Heading out for a road-trip to celebrate the anniversary of wedded bliss with Hubby.
Update:
I'm FIXED!
Yup - truest words ever typed. Not in a spayed/neutered kind of way...
I went to the immunologist/allergist/naturopath and got tested over 2 sessions for 322 foods.
I am allergic to 106 of them.
(Doing my happy dance again while I type).
I guess it sounds funny to celebrate being allergic to that many foods, however it gives me the much needed answer - and now allows me to eat and drink without the drama of forceful regurgitation and the hell of constant indigestion. I've been living these past months like I had food poisoning while my poor little stomache tried to constantly deal with foods that it was reacting to. These allergies were not caused by my sleeve, however the fact that my stomache size has been drastically reduced means that my reaction was concentrated and made worse. UGH - like I needed anything to be worsened LOL!
Even better: none of the allergies are anaphylactic. My reaction is stomache-sickness.
This means I don't need to carry around a multitude of epi-pens.
The bestest news ever: I am eating SO well that I actually gained a pound and a half last week.
(Not that I want to or intend to gain, but I have been rejoicing at the mere fact that I have been eating too well!).
Anyhow - I must run and pack my bags. Yes, I also have to take along food that I can eat - but at least there IS food that I can eat!
I'll post more when we get back - I promise!
Just wanted to put it out there that I'm doing marvellous for the first time in a looooong time.
XO from HP
Friday 6 September 2013
Thursday 22 August 2013
I Have A Drinking Problem
Do you know the feeling of trying to keep everything together when really underneath it is all falling apart at the seams?
After my last scope, I vigorously tried to appear fine. When asked how I was feeling, I found myself using words such as "great", "grand", "fabulous", and even "never been better" - ok so I just inwardly shuddered as I typed that one.
Truth is I was anything but. Again, bites of food became minefields (not to be gross here, but lets just say I must have been a seagull in a former life based on the amount of regurgitation I had). Then even sips of water became excruciating. Eventually I couldn't keep my saliva down.
So, I am writing this not even 24 hours after being discharged again from the hospital. I had been in since the 13th. This time 'round, the hospitalization was scarier for me than the 2 previous ones. I had no clue I was heading to hospital. That day I had gone to work as usual and went to my family Dr. on my lunch break just try to change the meds that the hospital gave me the week before as they were making me tired. She asked me how I was feeling, and I mustered a simple "ok". Somehow she saw that I had uttered a great mistruth. I was feeling exhausted, empty, drained. She looked at me and told me to go home, predicting I was heading to emerg within 24 hours. She said I was dehydrated and that I needed to stop pretending I was fine. I asked her if I could go back and finish the rest of my shift to which she said "go home". Home I went, feeling pretty low.
I called my bariatric team once home. The team consists of a Nurse Practitioner, a Dietitian, and my Bariatric surgeon (who is on sabbatical til October). After a quick chat with me honestly answering questions about how many cals I was getting in a day (struggling to hit 500), how much fluid I was getting in a day (struggling to hit a litre), how I was feeling (like I had been hit by a train), activity level (I had not even been on my glorious new bike for weeks for fear of blacking out) - I was told to report to Emerg STAT.
I was admitted under a general surgeon who didn't quite know what to do with me. I had the requisite swallow test (which was my third one since surgery, and I would prefer not to have to have another one e-v-e-r!). It showed that everything from my esophagus through my sleeve is narrow; but then again I have a sheepish sleeve anyhow. It also showed pretty significant reflux - in fact, the nice Dr. who performed the test advised me with great concern to make sure NEVER EVER to eat or drink while lying on my right side. Um, ok. Even better diagnosis: I have no cats wandering about my sleeve (cat scan was clear).
Once again my family and I did the dance. The one where we are glad I'm admitted and getting checked out, but also equally scared that I'd be sent home without answers.
Well, I've been admitted and checked out. The reflux is a problem. I have an appointment next week with another bariatric surgeon to discuss this, and the Nurse Practitioner told me to prepare myself for a discussion about a revision to a RNY (which they don't do here unless the sleeve is not working, and excessive reflux 8 months out gets me a ticket to that horror show). Thankfully there is nothing more sinister lurking - my sleeve is working, although everything is narrow. The Nurse Practitioner and Dietitian also suspect that the underlying food allergy theory may be wreaking havok.
