2nd Week Post Op

Tuesday marked my post-op follow up with my dietitian and my cute surgeon.  

The dietitian visit was eye-opening.  As he explained it, my stomach can currently handle about a quarter cup of food.  My stomach will slowly expand to handle first a half cup, and then a full cup of food at one sitting.  Thankfully, this is natural and will not be due to some fault I make.  He explained weighing food by volume, instead of weight, as it is currently the volume that I am restricted by.  Therefore, a 4 oz Tuna steak could - by rights - be pureed to fit into a 1/4 cup container (or a 2 oz container).

Luckily, he also pointed out something that I had noticed.  I don't get full the way I used to.  The sensation is different, which can make it difficult to know WHEN I am full.  The way he explained it is that most people get a pressure just below their sternum that alerts them that they've had enough to eat.  My way of telling I'm full usually depends upon changes in my breathing, where I begin breathing deeper before taking a bite.  The bad part of my method is that it doesn't usually take effect until AFTER I've eaten too much.  This will come into play later in this blog.

Aside from that, I was to continue doing well and given the okay to return to work.

I was bad that day.  I woke up late for my appointment, which ran four hours, and then had to grocery shop and put groceries away, which means I ate or drank nothing till about 4 pm.  I had a popsicle because the idea of having more soup or protein shakes literally made me sick to my stomach.  Then, a few hours later, I joined a friend at Panera Bread and ordered some Tomato Soup.

I should have been on fluids for two more days but, as I said, I was literally becoming sick of the idea of having to sip another ounce.  So, the morning I returned to work, I took a calculated risk and tried my first taste of pureed protein.  The eggs with cheese sauce I had for breakfast went down fabulously.  Later in the day, I tried chicken salad, which also went down without a problem and tastes so much better than anything I'd had to for three weeks.

Unfortunately, the next day, my stomach began cramping after the eggs and - although I never threw up - I really, really felt like I wanted to.  So, I called work and told them I thought I'd bitten off more than I can chew (ha ha ha), and stayed home for the day.  The cramping and nausea persisted through lunch and my mid-day snack.  THIS was when I realized that the change in my breathing must be occurring when it is too late and I've already overeaten...or, at least I was eating too fast.  The 1/4 cup of pureed protein was supposed to last me 30 minutes, but I was eating it in 10-15 minutes.

Today, I've done a little better.  First, I've learned to only put food on the very tip of my spoon - not the whole surface area.   Secondly, I time my bites so that I take one bite every two minutes.  These two things now give me time to notice the subtle pressure below my sternum that the dietitian was talking about, signaling me to stop eating.  So, my third day has been a bit more successful, though I still missed work while I tried to work this all out.

Although I seem to have solved that problem, I've now having some pain in the front left of my stomach.  I'm not sure where it's come from, but it only hurts when I move, so I'm thinking it may be a muscle and not surgery related.

In regards to my current meal choices, I've pureed Tuna Salad, Chicken Salad and Turkey Club Salad.  I also made my dad pasta with ground turkey, Rosa sauce and some ricotta.  I took the meat sauce and pureed that, so it gives me a little taste of "Italian".  I also took some barbecued pork (light sauce) and pureed that.  Then, of course, there's my beloved eggs with cheese sauce.  It's not filet mignon, but damn does it taste better than soup!  Tonight, I think I'm going to try oatmeal and see how that hits the spot.

All in all, I'll be on the pureed diet until next Friday, when I begin soft proteins.

So, as you can see, I'm supposed to start for three weeks on soft protein; the first week being fish and seafood.  Unfortunately, I don't like fish (besides tuna and salmon) and I'm allergic to seafood.  Therefore, I don't foresee eating those two things for a full week.  So, the dietitian told me to do tuna, salmon and eggs the first week and then slowly try the other foods over the next two weeks.  I guess I'll just have to play it all by ear.

All in all, I've only lost three lbs this week, so I'm a bit disappointed by that.  Hopefully, I can get my energy levels up and get my stomach to behave long enough to start exercising more steadily, and that will make a difference.

Till next time, BE KIND!

Surgery & First Week Post-Op

So, I've made a compilation of video updates from surgery day and the first week post-op, but for those of you who prefer to read, skip the video below and I'll do my best to fill you in.

I woke up later than intended the day of surgery, but once Dad woke me up at 5:30, I jumped out of bed, packed the last of my things, showered, shampooed and was out in the car in less than 20 minutes.  We paused long enough to take two quick "Before" pictures - one front and one profile.  I wish I had thought of that sooner so I could have captured better quality images.

  I hadn't slept much, but I still had this burst of nervous, anxious energy as we drove to the hospital.  I knew I wouldn't be feeling so hyper later, so I kind of enjoyed it while it lasted.  I was given my hospital gown, hair-net and I became giddy when I saw that the socks were purple.

I'd never seen purple hospital socks before.  Purple was my mom's favorite color, so I took it as a sign from heaven that my mom was still there with me that day.  That might seem silly, but the thought was comforting none-the-less.

There was a flurry of activity as five different people asked me the same repetitive questions, but everyone was really nice and friendly.  I advised them I had woken up early from being sedated one before, so they gave me an extra shot before taking me for surgery.  That sucker packed a punch!  There was about 15 minutes of calm before they wheeled me out for surgery.  I think I might have started dozing off, because I don't remember saying goodbye to my Dad or telling him I loved him or anything.  I do remember them asking me to move over onto the operating table and putting the oxygen mask on, but I don't remember having to count backwards like you see on TV or in the movies.  I just passed out instantly.

The next thing I remember was waking up really groggy in recovery.  My dad was there, as expected, but I really surprised to find my brother and sister-in-law there, too!  I remembered being very uncomfortable and wanting to sit up.  It hurt to move, but I just kept feeling if I could sit up, that the pain wouldn't be as bad.  So I wiggled and scooted till I was in a sitting position.  Everyone kept telling me to calm down and relax, but I just kept moving till I sat up enough to have some relief.

They inflated my abdomen for the surgery, so I felt uncomfortably bloated, my ribs hurt, my back hurt and it hurt the most every time I breathed.  I found out that I had a hernia repair during the surgery, which also added to my pain and discomfort.

The first day was pretty bad. My mouth stayed terribly dry since I couldn't drink anything. I couldn't get comfortable no matter what I did.  My blood pressure went through the roof and I had to be put on medicine to lower it.  The pain meds made me horribly nauseous.  I looked so bad, the nurses were even concerned.

I had to do a leak test Saturday afternoon so, after having nothing to drink for 36 hours, I had to drink barium, which tastes like wet chalk.  They had the x-ray watch as I swallowed and showed me the x-ray image of my smaller stomach after it was done.  With no leaks detected, they brought me lunch shortly after - a wide variety of clear liquids.

I didn't want any of it.  I craved water because I was so parched, but even that I had to be careful with.  I could feel the movement of the water through my esophagus and into my stomach, and whenever the fluid hit my sleeve, it constricted painfully.

But, to say I recovered quickly is an understatement.  By the first night, discomfort aside, I was able to get up and go to the bathroom without help.  By the next day, I was getting out of bed with only a few grunts and groans and by Sunday, I was able to pack up my stuff to leave for home.

All of my concerns about being upstairs or downstairs were for not.  I climbed the stairs without a problem and got into bed with only minor discomfort.

