This Is It...

Reality is a deceptive word. It seems that you know exactly what you are headed for, but later you find that the reality of then, was only what you thought it was.

Not a mirage. Not fantasy. Not even a misguided belief. More like a belief that is at each moment evolving, once blurred by thought and now sharpened by experience.

Two weeks ago, in reality, I fully realized that in 14 days I would have surgery. I knew the reality was that this surgery would absolutely change every aspect of my life - permanently. And I, being of sound mind, had done my homework thoroughly and was, or so I thought, prepared for the road ahead. No regrets, no fears, no worries.

And one week ago, in reality, I had said surgery and all things I imagined it to be, were brought in to focus and no longer what I originally thought, but now what I knew.

And then there comes a moment, when you wake up several days later, have chicken broth for breakfast for the third day in a row, have absolutely nothing you recognize as hunger for the third day in a row, have six large incisions across your belly and no idea if what you are doing is even going to work, when you say to your educated self, "Oh me, you had no clue. What have you done?"

All those so called well-informed-ideas that kept away any presentiments you might have had, go tearing out the door leaving it wide open for those nasty neighbors known as doubt to walk right in and make themselves quite comfortable. And you? You have not an inkling of what to say to them, how could you? You've never been here before.

This is not to say that I now feel some form of regret. Not at all. Just reality, sinking its sharp little claws deep into the very pit of my brain better known as the heart and the soul. The innermost being as it were.

And too, reality is a word pregnant with possibilities. Possibilities that, when given breath, put to death the shadowy doubts that cower in the corners of your mind. Possibilities have their own reality, a reality that itself evolves.

The hope of victory becomes a tangible reality one day at a time. The desire of perseverance takes yet another step on solid ground. The thought of resolve pounds in your heart one beat to the next, drumming out the whispers of what if and not you. And these realities become more and more at home in your mind than the doubts, the words of naysayers and the fleeting fears that once tried to nest.

And what was, transmigrates in to what is. And this day, this is it, this is your reality. Make it what you will.

The "S" Word

Surgery.


The big day cameth...ith.

I wasn't nervous, scared or second guessing this decision. The day was here and it all seemed so routine or methodical. Surreal is probably more what I was actually feeling. I kind of just went through the motions, no excitement, no chit-chat, rather calm and ready for whatever.

They sign you in. Take you back. WEIGH you AGAIN. Put you in your gown, your socks and lay you on a slice of cardboard big enough for Barbie and maybe, just maybe if Ken sucks it in, him too. Definitely not wide or long enough for you to relax. Go figure.

The pre-op nurse asks you a thousand questions, most of which you have answered already. Questions such as...Any allergies? How do you react to them? When was your last period? Anyone with you today? What's his name? Does he have a cell phone?

She takes your blood pressure, your temperature, and so on. And then she shivs you with a needle as big around as your finger. Don't let that little piece of pink plastic fool you. There is nothing cute or dainty about starting an I.V.

As soon as the I.V. is started they bring back whoever is with you. They tell you this a thousand times. The person who walked me to the pre-op check-in area, the receptionist at pre-op check-in, the nurse who walked me to a room to get dressed for pre-op (pre-pre-op?) and the pre-op nurse all said "Anyone with you? We will bring him back as soon as your I.V. is started."

What they don't realize is, a husband/wife/sister/mom whoever is going to wait for the next few hours with 50 strangers and their misbehaving children and or screaming babies while you go under a knife in the hands of strangers will need their caffeine.

What they also don't figure is, the cafeteria is about 10 miles away from pre-op & surgery center. NO coffee in the waiting room. WHY? Who knows. But someone needs to consider it. Because when they called my husband oh, 50 times, he was walking back from beyond-far-Egypt with his precious thimble of $2 coffee. And he ALMOST missed seeing me before surgery.

Then another person comes and asks you...Any allergies? How do you react to them? When was your last period? Anyone with you today? What's his name? Does he have a cell phone?

Then the doctor comes. I don't know what your doctor will talk to you about, but my conversation went like this:

Dr. F: Are you ready?
Me: Yes, are you?
Dr. F: I am always ready. See you in a few minutes.
Me: Okay.

That was it. We don't dance around our conversation. No small talk for us. Just down to the nitty-gritty and we're off.

Then the anesthesiologist comes to visit. He asks you a couple of questions. Questions that seem VAGUELY familiar. Repeat after me: Any allergies? How do you react to them? When was your last period? Anyone with you today? What's his name? Does he have a cell phone?