So... this morning I'm headed off in search of alternative help. They recommended a local Dr. who is a naturopath, immunologist, and allergist. She's fitting me in. From what I've read she uses everything and anything between spoons, animal horns, and cups. At this point I would do naked hot yoga on rocks and eat upside down if I could.
I'm back to a clear fluid diet meaning I have pretty much 0 energy. I'm also returning to my family Dr. this afternoon to discuss such fun things as when I can go back to work (next week please?!? I love my job!), and can I take the little vacation that Hubby and I have in 2 weeks to celebrate our anniversary (yes please I'll be a good girlie!).
Fingers crossed on both fronts, but we'll see.
Anyhow, there it is. Goes to show that you can't base your success on the numbers. Even with my successful weight loss and the drastic change in my body's measurements, I am incredibly unhealthy right now.
Fingers crossed for some answers at both appointments.
I will keep you posted (unless I can't type because I'm sitting krishna-style on hot rocks and holding buffalo horns full of sacred herbs in my hands)...
Oh yeah - and as for the title of the post, a few nights ago I asked my league of visitors (some bariatric pals and a few coworkers) what I should say when people ask what is wrong this time. Given that I'm now on clear fluids and desperately sipping the day away trying to get those blessed 2 litres in, it came to me: I have a drinking problem.
XO from a drained HP
After my last scope, I vigorously tried to appear fine. When asked how I was feeling, I found myself using words such as "great", "grand", "fabulous", and even "never been better" - ok so I just inwardly shuddered as I typed that one.
Truth is I was anything but. Again, bites of food became minefields (not to be gross here, but lets just say I must have been a seagull in a former life based on the amount of regurgitation I had). Then even sips of water became excruciating. Eventually I couldn't keep my saliva down.
So, I am writing this not even 24 hours after being discharged again from the hospital. I had been in since the 13th. This time 'round, the hospitalization was scarier for me than the 2 previous ones. I had no clue I was heading to hospital. That day I had gone to work as usual and went to my family Dr. on my lunch break just try to change the meds that the hospital gave me the week before as they were making me tired. She asked me how I was feeling, and I mustered a simple "ok". Somehow she saw that I had uttered a great mistruth. I was feeling exhausted, empty, drained. She looked at me and told me to go home, predicting I was heading to emerg within 24 hours. She said I was dehydrated and that I needed to stop pretending I was fine. I asked her if I could go back and finish the rest of my shift to which she said "go home". Home I went, feeling pretty low.
I called my bariatric team once home. The team consists of a Nurse Practitioner, a Dietitian, and my Bariatric surgeon (who is on sabbatical til October). After a quick chat with me honestly answering questions about how many cals I was getting in a day (struggling to hit 500), how much fluid I was getting in a day (struggling to hit a litre), how I was feeling (like I had been hit by a train), activity level (I had not even been on my glorious new bike for weeks for fear of blacking out) - I was told to report to Emerg STAT.
I was admitted under a general surgeon who didn't quite know what to do with me. I had the requisite swallow test (which was my third one since surgery, and I would prefer not to have to have another one e-v-e-r!). It showed that everything from my esophagus through my sleeve is narrow; but then again I have a sheepish sleeve anyhow. It also showed pretty significant reflux - in fact, the nice Dr. who performed the test advised me with great concern to make sure NEVER EVER to eat or drink while lying on my right side. Um, ok. Even better diagnosis: I have no cats wandering about my sleeve (cat scan was clear).
Once again my family and I did the dance. The one where we are glad I'm admitted and getting checked out, but also equally scared that I'd be sent home without answers.
Well, I've been admitted and checked out. The reflux is a problem. I have an appointment next week with another bariatric surgeon to discuss this, and the Nurse Practitioner told me to prepare myself for a discussion about a revision to a RNY (which they don't do here unless the sleeve is not working, and excessive reflux 8 months out gets me a ticket to that horror show). Thankfully there is nothing more sinister lurking - my sleeve is working, although everything is narrow. The Nurse Practitioner and Dietitian also suspect that the underlying food allergy theory may be wreaking havok.
So... this morning I'm headed off in search of alternative help. They recommended a local Dr. who is a naturopath, immunologist, and allergist. She's fitting me in. From what I've read she uses everything and anything between spoons, animal horns, and cups. At this point I would do naked hot yoga on rocks and eat upside down if I could.
