Weight Loss Surgery
I’ve decided to lose some weight. Here is a way for me to keep track of my weight loss. I’m exercising (walking right now). I am also getting surgery. Yes, I know. “The easy way.” It’s not easy. It’s difficult. We have a thousand hoops to jump through, a million forms to sign, and way too many protein shakes. Then there is the fact that afterwards, even though I’m not supposed to think of what I cannot eat, there are quite a few things I love that I may not be able to eat. Like sugar and mountain dew. Mountain Dew! My angel and my demon. So, after the initial 2 week all-protein-shake diet (with as much broth, sugar free jello, and sugar free popsicles that I can stomach) I get surgery. Then, I get to drink 1 shake a day (with as much of the aforementioned goodies) for two weeks, pureed food for a couple weeks, soft food for two or three weeks, and then, normal food, but like, not as much.
Surgery went very well. I had surgery on Wednesday, went home on Friday. On Saturday, I had my first fart and first bowel movement since pre-surgery. It was the best farting I’ve ever done, and the worst pooping I’d ever done. I know, TMI, but no one warned me that could happen. All those fluids had built up to something powerful and otherworldly. Yikes.
Eating-wise, things were going smoothly. I went from liquid (three weeks later) to pureed food, which was like heaven at first, and then like torture and pain for a while. And then we went on a little trip to Montana a month later and all hell broke loose.
I woke up in a beautiful cabin in someplace called Apgar (which is beautiful and I was going to take pictures that day) with pain in my stomach. Intense pain. I took a drink of water. It got worse. I sat up and whimpered and Dee woke up, asked me if I was ok, and I said, “I think I have to go to the hospital.” I had a perforated ulcer in the intestine under my “bigger” stomach. (I got the RNY Type. Look it up.) Everything I drank poured through that hole into my abdomen. Fun stuff. And here I was, stuck in Montana.
Paul drove me and Dee to the hospital in Kalispel. I told them I had recently had the RNY surgery. They did not understand what that was. I explained, to the best of my ability and pain level. Then I told them I was in a considerable amount of pain and drinking made it worse. So they got me back into a room and called my doctor. If you are thinking of the surgery and are in Spokane, check out Dr. Spitz. I loved him. He was awesome. Anyway, they want to do a CAT scan and the nurse brings in some liquid for me to drink. It’s like 6 cups of liquid too. I say, “I cannot drink that much. I can only hold 4oz, and that’s pushing it still!” and they were like, “Wha? Why?” But they talked me into trying to drink some. I grabbed the cup and took a swallow. The pain that followed was unlike anything I’d ever felt before. I lost all color, everywhere. I was like a ghost. I thought I was going to faint. I cried and I cried and they took away the drink. “Maybe we can put the solution in your IV.” They say. If they could have done that, why didn’t they start that way? I told them how badly it hurt to drink water, and they give me some unknown chemical thing to drink? Yikes! I started asking for my doctor’s opinion on everything. By now, I was pretty high on pain killers, so a lot of my memory is foggy.
I know I bugged Dee repeatedly to find out what was going on. I did not want to stay there any longer. I was scared of what might happen to me if I did. Finally, I’m told we’re being flown to Spokane. The day was windy and rainy, so we couldn’t get on the chopper (ahhh 🙁 I was so hoping I would!) but we could take a small plane. Off we went in an ambulance (my first time) to the airport. The medic in the ambulance was the nicest guy in the world. I loved him. I wish I could remember his name. I asked for it a bazillion times.
Well, as you know because I already told you, it was an ulcer. I was in the hospital for a week, became allergic to Oxycodone, had a wound re-opened because it was healing weird, and then had to pack that wound at home. It was gross.
I didn’t get to eat normal food for another three weeks.