Can they NOT read a chart? I am sure it was written down somewhere at some point. See, I think they are trying to trip you up. They want to see if they can catch you in a lie or find a bit of new information you hadn't divulged in the last 6000 times you were asked these very same questions.

But I held firm. I gave them nothing they could use against me. My offish-ee-al membership in the Harriet the Spy Club was worth every one of those 83 boxtops of cereal I ate at the age of 10. Yes it was.

At this point things go a little fuzzy. Having told the anesthesiologist that anesthesia has, in the past, made me deathly ill he came in with a little happy juice for my veins. He injected it into the gaping hole that was my I.V. and I was out. Okay so fuzzy wasn't a good word for what I fest at this point. Blackness. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Lights out. I was a goner.

Woke up in my room. Okay, so here is where it is appropriate to use the word fuzzy. People came to see me. Talk to me. Called me. No memory of it. Any of it. Apparently I am quite the funny girl on pain meds. Who knew?

So that was my surgery day in a nutshell. Or in a post or whatever. I cannot promise yours will go the same. But my hopes are that it would. Uneventful and successful are good outcomes for surgery.

The hospital completely followed through with my original expectation, I had surgery. The Head Nurse/Ring Master would be so incensed to know I answered right.

Finals

They put the fear of the Surgery Nazi in you. Tell you to lose 10 pounds or else - "no surgery for you!"

They mean well. They want to see if you will follow their directions. It makes the surgery easier on the stomach. It makes the transition to a purely liquid diet that much easier. Lowers your health risks, yada yada yada.

So, I knew the Big W-day was drawing close. My old fears and long ago fought battles rose up out of their shallow graves and laughed their ghostly heads off right in front of me. Did I lose enough? What if I gain 3 pounds overnight. Better skip a protein shake until after weigh in. Wrong. Wrong. WRONG!

My stupid scale at home wasn't helping the mental matters either. My clothes were a bit baggy. I was feeling a bit lighter. But my scale showed me very little love. So, rather than give in and be defeated I went to another scale. And another. And glory be, I'd lost 20 pounds!

Forget a bit baggy, suddenly my pants were about to fall off.

So, I headed off to the hospital ready to jump through all the final pre-op hoops with confidence tucked neatly under my arm. They have their circus act down pat. In this ring you pee in a cup. In this ring you give a little blood. And in this ring you have an EKG.

Then the ring master walks in. Uh oh...

I hate this part. I am always afraid I am going to answer something wrong. It's too much like a test...

Head Nurse/Ring Master: What is your religion?

Me: Um...Christian?

Head Nurse/Ring Master: *staring at me*

Me: Baptist?

Head Nurse/Ring Master: *writing and talking* Christian.

I'm thinking dang, that was a few points off.

This one was my favorite by far:

Head Nurse/Ring Master: What do you expect from your hospital stay?

Me: Um, surgery?

Head Nurse/Ring Master: We are not amused. Of course you will have surgery. What do you expect?

Me: Good care?

Dang, I am so failing this...

Head Nurse/Ring Master: No one knows how to answer that question.

Well at least I am in the 100 percentile there.

Head Nurse/Ring Master: Are you allergic to anything?

Me: Yes, codeine, morphine, vicodin.

Head Nurse/Ring Master: *disbelieving tone, looks over top of glasses* What do they do to you?

Me: Chest pains, rash, heart racing, short of breath?

Head Nurse/Ring Master: *impressed* Okay.

Me: Whew.

The Ring Master lets me leave the interrogation. I'm off to see the trapeze artists next.

No kidding. Having an x-ray is really like that. Hold on to the bar over your head, deep breath in, lift your leg, swing! Now, turn this way, flip, deep breath in and swing!

Can I have some pop-corn now? Where are those stinking clowns cause this ain't funny anymore.

After two hours of that I headed off to the Surgery Nazi camp and waited for the call. And waited. And waited...

Finally my time had come. I weighed in and met with Dr. F.


Two thumbs up. I'd lost 22 pounds, all my tests went well and so on.

I asked what my results were from the hospital tests. He said I passed with a 94.

An A!

I think six points were taken off for being Baptist.