I'm back to a clear fluid diet meaning I have pretty much 0 energy. I'm also returning to my family Dr. this afternoon to discuss such fun things as when I can go back to work (next week please?!? I love my job!), and can I take the little vacation that Hubby and I have in 2 weeks to celebrate our anniversary (yes please I'll be a good girlie!).
Fingers crossed on both fronts, but we'll see.
Anyhow, there it is. Goes to show that you can't base your success on the numbers. Even with my successful weight loss and the drastic change in my body's measurements, I am incredibly unhealthy right now.
Fingers crossed for some answers at both appointments.
I will keep you posted (unless I can't type because I'm sitting krishna-style on hot rocks and holding buffalo horns full of sacred herbs in my hands)...
Oh yeah - and as for the title of the post, a few nights ago I asked my league of visitors (some bariatric pals and a few coworkers) what I should say when people ask what is wrong this time. Given that I'm now on clear fluids and desperately sipping the day away trying to get those blessed 2 litres in, it came to me: I have a drinking problem.
XO from a drained HP
Sunday 11 August 2013
Status Quo
(sheepishly looks around and steps forward to the mic... "Hi, my name is Hotty, and I've been absent for WAYYYY too long"....)
First and foremost, I most sincerely apologize for my absence. Please someone get in touch with the milk carton people and get my picture taken off!!!
Where have I been? Well, a lot of places. Most of them good but some not so much.Was recently re-admitted and scoped yet again. Seems my stricture (formerly known as Mr. Hiatal Hernia but who was not a hiatal hernia at all) decided that he missed me so much that he would come back. Note to Mr. Stricture: next time, send an effin' postcard!! :{
This business of weight loss is a funny one. Most if not all of us become somewhat (or totally) obsessed by the scales, and rely on the numbers to gauge our success or failure.
Um, I just wanna throw this out there: as long as you are doing something, anything about your health, then "failure" is not really in the picture, is it?
How ironic it is that some of us go through gargantuan struggles to lose weight, only to succumb to the inner-voice that tells us that we aren't good enough, aren't thin enough, aren't working enough, aren't losing enough. Personally I've had enough of enough - it is really for the birds.
I am evolving. I can feel it with every breath and bat of my eyelashes. Every time I pass a mirror I can see it. But I can also see it when I close my eyes. My physical appearance is changing drastically, as is my inner self. Most of it, thankfully, is for the good.
I will say this. My ability to put this journey into words was hindered for the longest while. I dived (dove?) head-first into a deep dark pool of discovery and questions about moi (more like I was thrown in to the churning black abyss of a completely unknown territory). Realising that I didn't really know myself, I felt it wise to not write about me. But now, I'm getting to know me, and just like riding a bicycle - I've decided to put fingers to keyboard to start expressing myself again.
(Incidentally, speaking of bicycle, I have been riding a bicycle... and I freaking love it. Those olympian cyclists need not worry - I will not be smashing any records other than my own. But I'm having a ball "pedalling my ass" all over town, which I think I might actually have printed on a shirt one of these days...)
What does my journey look like right now? Well, the good and the bad. Numbers wise, I'm a success. 145 pounds down in 8 months. 93 inches have left this bodacious bod. However, nutritionally I'm a disaster. I have been unable to tolerate protein powder, milk, eggs, etc etc etc for months. Initial allergy testing showed that I triggered allergic reactions to all 48 food serums. I achieved a minute of glory at the clinic as this is not a usual reaction. Subsequent testing the next day had the same result. Am I allergic to ALL food? (Horror of horrors! The travesty! The injustice!) Not freaking likely I hope. I've been given a list of 7 major baddies to remain away from, and 21 related foods to avoid if humanly possible. Initially this was a shock. Now it's just what it is. I will be seeing a specialist hopefully some time in the coming millennium to verify exactly what I am allergic to. Moving on...
Bigger picture - I'm struggling. Despite the success on the scales, Hubby and I are in a vicious battle against time in terms of Operation Stork. My surgeon initially thought that one year after surgery (which will be this coming December) we could be given the green light to start the baby making trials *as long as I am nutritionally stable*.
