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.