I miscalculated and ended up waiting an extra day before moving back to full fluids.  I tried and learned that I like Tomato Soup, which was nice as it gave me a little more variety than I'd had before.  Slowly, my stomach stopped seizing up every time I sipped something.  I had some cramping and diarrhea for a couple of days but, by now, everything seems to be functioning back to normal.

It is true that I'm not physically hungry and, when I eat, I get full quickly.  Well - it's weird, actually.  I don't feel full in the usual sense.  Because I'm never hungry, when I eat, I pay attention to my breathing.  When my breathing changes, I know I'm full and stop eating.  But, I never have that "full" feeling in my belly.  It's just...."satisfied".   Now, if I open a can of soup for breakfast, I can eat the same can for lunch and finish it for dinner.  Same thing with protein shakes - they now last 3-4 meals.

The problem I am most concerned with is my psychology.  Although my body is not hungry - I'm mentally hungry.  Every food I see or smell or think about sounds good and I crave it.  I've called a Behavior Modification Therapist, but she never returned any of my calls, so now I need to try to find someone else.

Another post-op problem was depression.  By Tuesday (5 days post op), I began to feel down.  Nothing drastic, I just had a serious case of the blahs.  So, since I was feeling well enough, I set about doing housework.  I stopped when I needed to rest, but having a goal and a sense of purpose helped a little.

By the Wednesday after surgery, I went for a walk around my neighborhood.   I didn't get very far, but I figure I've got to start somewhere, right?  I also hoped the exercise might give me some endorphins to help kick up my mood.  I'm still battling the depression daily, but I find keeping busy is helping.

I've been contemplating going back to work early, since I feel physically able and since I am not getting paid for my time off.  I go for my Post-Op Evaluation tomorrow, so I figure I'll talk to my doctor and supervisor about it at that time.  I'm thinking getting back to the swing of things might also help with the blahs.

All in all, I lost a total of 10 lbs the first week after surgery.  I haven't experienced any weight loss this week thus far, but I know Rome wasn't built in a day, and it will take time to get where I'm going.

Thanks for taking this journey with me.

Please be kind.

It's the Final Countdown! (Chop Shop Tomorrow!)

Felt a little chatty this morning, so I thought I'd update you on the final stage of my Pre-Op Diet, some of the side effects of my Fluid Only regimen, and the deets on my surgery tomorrow morning!

Haven't eaten too much today, as the broth just isn't appealing to me, but I have been trying to suck back Propel Zero and water all day to get as hydrated as possible.  Wasn't having a hard time until my manager decided to throw a cake and ice cream party right around my desk.  I sat down quietly, but the party-goers kept coming over to talk to me while they ate, or telling me I should try the "life changing" brownies.

Then, at home, I had to prepare barbecue pork and some wild rice for my Dad to eat - the stuff made my mouth water and it looked so very good that I almost took a bite and TOTALLY forgot I was dieting.

Luckily, I pushed through it all and can proudly say that the worst I've cheated on my diet was having some onions in my onion soup on Mother's Day - but in my defense, we were at a restaurant and it was the only thing I could eat, and they were pretty impossible to eat around.

I go into the Chop Shop in less than 12 hours!!!  Will try to record updates as I remember, but will probably not be able to post again until I get home.

Please be kind.

Grumble-Grumble (aka: Fluids Only Sucks!)

Here's a short update on how I'm coping on Day 5 of my Fluid Only diet.  (I miscounted and said Day 4 in the video.)

On another note, a high school classmate posted this picture of me, and it got me to thinking...

This is an actual picture - the only editing I did was to crop out the others in the image.

I was about 16 in this picture, and I hated my body. I thought I was so horrifically fat and ugly.  The sad part is, I remember feeling fat and ugly for at least 6 years before this picture was taken, too.

Yet, here I am nearly 20 years later, and this is what I strive to look like once again.

The point is, please, be honest, but be kind with yourselves. Don't look at yourself or your body through the dark lenses of self loathing and insecurity, and stop comparing yourselves with the images in the media that were created through photo shopping or plastic surgery.

I was once as beautiful on the outside as I am on the in, and I wasted those moments feeling ugly. I may never, ever look like this girl again, but dammit, if I gain nothing else through this experience, it will be to take advantage of every moment and to stop holding myself to unrealistic expectations.

I hope you do, too.

Please be kind.

What Goes In, Must Come Out (aka: I'll Be In Bed If You Need Me)

Day Three of my Low Cal, Sugar Free, Caffeine Free, Non-Carbonated Fluid Diet.

I've lost my will to live.

I can't get full.  I just get sloshy.

First of all, food is EVERYWHERE.  Commercials.  TV Shows.  Movies.  Billboards.  Every third post on Facebook is a recipe.  Even my computer booted up with a random shot of muffins as the screen saver.  WTF?

Picked up my Dad and my Aunt from the train station this evening and took them to dinner.  They had sweet bread with butter and fried calamari and fish and chips and pasta.  Know what I ate?  Water.  The wait staff looked at me like I had three heads.

Worst of all?  Consuming only liquids can become a logistical nightmare in "other" ways.

So...yeah.  I get to do this all over again tomorrow.

Grrrrreat.

Please be kind.

I Ain't Gonna Lie (aka: The Storm Before The Calm)

I'm going to be honest because - let's face it - what is the point of doing a blog about Gastric Sleeve Surgery if you're not going to be honest about what you're going through.

So, let's go back to where I last left you - just as I was starting my two week, pre-surgery, soft protein diet.

Although I had a rough start sipping 64-80 ounces of water a day, I was easily within range by Day 3 and maintained that throughout the two week period.

Not drinking water 30 minutes before to 30 minutes after a meal was truly agonizing - but I managed to do that, too.

I failed at eating slowly, easily finishing my food within 5 to 10 minutes, which is a bad thing as it's a major part of being able to eat post surgery.  I'm really going to have to focus my energy on slowing down and thoroughly chewing every single bite of food, and giving my stomach time to alert me that I am full, or else, I could gag, throw up or easily overeat (which I hear is all quite uncomfortable and/or painful).

After my first failed attempt at trying pureed, protein baby food, I never had the nerve to try it again.  However, I found that I was perfectly content eating lean deli meats like honey turkey, and I pretty much lived off of the protein salads (chicken, turkey, ham, egg) from Publix.  It wasn't until Day 13 that I began to loathe the thought of having to eat another one.  Sugar free jello, almonds and low fat, sugar free pudding were all wonderful little treats.

Altogether, I lost 12 lbs over the first two weeks.

However, approaching the end of my soft protein diet, I began to experience anxiety attacks.  On the surface, I feel great.  I'm in control, optimistic, eager, excited, hopeful...  On the surface, I'm Mary Freaking Poppins.  But, what lurks beneath is apparently a little bit of nerves and anxiety.  It wasn't until after these episodes began that I realized how overwhelming it all is.  All the pre-surgery and post-surgery restrictions.

Add in to that some guy drama (yet another wolf in sheep's clothing.  *sigh*) and my first real Mother's Day without my mom and, yeah.  I can see where the anxiety was coming from.

I struggled with it until last night, when I gave in and had pizza and brownies.