Well folks, nutritionally I am a disaster. A veritable mess. We were given the sad tidings at my 6 month check up in June with the bariatric team that December is going to be a no-go for sure. I understand the whole bun-in-the-oven concept, and how the oven needs to be healthy... but this oven is turning 41 in February and the clock is ticking. It seems that no matter what I do or what deities I worship, there is no way that I have any control over this mess. And of course I'm someone who likes to imagine that most things are within my control... I am boggled by the irony that I'm finally in the weight range (30 lbs less actually) of what the fertility Doc needed in order to get help... but I am nutritionally farther away than ever of being medically encouraged (or assisted) to procreate.
Every day, every single day - every bite and every sip is a struggle. Still. I'm back on the same "chemo" meds that they give to counteract nausea to chemo patients. They knock me on my ass every 6 hours. This is just to be able to keep food down. And the reflux is constant, and is only tempered by another medication which just got doubled. Ugh.
However... with all of that being said... I signed up for weight loss surgery knowing the possibilities and hoping for weight loss. Well, it appears that I indeed got what I wanted. The weight loss is staggering. I'm a little worried that it won't stop. As much as I'd like to look like a stunning goddess, I'm a little worried that I'm going to look stupendously gaunt. My collar bones are protruding already. Hubby and I joke that if it takes sucking back chocolate, I will not get to that point of sickly thin... but honestly I wonder (and yes, worry sometimes).
So... that is it. Actually one more thing. I am a food addict. And I didn't know it until recently. I'm the worst kind - I was so far gone that I actually used to say that I wasn't an addict, that I just liked food. Well, that was bs. Now that I have to negotiate each bite like a minefield, I can tell you with 100% clarity that I have been addicted to food for most of (if not all of) my life.
Phew. Oh yeah - for those of you from my old WW days, just so ya know, I have tried to post an update there too. While I can look at my profile and change my status, the site absolutely will not allow me to post on my blog. Not sure why - each time it appears to be a technical difficulty.
Stay safe out there kids - and if you're using numbers to validate your success, please stop. The bigger picture is your overall health. I'd take at least half of those pounds back in a heartbeat if I could be nutritionally stable...
XO from HP
Tuesday 5 March 2013
Wild Ride
One week ago I went downhill again.
Same old same old.
Dehydration, difficulty swallowing even liquids.
When I ended up back on IV I hit a pretty low point. I was starting to wonder if I would ever get back to being me again, and live outside of the hospital! Or was this the new normal???
Thankfully, I have one of the best surgeons in the Province. He saw me in his clinic right away last Wednesday.
Thursday I underwent a dilation. This procedure is done during an endoscope. In case you have lived life blissfully unaware of what an endoscope is, it is where they guide a camera and what feels like 100 yards of tubing down your throat.
I've been "scoped" before way back in the days of an ill gall-bladder. But let me tell you that being scoped when your body doesn't even want you to swallow water (let alone a tube that felt as though it was as wide as my thumb) is a tricky matter. It was less than pretty.
My surgeon, God bless his cotton socks, decided that it needed to be done. So Thursday I returned to the hospital, had another IV hooked up for dehydration again, and I got scoped and "stretched". While he was in there having a good look around he actually dilated my sleeve (which to this point had been behaving badly in terms of TOO much restriction).
He found what he calls a "stricture", meaning that I had a narrowing of some part or other of my sleeve. I have another name for it, but I think too much of you to type that here.
Anyhow.... yes, it was pretty bad, but guess what???
It worked!
I am totally excited at the new me that I feel that I now am. I can swallow no problem. I now am re-learning how to eat and drink, and I'm taking my time.
Even with these hiccups in the road, I am SO glad to have had this surgery. It has been a life-changing. Thankfully we have a wonderful support group that meets once a month at the hospital, and I have made so many friends there that completely understand these challenges in a way that is difficult for most others to "get".
I saw the surgeon at the hospital again today for a re-check, and he told me that I'm back to being "exceptional" with an excellent prognosis. I stepped on the scales again (which I only do at clinical appointments) and I was delighted that I've lost another 4 pounds since 5 days ago. My grand total now is 77 down. Wowzers!
Here's hoping that the coming days are as good as these past few have turned out to be.
Same old same old.
Dehydration, difficulty swallowing even liquids.
When I ended up back on IV I hit a pretty low point. I was starting to wonder if I would ever get back to being me again, and live outside of the hospital! Or was this the new normal???
Thankfully, I have one of the best surgeons in the Province. He saw me in his clinic right away last Wednesday.
