't have to do that anymore. It's been 2 days since then, and I am sipping without much trouble. I'm still not meeting the requirements, but mom says that I'm less pale, and that I'm looking much better. I'm FEELING better. The pain is still there, and the bloating, but I am finally re-gaining a positive attitude, finally grasping onto the will power and courage that walked me into that hospital to change my life.

 

It's not smooth sailing yet. I'm still struggling constantly, and mom--again, speaking from experience--says it will probably be another couple of weeks before I start to feel like a normal human being. It will probably be another couple of weeks before I start to remember WHY I did this. Start to feel that motivation to lose weight and get healthy again. But for now, the fact that I've re-gained the motivation to LIVE, is progress enough. Ha-ha! Anything else is just a bonus at this point.

 

And so I keep truckin' along! 

 

I'll be in Redding another 3 days, and then I have to prepare for my new job. I start in a week, and I know it's going to be extremely difficult to put on my capable-and-enthusiastic face while battling with recovery, but on the other hand it might be a welcome challenge and distraction from what my body is doing and feeling! I'll try to post more often now that I'm back in the land of the living. 

 

:-)

 

Adios!

 

Post-Surgery Update !!!!

Ok! So a lot of people have asked me to call and fill them in on how I'm doing, but since my only waking hours have been full of pain meds and staying hydrated and Amanda's wedding (YAY!!!), I'm going to have to send out a mass update this way, and request forgiveness for the way it's being done.

I checked in at Legacy Good Samaritan hospital at 7:30 the morning of surgery. The check-in was pretty uneventful. A nurse took me back to a triage sort of area called the 'short stay' unit. They had me change into a hospital gown and pack all of my clothes into a plastic bag. They also had me give all of my valuables to Ben to keep, and then they took everything else (my clothes and my bag full of goodies for my stay) up to my future hospital room. It was kind of weird, knowing they were holding everything for me, assuming I was going to be joining my belongings in just a few hours. I was tempted to wonder what their procedure was if I never made it to the room, but I shut that thought down immediately. I knew it would lead to me imagining Ben getting bad news, alone in a waiting room, and I was too frazzled to handle that image.

The nurse was extremely talkative. Even when she wasn't drawing the vials of blood, administering any tests, or having me sign away my life (literally!) in piles of paperwork, she hung around and told me all about her reduced hours at the hospital and her daughter's success in high school. I think she was harmlessly trying to distract me from the coming surgery, but all it really did was rob Ben and I of any time alone together whatsoever. He and I just sat there, making small talk with this stranger for about 2 hours. Suddenly the Surgeon was stopping by to say hello and let me know we'd be moving into surgery shortly. She wasn't kidding. The short stay unit has no cell phone reception because it's directly below the radiology department. So I sent Ben out to the lobby to call my mom and let her know I was going into surgery soon, and by the time he got back the anesthesiologist was rolling me out of the room! I didn't even get to hug him or kiss him or share an intimate 'goodbye' moment. I could tell by the look on his face that he was frustrated by the situation too.

The anesthesiologist told Ben that the surgeon would let him know as soon as I was out of surgery, but it might be a few hours before he'd actually get to see me because they'd need to stabilize me in the recovery room before bringing me up to my hospital room. The guy was friendly and energetic, and full of corny knock knock jokes--he actually used the "who’s there, ach, ach-who, bless you!" joke. Yeah. I think I could see the entire floor of nurses roll their eyes in my peripheral vision. But his intention was sweet, and I WAS nervous, so any distraction was welcome.

The operation room was much bigger than it seems on TV. It was significantly larger than S-100 at cascade. The entire ceiling was covered in faux-sky lights. Clear panels with paintings of sunny blue skies shining through. I repaid the anesthesiologist with a lame joke of my own. "Lucky you, the only person in western Oregon that gets to work under blue skies every day" he pretended like it was the first time he'd heard the joke.

You know how, on TV, they always show the person getting a mask placed over their face and being asked to count down from 10? They never get past 7. Well I didn't get this moment! I think he must have injected a sedative directly into my IV when I wasn't looking, because one moment I was chuckling at my own lame joke, and the next thing I knew I was waking up in Recovery.

Ok so here's where the 'WOW, I'M DUMB!' moment began. Like I've been telling all the people who have criticized my choice, I've been researching this surgery for 9 months. I have read thousands of pages, and talked to post-op patients in various stages. I had 6 months of nutritional and physical therapy appointments in preparation for surgery. I met with my surgeon twice. I sat through two seminars on what to expect after surgery. I'm extremely well versed on what a post-op diet will look like, exercise recommendations and limitations, weight loss expectations, possible complications, and just about everything else anyone could have questions about.

 

Just about.

 

Funny thing is, in all of that research, I never thought to ask my surgeon--and NO ONE EVER MENTIONED-- a small but vital question.

 

How much pain will I be in after surgery?

 

Apparently, that was an important question to have asked. I woke up in the recovery room, gasping for air and screaming. SCREAMING. Like a crazy person. I was totally and completely blindsided by the pain, and I kept trying to tell the nurse--ok I was YELLING at the nurse--that they did something wrong because 'It Hurts!!'. 

 

Ha-ha. Oh silly me. So much-too-late-note-to-self: When they cut through your abdomen in 6 or 7 two-inch strips, you're gonna feel that when you wake up.

 

I know. I told you I'm dumb.

 

So they must have put me back out to shut me up, because I don't remember much other than the nurse telling me to calm down and my pain was totally normal, until I woke up in my private room with Ben at my side. 

 

The next 2 days were a bit of a blur. I really 'pushed' through the pain. Yep. I pushed my morphine drip button EVERY time the button lit up (about every 1o minutes). So much for being noble and strong. But I guess that's what the button is for, right?

 

They started bringing me trays of liquids the morning of the second day, but I never made it through any of them. Not even close really. They'd always bring 3 things--like a cup of soup, a cup of milk, and a cup of juice. I was supposed to sip constantly for about 4 hours to consume all 3. I usually just ate ice chips.

 

That works fine when you have an IV drip doing the hydration for you, but looking back now I wish I would have gotten into the habit of drinking at the hospital--because at home there's no IV failsafe, and it's even more difficult to drink.

 

I went home on a Thursday morning--3 days and 2 nights post op--with a prescription for liquid pain meds and a note to call my doctor if I started dying. :-) 

 

More to come later!