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...

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.

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...