On the plus side, it was the only thing I ate for the entire day, so I still came in under calories.  But, it wasn't a part of my diet, and for that, I failed.  I could beat myself up, but I've learned that you just have to take successes and failures as they come.  As Baz Luhrman said: "Whatever you do, don't congratulate yourself too much, or berate yourself either.  Your choices are half chance.  So are everybody else's."

So, today, I started over.

Today begins the next stage of my pre-surgery diet; this stage required by my surgeon and dietitian.  For the next 7 days, I will be on a strict low-cal, no sugar, no caffeine, non-carbonated fluid diet.

Doesn't leave much, does it?

Luckily, this includes protein shakes, broth, some soups, jello, popsicles and pudding.

Then, on the day before surgery, I am left with only clear fluids.  Decaffeinated tea and coffee are both options, but I am not much of a fan of either. So, for me, this will be zero-calorie energy drinks, broth, jello and popsicles for one day.

And then, as if it wasn't hard enough, nothing but air can pass my lips after midnight the day of my surgery.  I can only hope and pray that I am the first surgery of the day, as I tend to get really bad dry mouth, and that's just gonna suck.

This is it, folks.  I know so many other people have been through this before me, and I know this is a routine procedure, but I find myself terrified.

Can you be terrified without being afraid?

I really don't feel scared.  I have no fear of dying on the table or being butchered or anything like that.  I'm fully confident in my surgeon and his team.

So no, there really is nothing for me to fear.

Yet, I feel terrified none the less.  Terrified of the unknown.  Terrified of leaving behind the only kind of life I've ever lived.  Terrified of changing; for the better or the worse.  Terrified that, amongst these changes, I will somehow lose track of who I am.  Terrified of failing.

Another truth?

I want my mommy.

*sigh*

Please be kind.

April 29th (aka: My Rebirthday)

Today is an important day for me.

In 2006, at about a size 26/28, I started a new job and inherited my mom’s manual 1986 Honda Civic.  I hadn’t been driving very long (I started late), but was proud that I’d mastered the stick shift well enough to be trusted to drive the car back and forth to my new job.

All in all, things were going pretty well for me.

However, I found myself terribly sleepy all the time.  I relied on energy drinks to keep me from dozing through the work day and often reverted to screaming, pinching and slapping myself on the drive to and from work just to keep myself awake.

 

It was absolutely miserable.

Then 10 years ago, at 7:55 on the morning of April 29^th, I turned left onto the highway.  I blinked.

I opened my eyes just in time to see a white truck coming at me from ahead and to my right, turning onto the street I was traveling on.

It was too late to stop, so my instinct was to swerve.

I did not pass out for the duration of the accident or the recovery.  I was awake for the shattering of the glass.  I was awake for the tearing sound of the metal around me.  Even when a river of blood flowed down my face and into my eyes and mouth…I was awake.

I was awake as I realized the blood would ruin the blouse I borrowed from my mom without asking.  

I was awake as I remembered my dad’s golf clubs were in the back of the car and probably damaged.  

I was awake as I reached for my phone on the passenger seat and felt hot pavement instead.  To my left was the back seat of the car.

I was awake for the paramedics who used the jaw of life to remove me from the car, for the helicopter flight, for the intense violation of the trauma team as they checked my most private places for signs of injuries.

And I was never more painfully awake then when the police officer came to explain that I’d run a red light.  It was not until then that I learned witnesses said I’d run a red light.  When he told me where the accident happened, I realized I’d traveled driven two blocks while falling asleep.

The guilt and fear of knowing I could have hurt someone else…could have killed someone else…was the worst pain and trauma I experienced that day.

The “white truck” that hit me turned out to be a huge City Dump truck.

 

The truck hit my front right fender at an angle, heading towards the left rear of my car, tearing the compact car in half on a diagonal.  As the car splintered and folded in on itself, the supports stretched the roof of the car, pulling it lower.  My body jolted forward, clipping my nose on the rear view mirror, breaking a small bone in my nose while dislodging the rearview mirror from its place.  

Meanwhile, as the roof lowered and my head and body flew forward, the top of my head shredded the interior lining of the ceiling of the car until there was no padding left.  In turn, the unlined ceiling of the car ripped my scalp from my skull.  Although there was only internal bruising, it felt as if several internal organs had shattered into hard, sharp shards of glass inside of me – every movement causing me intense pain.

It took 50 internal stitches and 80 external stitches to repair my scalp; 130 stitches total.

I was released from the hospital ten hours later.

The next day, we went to see the remains of my car.  The passenger seat had been located ten yards away, we were told, and it was clear to see that the gas line was completely exposed.  It was absolute luck that it didn’t break or explode from the impact of the crash.  The tow yard workers looked at me in awe when they learned I was the driver.  Police and the tow yard employees had all assumed I’d be dead.

Those ten hours cost me $20,000.  Remember that new job I told you about?  My medical insurance didn’t kick in until Sunday, May 1^st.  Because my accident happened two days before that, I had no coverage.  I’m still working to pay it off.

So, why am I writing about this in a blog about weight loss?

Because that accident was how I learned I had weight-related sleep apnea.  It’s a condition where I stop breathing numerous times while sleeping.  The lack of oxygen causes my body to wake up to a point where I can breathe again, but this also disturbs the deep sleep a person needs to feel awake and refreshed the next day.

At a size 26/28, I was heavy enough that the weight of my fat was making it hard to breathe while I slept.  That is what caused the accident that could have hurt or killed people.

Furthermore, I was fat enough that the seatbelt didn’t fit me right.  My rotund belly would cause it to ride up until it was hitting my neck and choking me.  So, I had taken to wearing the shoulder restraining portion behind my back.  And this is the reason I flew so far forward that I broke my nose, was scalped and all my internal organs were so bruised.  Had I been thinner, I would have been wearing the seatbelt the correct way and could have avoided my injuries.

Believe it or not, I celebrate this day.  My family, friends and I called it my “Rebirthday”.

Why would we celebrate such an awful thing?

For one, I don’t want to ever forget.  Although I was undiagnosed, I made choices and mistakes that could have caused others their lives.  If circumstances had been different, I’d be in jail for vehicular manslaughter and I sure as hell wouldn’t be able to forget about it then.  Therefore, my good fortune doesn’t make me feel any less obliged to remember what happened.  It is a punishment, of sorts.  A constant reminder to make smarter, safer choices.

On the other hand, I’m alive.  I survived.  I’ve been reborn through the chaos of the wreckage.  No one else was injured, and all of that is cause for celebration.

You see, I’ve always believed in taking responsibility for your actions, which I do.  But that day was such a reminder of how very short life is, and that the best choice you can make on a daily basis is to acknowledge the things that make you happy.

Ten years ago today, I fell asleep while driving to work.

Now I’m at work, nervously and excitedly anticipating a life-altering surgery I will have in exactly two weeks’ time.

Preparing for another “rebirth” of sorts.  The birth of a thinner, healthier, even happier self.

Please be kind.

Diet Day 5: A Food Review (aka: From Yuck to Yum)

So, today marks Day 5 of my diet; my "diet" consisting of the protein shakes, fluids, pureed and soft foods I will be able to eat the first month post-op.  Although I just started Monday, I've decided to weigh myself on Fridays, since my surgery will be on a Friday.  That will give us a chance to see how much I've lost before I actually go to the chop shop.