Thursday I underwent a dilation. This procedure is done during an endoscope. In case you have lived life blissfully unaware of what an endoscope is, it is where they guide a camera and what feels like 100 yards of tubing down your throat.
I've been "scoped" before way back in the days of an ill gall-bladder. But let me tell you that being scoped when your body doesn't even want you to swallow water (let alone a tube that felt as though it was as wide as my thumb) is a tricky matter. It was less than pretty.
My surgeon, God bless his cotton socks, decided that it needed to be done. So Thursday I returned to the hospital, had another IV hooked up for dehydration again, and I got scoped and "stretched". While he was in there having a good look around he actually dilated my sleeve (which to this point had been behaving badly in terms of TOO much restriction).
He found what he calls a "stricture", meaning that I had a narrowing of some part or other of my sleeve. I have another name for it, but I think too much of you to type that here.
Anyhow.... yes, it was pretty bad, but guess what???
It worked!
I am totally excited at the new me that I feel that I now am. I can swallow no problem. I now am re-learning how to eat and drink, and I'm taking my time.
Even with these hiccups in the road, I am SO glad to have had this surgery. It has been a life-changing. Thankfully we have a wonderful support group that meets once a month at the hospital, and I have made so many friends there that completely understand these challenges in a way that is difficult for most others to "get".
I saw the surgeon at the hospital again today for a re-check, and he told me that I'm back to being "exceptional" with an excellent prognosis. I stepped on the scales again (which I only do at clinical appointments) and I was delighted that I've lost another 4 pounds since 5 days ago. My grand total now is 77 down. Wowzers!
Here's hoping that the coming days are as good as these past few have turned out to be.
Saturday 23 February 2013
Hiccup In The Road
It would be nice to imagine that life has been so busy lately that I haven't had a chance to blog - that I've been up to my eyesockets surrounded in happy times and purple unicorns. Nope.
I have had a setback - a hiccup - a pothole in this road if you will.
I had my follow up appointment with my surgeon on February 5th. At that time I had officially lost 47.6lbs from surgery (58.6 from the week before surgery). The Dr. had a young resident with him who is studying to be a GP so she sat in on the appointment (with my consent) to learn about the procedure. He pointed out my incision lines and various details about the surgery (such as through which hole he pulled out my stomache). The resident then asked me all sorts of questions about the surgery such as my motivation (health) and what the recovery was like in hospital (easy-peasy for me). My Dr. was very pleased with my weight loss and referred to me as "exceptional".
One week later I was at the Emergency Department with chest pain, nausea, and even weakness in my left arm. They dutifully checked out my heart, which is fine. Phew! Then they went looking for a blood clot (which is a risk of any surgery for even 90 days!). Couln't find one. My bloodwork showed 2 things: I was dehydrated and my liver was working harder than normal. After the surgeon had me admitted to check all of this out, it got worse. I could keep nothing down. Not even a sip of water. When you are sleeved, I have found that it is a constant battle between eating and drinking. It is possibly to dehydrate so quickly that you have to be on top of your fluid intake and cannot afford the luxury of forgetting about it for even 24 hours!!! So, when I found myself completely unable to get a sip of water down, I started to realize the state I was in. I was discharged 9 days later.
I'll spare you the gory details of my medical incarceration (I was so sick and nauseous it was like a Stephen King novel). I will tell you these two tidbits which should give you a vague idea of my sickness: first I started Valentine's Day off with another swallow test (which is THE most dreaded part of surgery for many sleevers) after which the hospital employee who was assigned to wheel me back to my room asked me how long I had been on chemo due to my up-chuckedness - AND second, I was actually ON a drug that is given to chemo patients to help them with said up-chuckedness.
I can sum up the experience in numbers:
1 - cancelled 40th bday party for me this year.
3 - the number of big events I missed (Brother's bday supper, Mom's bday party, Valentines Day date!)
4 - the number of pounds I GAINED in hospital. UGH! The inhumanity!!!!
6 - the number of newly-sleeved people who were done and released while I was still in (they do 3 a week here on Mondays)
9 - the number of days I was admitted.
9 - the number of different prescriptions I was given.
53 - the number of injections I had during my stay.
The most inportant number is 2. I'm back on full-fluids for at least 2 weeks then mushies for 2 weeks. (I had just moved up to solids pre-admission, so this is a kick in the arse). I have to focus on getting 2 litres of fluid in a day to avoid re-hospitalization.