Green at the Gills

Here's the thing, this isn't in any way easy. Don't be fooled by thinking it is. I am talking mostly to myself when I say this. You see those before and after shots. You watch those Discovery Channel documentaries. You do your homework and research this thing through to the nth degree. And you think you are prepared. You have no idea.


Two weeks. Two meals. Nasty shakes. Well, kind of nasty. The dutch chocolate is many miles better than the vanilla.


It isn't so much that you are hungry. You just have to keep drinking the same stuff over and over. And over and over. At this point in the game, nine days and eighteen shakes into it, I would trade a shake for some overcooked spinach. Wait, let me rethink that....


But again, I am determined. And this is what it takes. I just want you to be fully aware that this is one of the hardest things you will ever do and this is only the beginning.

Shaking My 'Tude

Fair warning: This post is very frank. Deal with it.

So.

I started the liquid diet.

(Two meals replaced with a protein shake every day for two weeks.)

And at the same time I started the antibiotics.
(1000 mg of Amoxicillin & 500 mg of Biaxin taken with Prevacid twice a day.)

And at the same time I started my period. And to top it off, despite the fact that I've eaten yogurt EVERY day, I am starting to get a yeast infection. Oh great.

Can you say 'miserable', children? I knew you could.

Needless to say, I am not feeling my best nor am I behaving my best. I have an attitude from hell.

Days 1 & 2. I am determined to carry on. This is nothing in the scheme of things. I am not hungry in any way, in fact I have a problem trying to finish the shake. But as well all know, hunger often has nothing to do with why we eat. To top it off, I have a very bad attitude towards everyone and everything. Perhaps this is a combination of carb detox and my period. The shakes are not horribly tasting, but they are in no way delicious. And I guess they aren't really meant to be. Of course the antibiotics leave a strong metallic taste in my mouth and that probably does not help.

A few tricks I have learned:

Add half ice cubes half water. Put everthing in the blender, blend well and then pour into a shakeable container. Then place in the freezer for 30 minutes or so. When you take it out shake well.

You can leave it in a bit longer (in a cup otherwise it will freeze inside the bottle and you won't be able to eat it) and eat it like an ice milk.

Add a small spoonful of instant coffee and half a packet of splenda. (to the dutch chocolate flavor.)

Add bitter fruit to the vanilla or dutch chocolate, such as blackberries or raspberries.

For some reason drinking it through a straw makes it easier to go down.

Day 3. Attitude slightly better, although I feel shaky and weak today. I am having a problem with nausea. This is primarily due to the antibiotics I know, but it isn't making chugging down 10 ounces of brown vitamin sludge any easier. We went to the grocery store and that was a challenge. Throw me in front of a bus why don't ya? But once I think about the effect this food will now have on the outcome of my surgery, on the progress I've made thus far and the mental effect - in other words one taste of the forbidden - I am able to look away. This was a small triumph that I celebrated with, you guessed it, a protein shake.

Days 4 & 5. Muuuuuch better. Better attitude. Better feeling. Better day at work. Shakes still stink, but oh well. I am doing good. The only time I get hungry is before lunch. Then I eat a big salad with chicken and I feel so much better. I get full faster at lunch as well. I weighed myself on day 5 and I've lost 10 pounds. THAT makes me smile.

I guess I will take this part of the challenge one chug of protein shake at a time.

2 Weeks and Counting

In just two weeks I will have my surgery. These past few days, and I am sure the ones to come, have been like awaiting the birth of a long hoped for child. A new beginning. A new life. Expectation for the future.

I want to be clear that I in no way perceive or believe weight loss surgery to be the magical solution to all my weight issues. That would be a foolish belief. And momma didn't raise no fool. The one analogy that I've used with people is that this surgery is more like a bundle of dynamite. Not enough to take down the whole mountain, but enough to make the mountain a bit more manageable.

Nice to compare myself to a mountain right? Well I've heard worse about me. I've said worse about me! And that is way up there on the list of things I will not miss. The stares, the comments, the snickers...(snide laughing, not the candy bar I will miss those).

I've been on both sides of the women's department so to speak. Having lived for many years as a size 8 to 12, I know what gets said of those in the 18+ sizes. And no not everyone is childish and mean, but there are some very mean spirited people in the world. Folks who have no clue what it's like to walk in a size 22 outfit. People who think the 22's need to have a little self discipline, push away from the buffet table and stop having a side of beef with a gallon sized milkshake for lunch.