Step 1, I've totally eliminated caffeinated beverages from my diet.  This has been tricky, and I've found myself dozing off at work a few times, desperate for a fix before too many people caught me.  But, yesterday seemed better, so I'm hoping I'm taking a turn for the better.

I've also eliminated soda's and sugary juices from my diet.  This one has been a little easier for me - although I enjoy them, I've usually found it easy to get by without them.

I've purchased a 1.5 liter bottle for water and have been working on ensuring that I drink at least one of those a day.  While I've never had a problem drinking water, the difference is that I must work on not waiting till I'm thirsty and then chugging it.  With my new stomach, waiting till I'm thirsty will mean it is too late because I will no longer be able to chug it back down to eliminate the thirst.  For this reason, one of the complications I face post-op is dehydration.  So, I've been diligently practicing drinking the water in sips throughout the day.  Doing this day one severely worsened my ability to drink, as I kept forgetting.  But, each day has gotten a little better and yesterday, I actually found that I was able to drink more than the bottle throughout the day.

Another issue I'm having to work on is no drinking 30 minutes before and after a meal.  If a meal is supposed to last 30 minutes, then than equals 90 minutes I can not drink, 3 times a day.  This one is killing me.  Despite my sipping throughout the day, I find these 90 minutes to be unbearable.  My mouth goes so dry that I can actually tuck my lips up over my teeth and they'll stay that way.

Patience is a virtue.

I'm so excited to have found a fix for the nasty protein powder I bought.  The Isopure Low Carb Dutch Chocolate tasted like crap, and it was gritty.  Whenever I tried to drink it, I could hear it crunching between my teeth.  I tried numerous things, but was never happy with it.

Till now.

I had a Yoplait 100 Calorie Whipped Vanilla Cupcake Flavored Yogurt in my fridge.  So, I scooped that into my bullet blender, filled the cup with Sugar Free Soy Milk (4 oz) and added that.  Scooped in my two scoops of Whey Protein Powder and added 5 ice cubes.  The result is a thick chocolate shake that is far superior than the Protein Powder mixed just with milk, or any of the other things I had tried.  One glass of that is also very filling.  After surgery, I assume I won't be able to drink but a couple of sips of the stuff before I'm full, but it packs 64 grams of protein (which meets the minimum for the day!) and 334 calories.

Only found the nerve to try the beef and gravy baby food and found it thoroughly disgusting.  There must be a way to enhance it to make it edible, but I'm so traumatized by the two bites that I took that I haven't had the courage to mess around with it again.  However, I tried it cold (since you can not heat it in the microwave), and I'm worried that may have been a factor.  I'm considering putting it into a bowl with a bit of beef broth, salt and pepper to see if I can get that down.  Ugh...poor babies....

My main source of food thus far has been the Publix meat salads.  The Turkey Club Salad is phenomenal, but will probably not be edible for a while because of the bacon bits in it.  I'll need to ask my surgeon.  Tuna Salad and Chicken Breast Salad (the one with celery in it) are probably my favorites.  Chicken Tarragon came highly recommended, but while it tastes good, I don't find myself looking forward to eating it.  The same can be said for the Chicken Breast Salad with dressing.  Today, I'll try the Egg Salad.

Sometimes, I just munch on cold cuts, like Smoked Honey Turkey.  It's actually quite satisfying.

For my treats, when I'm craving something other than pure meat all the time, I've taken to snacking on a few almonds, sugar free jello, sugar free pudding or a spoon full of JIF Reduced Fat Peanut Butter.  The Peanut Butter is a tricky one - one spoonful is fine, but more than that can quickly put you over your fat content for the day (even though it is Reduced.)

So, where does this put me?  Well, I forgot to weigh myself the day I started, but I last weighed myself at 425 lbs about a week ago.  This morning, I weighed in at 417; a weight loss of 8 lbs, and I haven't even had the surgery yet.

So, I'm feeling confident I can do this.  Not only can I lose the weight on my own, but this surgery will finally give me the boost I need to finally beat my plateau of 300 lbs.

And I can't freaking wait!

Feeling "Other" (aka: Being Fatter Than Fat)

It amazes me how even smaller, heavy-set women underestimate how much more difficult it is to be my size.

In the past month, I’ve had the same conversation with at least three plus-sized women regarding shopping for clothes.  When I mention that I can only shop for clothes online, they scoff.  “That’s not true – there are plenty of stores that carry your size.”

Then they start naming the same stores that I used to shop at; the same stores that I’ve now outgrown.  They always start with the same two suggestions.

“The Avenue carries women’s plus sizes.”

I shake my head.  “Not my size.”

“Have you checked Lane Bryant?”

I nod.  “They’re clothes run even smaller than The Avenue.”

This is then followed by a myriad of other recognizable clothing stores – all of which max out at a size 26 to a size 3x.

Maybe they are trying to be kind by pretending not to acknowledge my actual size.  Perhaps they are honestly unaware at how much larger I am.  Maybe they just have no basis for comparison, or their minds just can’t conjure that they would know someone who is a 6x.

When I tell them my actual size, they look surprised – but to their credit, none of them appeared judgmental about it or disgusted.  Whether it is true or not, they then say “I didn’t know you were that size” or “You don’t look like it” or “I never would have guessed.”

I don’t blame them.  I wouldn’t know how to respond to that, either.

Ultimately, I tell them that I’ve only found one online store that carries affordable clothes in my size that I actually don’t mind wearing.

Then, they begin to list other online stores I could try.

One friend suggested Torrid.  While their clothes are adorable, and they do carry my size, they don’t carry any clothing that I feel I would be comfortable in.  They’re all simply too tight or too revealing in one way or another.

It’s understandable that thin or average sized people would have a hard time understanding, but it’s kind of sad and lonely when even others in the same general predicament are baffled.  It explains how easy it is to feel so out of place.  Alien.  As if I am somehow “other” to the majority of the world.

I’ve isolated myself in layers upon layers of lard and the truth is, no matter how charming or funny or nice or smart or generous I may be – those layers make it hard for other people to identify with me. In a very literal way, my oversized suit of flesh makes it difficult for others to get close to me.

They may know me.  They might befriend me.  They may even love me.

But I’m well aware that the truth of the matter is, they see me as fat above and beyond all else.

I’ve heard it. 

I’ve heard them say “She’s a sweetheart, but I just wish she’d lose weight” or, “She’s so funny, but I worry about her size” or “She has a pretty face, but…”

I’ve had men tell me I’m wonderful, but they simply can’t date a big girl.

Of all the things I am – to the world, I am fat first.

I’m not trying crying about it, or bitching or whining.  I’m just acknowledging it.  Just tipping my hat to the way the world works.

I think each of us is many things but, to the world at large, we are what is most apparent.  We’re fat, or skinny.  We’re white or black, female or male, young or old.  We’re disabled or athletic, we’re disfigured or beautiful.  It’s not necessarily mean, it’s just human nature.

It’s psychology.

I just look forward to the day when I might be considered anything else first…anything but “fat”.  And, as I prepare for this surgery and hopeful weight loss, I find myself wondering…

What will that one thing be?

My Reason for Waiting (aka: WTF Took You So Long?)

So, if you’ve read my first post, then you’re probably wondering “Why the hell did she wait so long to get Bariatric Surgery?”

I mean, I did give explicit details of my life long weight gain.