I ended up having an obstuction. Since surgery in December a small hiatal hernia apparently decided to take up residence. For reference, a hiatal hernia is common- approximately half of the population walking around have one and don't even know it. If it produces any symptoms at all, it would be heartburn or reflux. Sometime on the 12th of February that hernia protruded into my diaphragm causing chest pain, arm weakness, and nausea. In the general population, this would be pretty minor. For someone sleeved only 9 weeks prior, it was a catastrophe which led to complete obstruction as my esophagus spasmed in reaction to the protrusion.
Is it related to my surgery? Yes and no. Surgery did not cause it, in fact the surgeons routinely repair such hernias if found during the VSG surgery. But - it was worsened by the fact that I was recently sleeved.
Does this have a happy ending? Well, yes. I am fully aware that the outcome could have been much worse. I was sicker than I have ever been in my life. While I am struggling now every day to "sip sip sip" those liquids, I would rather be struggling to get enough liquids in me to survive than to be not surviving. The surgeon couldn't treat the hernia or obstruction as a scope was not possible - he feels that this should settle down and in time as my stomache expands a little Mr. Hiatal Hernia (I won't lie I sometimes call him Mr. FN Asshole) the risk of complete obstruction will be less.
But... I now find I am feeling fragile and vulnerable. These are not things I am used to feeling, and are definitely not on my color-wheel. We don't know what caused the protrusion - could have been a cough, sneeze, bend etc. So aside from feeling afraid to move too much or breathe too heavy, I'm also living with the uncertainty every day if I'll end up at Emerg by the end of that same day.
Deep down, I'm equally afraid of failure. I always have been. The night before surgery I was not afraid of the procedure, recovery, pain, staples, or death. I was afraid I would fail.
Now with this "hiccup", I feel like no matter what I will not be "exceptional" any more. I am now a cautionary tale of what can happen - what can go wrong - the "girl who got re-admitted for nine whole days!"
So... I have done what I always do. I am moving forward with my best face on. I will leave my house today with a smile on my face.
I guess in the end it comes back to the number 2... I've been given a second chance because at least I'm still here...
I have had a setback - a hiccup - a pothole in this road if you will.
I had my follow up appointment with my surgeon on February 5th. At that time I had officially lost 47.6lbs from surgery (58.6 from the week before surgery). The Dr. had a young resident with him who is studying to be a GP so she sat in on the appointment (with my consent) to learn about the procedure. He pointed out my incision lines and various details about the surgery (such as through which hole he pulled out my stomache). The resident then asked me all sorts of questions about the surgery such as my motivation (health) and what the recovery was like in hospital (easy-peasy for me). My Dr. was very pleased with my weight loss and referred to me as "exceptional".
One week later I was at the Emergency Department with chest pain, nausea, and even weakness in my left arm. They dutifully checked out my heart, which is fine. Phew! Then they went looking for a blood clot (which is a risk of any surgery for even 90 days!). Couln't find one. My bloodwork showed 2 things: I was dehydrated and my liver was working harder than normal. After the surgeon had me admitted to check all of this out, it got worse. I could keep nothing down. Not even a sip of water. When you are sleeved, I have found that it is a constant battle between eating and drinking. It is possibly to dehydrate so quickly that you have to be on top of your fluid intake and cannot afford the luxury of forgetting about it for even 24 hours!!! So, when I found myself completely unable to get a sip of water down, I started to realize the state I was in. I was discharged 9 days later.
I'll spare you the gory details of my medical incarceration (I was so sick and nauseous it was like a Stephen King novel). I will tell you these two tidbits which should give you a vague idea of my sickness: first I started Valentine's Day off with another swallow test (which is THE most dreaded part of surgery for many sleevers) after which the hospital employee who was assigned to wheel me back to my room asked me how long I had been on chemo due to my up-chuckedness - AND second, I was actually ON a drug that is given to chemo patients to help them with said up-chuckedness.
I can sum up the experience in numbers:
1 - cancelled 40th bday party for me this year.
3 - the number of big events I missed (Brother's bday supper, Mom's bday party, Valentines Day date!)
4 - the number of pounds I GAINED in hospital. UGH! The inhumanity!!!!
6 - the number of newly-sleeved people who were done and released while I was still in (they do 3 a week here on Mondays)
9 - the number of days I was admitted.