But no one could be as mean to me as I am was. It is was probably more of a protective measure than self loathing - you know, I make a fat comment/joke to let you know that I know you are thinking along those same lines. That way you don't have a chance to hurt me I've already done that.

I look forward to working on letting that go. I will be losing and gaining at the same time.

This week was spent taking various medical tests and that along with much busyness at work helped the week to pass quickly. There was bloodwork, and echo cardiograms and more blood work and so on.

Test results are all in. I have very mild sleep apnea, not enough to warrant a machine. Which I am glad about since I understand the cpap machines can run expensive. My heart is very healthy, all things considered. My blood did show me to have an infection, taken care of easily enough with antibiotics.

This week I will start the liquid diet in order to lose weight before my surgery date. Yes you read that right, I will need to lose weight before I have the surgery. Only 10 to 15 pounds. Why? Because just that little bit will reduce the risk of surgery on my morbidly obese body. It is also shown to help speed recovery and increase weight loss during the first year. My doctor recommends Isopure protein powder which comes in Dutch chocolate, mmm yummy. I am trying to psyche myself up here folks!

I am hoping it tastes half-way edible. I've heard it said "Nothing tastes as good as thin." That is a load of...and that person's momma couldn't cook. There is a lot of stuff that tastes better than thin. If that were true, we'd all be thin. Now, I am not aiming for thin. No way honey, I did that for too many years with tragic results.

I am aiming straight for healthy.

Testing, Testing 1...2...3

Last night I had to go in for a sleep study. Seems that I snore. So loud that metaphors such as "dynamiting a mountain" and "bringing down a forest" and my absolute favorite "Darth Vader" have been tossed about as a comparison.

So before I go under the knife my surgeon wants to make sure I don't have sleep apnea. At first I was afraid this would make me an unlikely candidate for the surgery, but then I understood this was a protective measure.

I arrived around 9 pm, already 30 minutes past my bedtime. I was quite ready for sleep at that point but I wouldn't have the opportunity for several hours.

We waited, my family and I, for quite a bit of time in the room that was to be my bedroom for the night. We waited and we waited.

The room was nice, rather like a set up at a furniture store, fake plants and all. The bed seemed to be sleep-worthy, but still not my bed. Located in an office building it was quite obvious that this was once someone's workplace. Only now there's a bed. And a video camera. And a loudspeaker. And a motherboard. And a fan. THANK GOD for the fan!

Questions ran through my mind. Questions like, what if I pass gas? (Seriously!) What if I talk in my sleep? (Am I an entertaining sleep conversationalist?) What if I have to go to the bathroom and I am connected to the motherboard? (Do not wet the bed.) I was worried most about the bathroom. Just the slightest possibility of having to hold it all night made me visit the facilities 3 or 4 times before they locked it up tight.

My family left and finally she came and began to attach all the wires. And I thought finally I will be able to get some rest! Right. So, if you've never had a sleep study you'll want to know that you are attached to a box with wires coming out of almost every possible spot on your body. A connection beside each eye. A connection on each leg. A connection on each side of your chest. A connection on your neck, your chin and your jaw. Behind each ear and right on the top of your forehead. And eight glued to your scalp all around your head. A pulse oximeter on your finger. And finally a sensor that sits on your top lip and fits inside each nasal. This is in order to sense the heat of the breath coming out of your nose.

Once she got me all wired up the fun began. Apparently the machine wasn't reading anything. Insert brain dead joke here. Despite her many attempts and pleadings the machine refused to work. Plan B, move to another room. Except we had the same problem in there. She switched this, reattached that, wiggled something else and turned herself about.

I think the turning herself about did it because Houston, we had liftoff. Whew, I sigh. Not yet says the motherboard who apparently had more tricks to pull out of its sleeve. Plan C we move back to the other room and try a few more dance moves. This impressed the motherboard and we finally began the test. It was midnight.

Problem #1. I was no longer sleepy. Problem #2. I was in pain. Problem #3. I had to pee. Dang. I tossed and turned and would just about drift off and sleep was snatched from me by the sleep mugger. I must have finally drifted off because when I thought I just couldn't hold it one more second she said she would be more than happy to come unplug me, let her stop the test. She came in and I asked what time it was, she said 6 am and I had given her some lovely snoring. Lovely.

We went home and I slept all day. That is really going to mess me up tonight. But I couldn't help it. It was my bed, my sheets, my home and best of all I could go pee whenever I wanted.