Well, it was a great mixture of things, to be honest.

The easiest of which to explain is my job.  I am currently a Legal Secretary with really good insurance (the surgery will only cost me $200 out of pocket).  Compared to the retail job I held for six years before this and the towing clerk job I held before that, I simply didn’t get paid enough coupled with my insurance benefits to be able to afford it.

But my choice not to have surgery sooner was by far a more intellectual and emotional one.

At first, I didn’t trust it.  It was a new procedure, and I simply hadn’t seen or heard enough about it to trust that it was safe or that it would work long term.  At the time, I was still in the 20’s sizes also, and still confident I’d *eventually* get down to a safe weight on my own.

By the time my mom went for the gastric bypass surgery about eight years ago, the surgery was becoming a little more prominent and already had a reputation for being safe and relatively successful.  I was already wearing size 32 clothing and getting close to my 30 years old, so I was beginning to think about it, but I was easily deterred when we ran into a couple of post-op patients that had resumed their old ways and easily put all of their weight back on.  A teacher of mine had recovered from gastric bypass and successfully lost all of her excess weight – but then received a cancer diagnosis.  Due to her surgery, treating her cancer was a little more complicated, and that worried me too.  I was no longer untrusting of the surgery itself…just whether or not I was desperate enough to take that step.

I watched my mom struggle at first with her post-op diet.  She was miserable for quite some time.  But, immediately and rapidly, the pounds began to fall off and she suddenly felt it was all worth it, and I began to look at the surgery in a different light.

That was until I watched my mom do what I was most afraid of.  She was depending upon a side effect called “Dumping” to ease her need for sweets.

Dumping occurs when a post op patient east something that doesn’t agree with them – mostly sugary things.  The post-op patient can become violently ill, either throwing up or experiencing diarrhea as their body violently tries to expel what they have eaten.  It’s a relatively common side effect of Roux-en-Y surgery (aka:  Gastric Bypass).

My mom was one of the lucky ones but, without dumping to help sway her from eating her beloved sweets, she quickly resumed her old habits.  Don’t get me wrong her appetite definitely decreased and I never saw her finish a meal again.  But, knowing she couldn’t eat much just meant that she saved her appetite for her candies and cookies and cakes and pastries.  For days at a time, I’d see her eat nothing else with any real nutritional value. 

Her weight loss slowed.

Stopped.

Then reversed.

I witnessed firsthand what the surgery could do.  I also witnessed how easily you could override it’s success if you were not 1000% ready to commit to it.

I considered it.

I carefully tried to imagine myself eating only a half a cup at a time.  I carefully tried to imagine how my life would change.  In my mind’s eye, I attended birthday parties and dinner with friends.  I turned down the soda.  I declined the cake.  I ordered the plain chicken breast.

And the idea of it all made me desperately anxious.  In that instant, I knew two things:  I was not ready for bariatric surgery, and I fully felt the weight of my unhealthy obsession with food.

The idea of being so terribly limited made me feel as if a very dear, lifelong friend were preparing to 

move far, far away. 

I was literally experiencing the most severe separation anxiety I had ever known.

I was no longer against it, but I had developed the understanding that it was a tool – not a fix. 

My weight problem was not in the size of my stomach, but in the way I looked at and related to food.  Slicing off part of my stomach would do nothing to heal my mind and help me get a healthy outlook on what food is and what food does.

Like my mom, I could not rely on intense side-effects to cure me of my affliction.  My body was a vehicle – my mind the horse that pulled the cart.  Priorities first – I had to cure my mind.

As I said previously – there were a good four or five years where my mom and dad were both in hospitals 30 miles apart.  When they weren’t in the hospital, they were home and relying on me to care for them.  I dieted here and there.  I exercised here and there.  I lost and gained weight.  But, I wasn’t simply too distracted to work on truly healing myself.

I witnessed firsthand what the surgery could do.  I also witnessed how easily you could override its success if you were not 1000% ready to commit to it.

I considered it.

I carefully tried to imagine myself eating only a half a cup at a time.  I carefully tried to imagine how my life would change.  In my mind’s eye, I attended birthday parties and dinner with friends.  I turned down the soda.  I declined the cake.  I ordered the plain chicken breast.

And the idea of it all made me desperately anxious.  In that instant, I knew two things:  I was not ready for bariatric surgery, and I fully felt the weight of my unhealthy obsession with food.

The notion that I would no longer be able to be whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted and how much of it I wanted depressed me terribly.

I was literally experiencing the most severe separation anxiety I had ever known.

I was no longer against it, but I had developed the understanding that it was a tool – not a fix. 

My weight problem was not in the size of my stomach, but in the way I looked at and related to food.  Slicing off part of my stomach would do nothing to heal my mind and help me get a healthy outlook on what food is, what food does or the healthier way I needed to view it.

Like my mom, I could not rely on intense side-effects to cure me of my affliction.  My body was a vehicle – my mind the horse that pulled the cart.  Priorities first – I had to cure my mind.

As I said previously – there were a good four or five years where my mom and dad were both in hospitals 30 miles apart.  When they weren’t in the hospital, they were home and relying on me to care of them.  I dieted here and there.  I exercised here and there.  I lost and gained weight.  But, I was simply too distracted to work on truly healing myself.

One day, I woke up with a severe lower back ache and, when I tried to get out of bed, my knees hurt and throbbed.  I hobbled, bent halfway over, leaning on my dresser, my walls and the doorframe for support as I attempted to make my way to the bathroom and it hit me – I am too young to be living like this.

I think a lot of overweight people have these thoughts at random moments.  You think of what you have suffered because of your weight.  You think of the things you’ve given up in the name of food.  You vow to make changes.  You decide that this time, you will not fail.

I’ve been there.  I’ve done that.

It wasn’t working.

At the same time, there was my mom. 

By January of 2016, my mom was reliant on oxygen canisters and a wheelchair.  There were other health factors affecting her quality of life – but her weight was definitely one of them.

Her very active social life diminished to staying home with the cats all the time.  Taking her out to doctor’s appointments or family gatherings became a carefully orchestrated dance between her, my father and I that would take at least 30 – 45 minutes to get her to the car and another 30 – 45 minutes to get her out of it.  Despite tons of regulations, we discovered that the world is still not a handicapped friendly place. 

She was on blood thinners, her skin thin and mottled with bruises.  She’d lean on a door way while we tried to get her wheelchair and oxygen in place, but she’d often fall from weakness and exhaustion and tear open the thinning skin of her arms.

By the end of January, she had to fully rely on my father and I to lift her from her recliner.  To walk her to the bathroom.  Her legs trembled when she attempted to stand.

She was only 64 years old but her vibrant, outgoing, funny, amazing, silly, caring, crazy, talkative, social personality had slowly gotten buried beneath the layers of unhealthy eating.

Near the end of March, I was visiting my mom in the hospital.  At the time, I wasn’t too worried – hospitalizations had become a common occurrence, so it never crossed my mind that this could be her last.  She needed to use the restroom, so she and I set about the arduous task of sitting her up in bed, bringing her legs over the side and angling the wheelchair into position.  I leaned over, wrapping her arms around my neck as I wrapped mine around her waist.  My lower back trembled in response – the bulk of our weight straining it painfully, but I knew better than to make a sound or let her know it hurt.