9 - the number of different prescriptions I was given.
53 - the number of injections I had during my stay.
The most inportant number is 2. I'm back on full-fluids for at least 2 weeks then mushies for 2 weeks. (I had just moved up to solids pre-admission, so this is a kick in the arse). I have to focus on getting 2 litres of fluid in a day to avoid re-hospitalization.
I ended up having an obstuction. Since surgery in December a small hiatal hernia apparently decided to take up residence. For reference, a hiatal hernia is common- approximately half of the population walking around have one and don't even know it. If it produces any symptoms at all, it would be heartburn or reflux. Sometime on the 12th of February that hernia protruded into my diaphragm causing chest pain, arm weakness, and nausea. In the general population, this would be pretty minor. For someone sleeved only 9 weeks prior, it was a catastrophe which led to complete obstruction as my esophagus spasmed in reaction to the protrusion.
Is it related to my surgery? Yes and no. Surgery did not cause it, in fact the surgeons routinely repair such hernias if found during the VSG surgery. But - it was worsened by the fact that I was recently sleeved.
Does this have a happy ending? Well, yes. I am fully aware that the outcome could have been much worse. I was sicker than I have ever been in my life. While I am struggling now every day to "sip sip sip" those liquids, I would rather be struggling to get enough liquids in me to survive than to be not surviving. The surgeon couldn't treat the hernia or obstruction as a scope was not possible - he feels that this should settle down and in time as my stomache expands a little Mr. Hiatal Hernia (I won't lie I sometimes call him Mr. FN Asshole) the risk of complete obstruction will be less.
But... I now find I am feeling fragile and vulnerable. These are not things I am used to feeling, and are definitely not on my color-wheel. We don't know what caused the protrusion - could have been a cough, sneeze, bend etc. So aside from feeling afraid to move too much or breathe too heavy, I'm also living with the uncertainty every day if I'll end up at Emerg by the end of that same day.
Deep down, I'm equally afraid of failure. I always have been. The night before surgery I was not afraid of the procedure, recovery, pain, staples, or death. I was afraid I would fail.
Now with this "hiccup", I feel like no matter what I will not be "exceptional" any more. I am now a cautionary tale of what can happen - what can go wrong - the "girl who got re-admitted for nine whole days!"
So... I have done what I always do. I am moving forward with my best face on. I will leave my house today with a smile on my face.
I guess in the end it comes back to the number 2... I've been given a second chance because at least I'm still here...
Monday 4 February 2013
Milestone
I had surgery 8 weeks ago today.
I now weigh less than I did after 8 months of WW.
Considering I weighed more at the start of my surgery than I did at the start of WW, that is pretty amazing!
I have reached the lowest point of my recorded weight. Before WW, way back in my University days (16 years ago) my weight was exactly what it is today.
Considering that since childhood (with the exception of WW) my weight showed only a steady growth, the fact that I managed to get back to what I weighed 16 years ago is a real feat.
But don't get me wrong. This journey is not an easy one. While I still enjoy cooking and preparing meals, I do not enjoy eating. Watching me eat sometimes it can appear as though I have an eating disorder. I have to think about every morsel. I often push my food around my plate. I struggle even still to drink enough liquids, and I hardly ever get the target amounts in.
I evny the people out there who can diet successfully and get to where they need to be on their own. If I could have, I would have done so in a heartbeat.
Surgery is not for everyone. But it saved my life. And although I struggle every day, I would have it again tomorrow.
I now weigh less than I did after 8 months of WW.
Considering I weighed more at the start of my surgery than I did at the start of WW, that is pretty amazing!
I have reached the lowest point of my recorded weight. Before WW, way back in my University days (16 years ago) my weight was exactly what it is today.
Considering that since childhood (with the exception of WW) my weight showed only a steady growth, the fact that I managed to get back to what I weighed 16 years ago is a real feat.
But don't get me wrong. This journey is not an easy one. While I still enjoy cooking and preparing meals, I do not enjoy eating. Watching me eat sometimes it can appear as though I have an eating disorder. I have to think about every morsel. I often push my food around my plate. I struggle even still to drink enough liquids, and I hardly ever get the target amounts in.
I evny the people out there who can diet successfully and get to where they need to be on their own. If I could have, I would have done so in a heartbeat.