Once on her feet, I pivoted, angling her rear for the chair and slowly…painfully, setting her down into it before wheeling her the teen feet to the hospital bathroom, where we reversed the maneuver to sit her onto the toilet seat.

There was a stabbing pain in my lower back, but I knew I’d have to do this procedure at least two more times to get her back into bed.  I said nothing, but she knew from the way I stood, bent, stretched and leaned against the doorframe that I was in pain.  Neither of us addressed it, but I saw the guilt in her eyes.

I got her back into her wheelchair, wheeled her once again to her bedside and bent down to lift her.  As she stood, the arms she had around my next shifted downward, her embrace slowly morphing into one of her patented Carol hugs.  Come to think of it…in this moment, as I write…I realize it was the last time she ever really hugged me.

But I digress.

She hugged me tightly.  I could feel her trembling in my arms as her legs and back struggled to support her weight, trying not to give out.  She apologized.  “I know you’re back hurts, baby, and I’m so very, very sorry.”  She kissed my cheek over and over again, as if she could kiss my back pain away.  Of course, I told her it was okay and that I was perfectly fine; just glad I could help.

A moment later, as her legs grew wobbly from the exertion, we pivoted her back into bed.  As she sat down, her hands found mine and squeezed tight.  Her eyes were terrified pools.

I will never forget the look on her face.

“I’m scared.  I’m so scared.  I can’t do anything for myself.  I can’t remember things.  I can’t think right….”

There are so very many wonderful, amazing, beautiful things about my mom that I strive to be like; but young, ill, terrified and dependent on other people is not one of them.

As I’ve said – who knows how much her weight attributed to her death and how much genetics and life and accidents and injuries and illness were at play.

But, I think of myself.  My inability to move.  My daily aches and pains.  The way I struggle to breathe.

I am many of the wonderful things that my mom was.  I have her kind heart.  I have her outgoing personality.   I have her crazy, silly, wacky sense of humor and her desire to do anything to make other smile or laugh.  But, how much of that is getting buried beneath the stupid choices I am making?

I compared my life now to my teenage years and began to realize how much I was losing.  No…how much I’ve lost.  I began to think of the things I would do or could do if I lost weight…the things I won’t or can’t do now because of it.

There came a time when my family and I had to decide if we would keep my mom alive on ventilators and dialysis and iv’s…or whether we would remove her from them and allow her to rest.

I was the strongest advocate for her quality of life.  If anyone believed she could recover and have a true quality of life, I argued, that I’d be all for continuing the fight.

But we all knew there were simply not enough miracles.  The best we could hope for was existence…and we wanted so much better for my beautiful mother.

So, we let her go.  Everyone says she’s in a “better place”.

We sure as hell hope so.

But now, she’s left me behind and I realize I need to fight for my own quality of life as much as I defended hers.

It different for everyone; the proverbial “straw that breaks the camel’s back”.

I guess, this is the best way I can explain mine.

Please be kind.

Logistics Of Recovery (aka: I'm Sweating The Small Stuff)

So, I was actually approved for surgery as of October 2015.  But, seeing as how my mom had just passed away July 1^st, I didn’t want to put my family through that worry or stress so soon.  Not to mention I’d just missed months of work to care for my mom and had no paid time off available for surgery.

So, I postponed my surgery till May 13.

Friday the 13^th, to be exact.

I’m not superstitious, so I find the date amusing and easy to remember, more than frightening or intimidating.  And, the Gastric Sleeve procedure is pretty routine at this point in time, so I’m generally calm and confident about the surgery itself.

But panic struck today when I started thinking about my two weeks post-op.

My mom was an excellent care taker.  She thought of things before you had to ask.  She was attentive and patient and kind and she always went above and beyond.  Even as an adult, she’d brush your hair back from your face or run a cool cloth across your forehead when you were down and out with a fever.  She was even conscientious of the fact that being ill could really make a person emotional.  She dealt out hugs and kisses and could be forgiving if you were ill tempered while sick.

My dad is a good man, but healthcare is not his calling.  Generally, he gets worries about us and gets stressed out that we are unwell and it is out of his control.  This worry, stress and helplessness then make him a bit impatient and short tempered.  He means well, and it comes from a place of love…but it’s not always the best combination when coupled with an emotional, drugged up, post-op patient in pain.  Add to that the fact that a lifetime of hard labor at work has taken a toll on his back, his shoulders and his knees, so he isn’t necessarily great at running errands and catering to a recovering person’s needs.

Plus – I’m not the best patient.  I don’t like to depend on others and I don’t like to ask for help.  And, despite carpal tunnel surgery in both hands, I’ve never experienced anything close to the pain and discomfort of having tiny instruments inserted into my abdomen, my insides pushed and shoved aside and having part of my stomach laterally removed and stapled shut.

All of this boils down to the fact that I’m a 35 year old women who spent this morning having an anxiety attack because “I want my mommy.”

Then, there are just the pure logistics.  I need to clean the house properly before surgery, since I won’t be able to clean for at least a couple of weeks.  I need to train people how to do my job at work so that they can properly cover me.  I need to start my pre-op diet to lose some weight and get used to the only foods I will be able to eat after surgery. 

Post-Op, I face the decision of where I will park myself for recovery.  I have a recliner downstairs that I feel would be the easiest to sit down in and get up from.  It would put me close to my Dad with easy access to the kitchen and restroom.  But, I also have cats, and risk them jumping on my stomach if I stay downstairs, which scares the shit out of me.

However, my other option is to go upstairs (climbing stairs after abdominal surgery?!) and into my room where I can either sit at my desk or lay down in my full size bed, which will require me to use my stomach muscles to pull myself onto and over on the mattress.  No cats to worry about, but then my father would have to intentionally worry about feeding me.  UNLESS, I borrow a mini-fridge from someone and keep my protein shakes and pureed food in the fridge in my bedroom, which 

would be more convenient.

It’s about this point that the stomach aches, chest pains and shortness of breath start because I’m completely overwhelmed trying to think about how I will work it all out.

I know it'll work out...but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't just the teeniest bit stressed.

Please be kind.

Pre-Op Appointment and Pureed Meats (aka: Sleeplessness and Gagging)

So very many thoughts on my mind this morning - couldn't even sleep past three a.m.

I have my Pre-Op appointment with my surgeon this morning.  I haven't been to the office since October and, even though I knew this date was coming, it feels like it snuck up on me.  I can't even find the paperwork they gave me to sign and turn in, which has me a little anxious (though I'm sure they can just give me another packet if I get there early enough.)

Just reviewed the Pre and Post Op Diet paperwork.  I had intended to start my Pre-Op diet today, but still find that I don't have everything I need to do so.  Plus, I only just decided to tell my close family members and friends about the surgery, and they are all requesting "one last meal" with me before surgery.  So, I made the decision to put off my Pre-Op diet till Monday.  I'm a little angry that I am not prepared yet, but it's still more than three weeks before surgery, so that should be okay.

As I sit here, cooling off after a very early morning shower looking over the diet paperwork I was given, it recommended I go to a Wikihow Page to learn how I need to prepare meat in order to puree it, so I thought I'd give it a glance.

Up till then, the puree meet part didn't bother me.  I mean, I eat hamburger and that's already ground up.  I already eat tuna and chicken salad, and that's practically mush.  How much worse can it be pureed?

Then I went to the Wikihow page and saw this:

*GAG*

Seriously...how disgusting does that look?  THAT'S CHICKEN, YA'LL!

*BLECH*

So sorry....I'm gonna need a minute...

That is almost enough to make me want to reconsider surgery.  I mean, maybe I was wrong?  Maybe the last 50 times I tried were a fluke and I can totally do this on my own, right?

But, then I think back over the things I've already said in my first four posts.  The pain and discomfort I am in.  My health.  My mom.  My determination for this to be different.  My realization that I am putting my body through a lot - both now and during surgery - and that I must be patient and disciplined if I am going to heal properly and get healthy.

So, yeah.  If I have to eat baby food and mushy, gloppy, pre-chewed meat for a couple of weeks, then so be it.

They say life is about balance.  About moderation.  Well, I ate whatever I wanted for 35 years, and now I must do whatever it takes to tip the scales back the other way.  It sure as hell doesn't look like it will be easy - but nothing worth having ever is.

LATER THAT DAY...

Waiting for my Pre-Op Appointment with my surgeon.
He reminds me of my brother, which makes it disturbing that I find him attractive...
"Sigmund Freud - Line Three."

So, I made it to my appointment a half an hour early and was able to get the documentation I was worried about.  Spent a good fifteen minutes reading over everything and initialing. There was also a True/False exam to prove I understood certain aspects of the surgery and post-op.

I'm happy to say I passed.

Went inside.  Got weighed.  Took my blood pressure.  Didn't share any of it with me, but I was too nervous to ask.  Caught up with the nurse, since it's been six months since my last appointment.

As soon as the nurse left, Pam came in.  I don't know what Pam does, to be honest.  But she was incredibly sweet, nice, outgoing and easy to talk to.

Actually, I love everyone at this office.  I think they put prozac in the coffee. Just sayin'.

Pam gives me a bunch of paperwork detailing the next month before surgery, surgery details, what to expect, post op, etc.  Basically, just a shit-ton of directions, dates and deadlines that I'm really, really glad were written down for me.  Then, she tells me to make a fist.  I do, and she says that my fist is approximately the current size of my stomach.  (I've seen how much food I can put away at meal time, and I'm pretty sure she's underestimating me.  But, I digress...)

Then, Pam gives me a keychain.

Pam explains, after surgery, that my stomach will be approximately the size of this keychain.  Can you believe that?  I mean, I'd heard it could only hold one egg but...seeing it in my hand like that...it's mind boggling.  Once again, it really stresses HOW CAREFUL I must be to take care of my new stomach.

But, on the other hand...I know now that I'm ready.  Remember how I said I'd put off surgery because the thought of not getting to each as much as I want of what I want whenever I wanted it?

If anything was going to trigger that fear/anxiety/depression, this would have been it.  Seeing this.  Holding it in my hand. Imagining what I could fit inside of it, and how very much I couldn't.

But instead, I was glad. I felt...relieved, almost.

I have a long way to go, but that's a pretty crucial step, ya know?

Before Pam left, I told her I had several questions and asked if I should ask her, or wait for the doctor.  When she advised I should wait for the doctor, I was terrified.  I honestly didn't remember much about him, and was worried he might become irritable or impatient with all the questions I had.  Pam assured me that he was absolutely wonderful and would love the fact that I had questions.

She was right. He was an absolute pleasure and pretty damn cute, too.

So, you might wonder what insight I gained through my questions.

• No, he is not able to record the procedure.  (What - I was curious!)
• No, I can not see the part of my stomach they remove because it has to go to pathology.  (Ugh - it's my stomach!  I should at least get a photo.)
• The staples used are made of titanium.  They do not come out and they are not removed.  Instead, the stomach forms scar tissue around them so that, in time, they won't be visible except as a tiny blip in xrays.  And no, they will not set off metal detectors.
• I was prepared to give up a lot of unhealthy things, but I was curious as to why caffeine was one of them.  The reason is that it makes your liver swell.  Since the liver lies over your stomach, it must be lifted during surgery for them to see and work.  A larger liver is not only heavier, but is harder to maneuver out of the way. In addition, caffeine is a diuretic and it is imperative that I am well hydrated at the time of surgery; especially given that it will be harder for me to swallow enough fluids afterwards.
• Given that there are no complications (like hernias that need to be repaired), surgery should last about one hour.
• I may go home as early as the next day, if not the day after that.  Walking around is encouraged.  I was concerned about climbing stairs at home, but he said that the only restrictions after surgery is what I ingest.  He said I could go back to work sooner, but that they suggest two weeks of recovery because most patients still have pain, discomfort and fatigue for at least two weeks. However, when I return to work, there is no reason to expect I will need to be on light duty.
• An interesting thing I did not know previously is that left shoulder pain may be experienced after surgery.  I forget the exact explanation he gave, but it has to do with the gas that is used to expand your abdominal cavity.  Yay - more pain to worry about.  *smirk*

So, there you have it.  Again, if you are interested in having Gastric Sleeve, or if you've already signed up but still have some questions, I hope you'll find some of this useful.

Please be kind.

Watching Surgery Videos (aka: What Did I Get Myself Into?)

My cousin just had foot surgery.  After her surgery, she watched the same surgery performed on YouTube.

She warned me not to do the same.

I ignored her.

I mean, I get a curiosity from both my mom and dad; a fascination with surgery and medicine and all that jazz.  I can't begin to recall how many medical shows we've watched with broken legs and parasites and benign tumors.

Heck, I even watch impacted ear wax removals and cyst popping on YouTube just to pass the time sometimes.

So, yeah!  Why in the world wouldn't I look up a surgery I signed up for?  How could I possibly not be more curious than ever?

I winced a lot more than usual.  No number of medical shows would prepare me for watching something that is going to happen to me.

But, a few minutes in, the wincing stopped.  Am I a little more aware of how much pain I will be in?  Hell yeah!  But, I'd prefer to know what to expect than to wake up surprised by how miserably sore I am and instantly regretful.

For those of you who are curious, here are the links to the two videos I watched:

Video #1

This is a Sleeve Gastrectomy from 2010

Video #2

This is a 2013 Sleeve Gastrectomy including a Hernia Repair

However, if you are curious how it is performed, but too queasy to watch the videos, I'll do my best to explain what I saw in layman's terms (as I ain't no fancy schmancy doctor!)

The surgery is done laporoscopically.  From what I could tell, there were four small incisions made in the abdomen (and honestly, watching the instruments pierce through was the hardest part for me.)  They also inflate your abdominal cavity with gas.  This lifts the skin up and out of the way so they have a clearer view of the organs they are working on.

In the second video, the surgeon actually used a surgical marker and measuring tape to mark important aspects of the stomach first. But, in both videos, it seems that the preparation is the longest part of the surgery.  They must separate all the blood vessels and connective tissue between your stomach and your pancreas, liver and diaphragm.  I don't know how heavy these patients were, but seeing how much fat surrounded their organs was a real eye opener.  No wonder I'm so uncomfortable all the time!  An assistant uses one small set of forceps to grab and move things in coordination with the surgeon, while the surgeon uses another pair of forceps and a small dissecting tool (I can't remember what it's called.)  The dissecting tool looks like more forceps, but when they squeeze down, you see a little smoke come up and it splits the tissue without any loss of blood.  I'm supposing it's cauterizing.