Surgery is not for everyone. But it saved my life. And although I struggle every day, I would have it again tomorrow.
Saturday 2 February 2013
Mid Life Crisis??
With my 40th birthday approaching at the end of the month, I've been pretty absorbed lately in the realisation that I don't have a fucking clue who I am.
Gulp.
You heard me.
Since childhood, I have been using food to soothe and to feel good. Right now, "soothe" and "feel good" are about as far from the spectrum of emotions I'd associate with food as anything, because eating anything (or even drinking) is a chore. A necessary evil. The mental struggle (of making sure I eat or drink enough, wondering what my stomach will or will not tolerate) has sucked the joy right out of sticking anything in my gob. Don't get me wrong - I would have this surgery again in a heartbeat... but it has left me laid bare.
Without my ability to self-medicate by consumption of food, I have lost my quick therapeutic fix. Thankfully life is good and there is no need for me to be receiving therapy- BUT.... I guess I am left to ponder a huge question. If I consistently used food to gloss over feelings, to feel good, and to have a sort of a quick "high"... then was I ever really "myself"??? Oh geez, this is starting to sound more like I might need help a la Dr. Phil...
I spent many years of my life trying to fit in. This peaked pretty much in High School, where I achieved true chameleon-like status. I tried SO hard to have SO many friends that I would have a mini-crisis at lunch because I would have no idea which table to sit at. Combine this with my being an innate people-pleaser, one could clearly see the havoc this would cause in my noggin. I was trying so hard to be everyone's friend that I bent every which way like Gumby - and truly lost who I was. Thankfully by the last year, I had "grown a pair" and realised that I needed to be me.
Sadly, I was still a "me" that used food as a tool...
So who the heck am I now? I guess deep down I'm the same me, without a lot of the insecurities of youth. But I'm left to figure out a few things yet. Is there anything left over from my first 40 years that I haven't dealt with? Is there anything that I would use food to mask right now? Are there residual feelings or experiences that I have pushed aside... ones that might now begin to hamper my progress?
I hope not. Honestly, I don't think so.
I guess I'm kind of feeling a little like a newborn. While babies are adorable, heart-snatching little bundles of joy - there remains the fact that they are bare, often-stinky, blank slates.
Am I a blank slate? Sort of. Thankfully, I'm not stinky - but I'm definitely feeling bare without my crutch...
Gulp.
You heard me.
Since childhood, I have been using food to soothe and to feel good. Right now, "soothe" and "feel good" are about as far from the spectrum of emotions I'd associate with food as anything, because eating anything (or even drinking) is a chore. A necessary evil. The mental struggle (of making sure I eat or drink enough, wondering what my stomach will or will not tolerate) has sucked the joy right out of sticking anything in my gob. Don't get me wrong - I would have this surgery again in a heartbeat... but it has left me laid bare.
Without my ability to self-medicate by consumption of food, I have lost my quick therapeutic fix. Thankfully life is good and there is no need for me to be receiving therapy- BUT.... I guess I am left to ponder a huge question. If I consistently used food to gloss over feelings, to feel good, and to have a sort of a quick "high"... then was I ever really "myself"??? Oh geez, this is starting to sound more like I might need help a la Dr. Phil...
I spent many years of my life trying to fit in. This peaked pretty much in High School, where I achieved true chameleon-like status. I tried SO hard to have SO many friends that I would have a mini-crisis at lunch because I would have no idea which table to sit at. Combine this with my being an innate people-pleaser, one could clearly see the havoc this would cause in my noggin. I was trying so hard to be everyone's friend that I bent every which way like Gumby - and truly lost who I was. Thankfully by the last year, I had "grown a pair" and realised that I needed to be me.
Sadly, I was still a "me" that used food as a tool...
So who the heck am I now? I guess deep down I'm the same me, without a lot of the insecurities of youth. But I'm left to figure out a few things yet. Is there anything left over from my first 40 years that I haven't dealt with? Is there anything that I would use food to mask right now? Are there residual feelings or experiences that I have pushed aside... ones that might now begin to hamper my progress?
I hope not. Honestly, I don't think so.
I guess I'm kind of feeling a little like a newborn. While babies are adorable, heart-snatching little bundles of joy - there remains the fact that they are bare, often-stinky, blank slates.
Am I a blank slate? Sort of. Thankfully, I'm not stinky - but I'm definitely feeling bare without my crutch...
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