So, they sever all the connections and the blood vessels to the lower portion of your stomach, and that seems to be the most tedious part.  In the second video, they found a hernia and fixed it with two sutures.  They said it was important that the sutures were non-dissoluble so that scar tissue would form and close the hernia.

Then it came time for the actual gastrectomy.

A tapered tube about the width of your thumb - called a bougie - is inserted down the throat and into the stomach.  The first video shows what the bougie looks like, but you can actually sort of see the bougie in the stomach of the second patient.  This works as a guide for the size they want your stomach to be.  Then, they use this tool that - in all honestly - looks a little like a small, metal flatiron - to separate your stomach.  The tool makes six rows of staples and, smack down the middle of these six rows, it slices through the tissue of your stomach.

Just like that.

A little blade just severs the tissue, but because there are three rows of staples on each side of the separation, there is no fuss-no muss.  The staples are so tightly embedded that the bright pink tissue pinched between the staples immediately turns white.

They continue this along the length of your stomach - it takes about three to three-and-a-half passes of the stapler before your stomach is completely severed.

In the second video, the doctor said that the top of the stomach is a common place for leaks to occur, so he sutured around the staples to ensure a tight, closed fit.

The first doctor used a little plastic baggie to remove the excess stomach - the second just pulled it out - but in both cases, the part of the stomach being removed is simply slipped out from a 1-2" incision in the bottom left of the abdomen - now a purplish color instead of the bright, pink color it used to be.  (Watching it be pulled out of the incision was the other most disturbing part for me.)

Although neither video shows it, they did say that the gas is removed from the abdomen before the incisions are glued closed and bandaged.

Quite honestly - I'm glad I watched it.  It answered a lot of questions and resolved a lot of curiosity for me.  Plus, seeing it made it a little more tangible and a little less scary.  It's very neat, quite blood free and incredibly clinical - nothing gory about it at all, which somehow eased my mind a bit.

I think, seeing how my new stomach will look also REALLY pushes home the point that I have to be good to it.  I have to take things slowly.  I have to be patient.  I can't ignore the puree foods and the soft foods stages.  The poor thing will go through a lot during this procedure and recovery, and I need to be kind to it.

If you are considering the Sleeve Gastrectomy, or have already signed up, or maybe even already had it - I hope this helps to ease some of your questions.

Please be kind.

One More Month (aka: Fearing the Chop Shop)

Well folks - I have one month left before I go into the chop-shop.

Today has been an exercise in reminding me why I decided to do this.

Haven't been sleeping well - probably due to some anxiety - so I took some Zzzquil last night and passed out before I could put on my CPAP mask.

For those of you lucky enough to be not in "the know", that stands for Continuous Positive Air Pressure Machine.  Basically, I have so much excess weight around my face and throat that it collapses my airway when I get relaxed enough to sleep. This hand dandy device blows air down my nose and throat all night, keeping me alive.

It makes you look like this:

and you sound really funny when you talk.

It also makes dating and intimacy REAL kinky.  lol

But, I digress.  As I said - the Zzzquil knocked me out before I got my handy, dandy mechanical elephant trunk on to keep me alive, but I was drugged up enough to sleep through my apnea episodes where I wasn't getting oxygen.  This lead to numerous dreams about suffocation and left me completely dysfunctional upon waking up.  In addition, it triggered my asthma, which sent me into an asthma attack, which left me with no choice but to call out of work.

After a couple of breathing treatments and another four hours of passing out unintentionally, I took the Phentermine pill my Doctor prescribed me to help suppress my appetite and boost my immune system.  I then popped three Tylenol (as I do on a regular basis now before starting my day) as a pre-emptive strike against the lower back pain I experience on an ongoing basis.  Yeah, I know - it helps with my back pain today, but I ultimately face liver damage because of the excessive Tylenol usage.

I guess I'll just cross that bridge when I get to it.

The Phentermine, which I haven't used in months, kicked in fantastically and I found I finally had the motivation to work around the house like I've been wanting to.  In all honesty, my mom's 9 cats tore our house apart during her illness and death, and Dad and I have been overwhelmed and struggling to get it back into shape.  So, by eleven am, I started a Tasmanian Devil routine throughout the house.

And, by 11:45, I had to sit down because my back was killing me.

The rest of the afternoon progressed much the same way, only with my cleaning intervals decreasing as my resting intervals increasing.

Soon, my ankles joined my back's cause, swelling and hurting from the constant pounding of my weight.  My feet followed suit.  And, five hours later when I simply couldn't do anymore, my entire body ached.

Not just because I am out of shape and don't exercise, but because forcing myself to lift, carry and move all this excess weight is an exercise in and of itself.

I mean, as of this morning, I weighed 425 lbs.

If you take a track and field star and make him carry 400 lbs of excess weight...he'd slow down and be pretty sore too.

During my rest periods, I found myself chatting with friends on FB Messenger.  Two were lovely ladies who also struggle with weight and weight loss.  Both are about five to seven years younger than me, and both are significantly smaller - but my advice to them was the same.

"Even if you are not dieting.  Even if you are not exercising.  Even you are not actively putting in an effort to lose weight, do ONE thing different from me; just focus on not putting any more on."

It sounds stupid.  It sounds like common sense.  But, that is how I find myself where I am today.  I got frustrated.  I got depressed.  I got angry.  And no matter how much weight I'd lost, when I gave up trying, I put that much back on and then some.

I didn't just become 425 lbs.  I was160, then down to 120, and then went up to 180.  I was 230, and then went down to 195, and then up to 257.  I gained, I lost, then I gained more.

My 35 years has been this same vicious cycle over and over and over again.  And it's always "just five pounds" or "just one dress size."  And you'll always "start Monday", or you'll always have "just one more cookie".

It's easy to look at me and think of how disgusting I am.  How little will power I have.  It's easy to gawk, or judge how very far I let myself go.

And yes - you're right.  It's true.  I take full responsibility for where I find myself today.  No one put that food in my mouth...no one sat my fat ass down but me.

But, please know that I wasn't always a failure.  There have been times...sometimes moments....sometimes weeks and months...where I have said no.  Where I did exercise till I almost couldn't walk the next day. Where I did serve my friend's birthday cake and wouldn't even lick the icing off of my finger.  Where I did bring carrot sticks and diet ranch dressing to Thanksgiving dinner.  Where I did get off from work and immediately walk two miles before coming home suffering from heat stroke and severe dehydration.

You missed those moments and when you look at me...when you see me waddle by...when you see me stop to catch my breath, or lean against the wall to take some of the weight off of my back...please just remember somewhere in the back of your mind that I have tried.  I have fought.

I've failed miserably, yes.  I'm imperfect.

But I.  Did.  Try.

And although I'm asking for help this time around, the bulk of the work will still belong to me.  Having this surgery doesn't make me weak.  It is not cheating.  I am no less worthy than a person who buys a treadmill to get into shape.

Just like that treadmill, this surgery is a tool to help me get to where I need to be, but the responsibility still falls on my shoulders to do what it is that needs to be done.

One month till the chop-shop.

I am excited. I am hopeful.

I am worried. I am scared.

But I am strong. I am determined.  I am persistent.  And I will beat this demon, once and for all.

At least, I sure as hell hope so.

Please be kind.