Found this lil article in Word dated: 10/26/07.  Never made it to the website, but I believe it speaks for itself as to why:

I’m sorry, I’ve been personally ignoring the hell outta everybody; don’t call, don’t take calls, don’t write, don’t return text messages, etc…  In fact I make it onto the Internet maybe twice a month.

I’m very tired.  Blood pressure at this moment is 81/41 and resting heart rate is 111. 

I have a doctor’s appointment with a specialist to go over my latest lab results.  Personally I’m not feeling very confident.

What was a severe back ache turned out to be a very sick thyroid gland, failing adrenal glands  and the heartrate is a lil under the weather.

The test results revealed I was dangerously low on everything.  For instance: My Vitamin D was at level 4.  I have the lab results and plan on scanning and inserting them into my website for all to see.

Plus another organ was having problems: the spleen.  I never had time to name him (yes I named all my other organs who were having difficulties).  Anyways my red blood cells were too large to pass through the spleen.  Not surprisingly this caused severe anemia. 

Spleen’s cries of anguish and constant swearing could be heard throughout my entire body.  Naturally the other organs became concerned and a bit fearful.

Steve (my thyroid gland) passed a message down to Spleen: Dude, what’s happening?  Are you ok?

Spleen: There’s a bunch of fucking huge red blood cells trying to squeeze through me.  I have no idea where they came from.

Steve: How big are they?

Spleen: Let’s put it this way:  It’s like being sodomized with a watermelon.

Steve: Ouch

Spleen: How are you holding up?

Steve: I’ve just been trying to keep a low profile; hoping the white blood cells won’t notice me…  Oh shit!  I’ve gotta go!

Spleen: Why has Ian (my heart and he insists on pronouncing it Ian) been wigging out lately?  He’s a goddamn motor mouth; never shutsup. 

George and Martha (my kidneys): It’s Daryl and his other brother Daryl (my adrenal glands); they’re overworked and keep passing out.

George: Speaking of passing out, I’m gonna have a lil lie down myself. Martha you’re on watch duty.

Martha: Fuck you George; you just had a nap earlier.

George: *snoring*

Martha: Screw it; nothing should go horribly wrong in just the next two hours.

Spleen: Is there anyone around here who isn’t napping?

Ian: I’mnotnapping,Ineversleep. There’slotstobedone. Gogogo! Dododo! IfIstoptalkingI’lldie.

Spleen: Yeah I figured you were awake.

Geoffrey (my brain and demands his name be pronounced Joffrey): Mittens!

Spleen: That’s not a good sign

Old Ben (my pituitary gland): Earl (my colon) is always awake.

Spleen: Why?

Old Ben: He really doesn’t have a choice in the matter.

Spleen: All this conversation has made me sleepy; think I’m gonna take a lil nap as well.

This the letter we sent out to family and friends for Christmas; many thought they had accidentally wound up on The Grim Reaper's Christmas card list.

Dear Family and Friends,

            Tis the season where we are normally fully involved in the whirlwind of preparing Christmas cards, buying, wrapping and shipping Christmas presents, adorning the house and yard with enthusiastically tacky decorations and cooking mountains of food we don’t need, so foist off on neighbors and friends.  But this year we find ourselves in a subdued mood, pondering the frailty of life and fortune – yet grateful for the blessings we continue to receive.

            Just a few days ago, we had to rush Brooke to Clovis Community Hospital in California’s Central Valley for emergency treatment and surgery.  It had become clear that the distal revision surgery she had in September of 2006 had failed and was forcing her body into organ failure; despite lots of weight-loss, she was listless and weak, with dangerously low blood pressure, high heartbeat, plummeting cholesterol levels and borderline psychotic episodes.  She was admitted through the emergency room at Clovis and immediately hooked up to an IV; she continued on the IV for four and a half days, being pumped full of the fluid and essential nutrients that her body had simply been flushing through her colon without being absorbed at all.  When her blood levels were normalized to the point that the doctor felt she could survive surgery, she was rolled into the operating room for a reversal of the distal.  Her surgeon, Dr. Daniel Swartz of Fresno, was able to perform the procedure laparoscopically without difficulty.

            What an incredible relief.  Brooke is making rapid progress in her recovery.  She was basically dangerously dehydrated and malnourished because the distal bypassed 600cm of small intestine, which prevented virtually any absorption of nutrients and fluids.  If she had not received emergency treatment when she did, it is almost certain that we would have lost her.

            As a result of this, we respectfully urge persons considering any form of gastric bypass to research very carefully the procedures, possible complications, long-term effects, available reversals and the surgeon.  We thought we did all those things when we decided on Dr. Edward Felix of Fresno, a laparoscopy pioneer and highly respected gastric surgeon.  Dr. Felix performed Brooke’s first procedure, supposedly a normal Roué-en-y that bypasses 150cm of the small intestine; he insisted that he was the most skilled to perform Brooke’s surgery.  When she began to suffer several instances of life-threatening complications, Dr. Felix handed Brooke’s case over to his partner, Dr. Swartz, and accused Brooke of causing her own complications by breaking post-surgery rules (he was WRONG).  After two difficult years of complications (including one Christmas in the hospital) and then another year of weight gain despite diet and exercise, Dr. Swartz advised a revision of Brooke’s Roué-en-y to a distal, an arrangement with its own set of life-limiting problems but successful for most people.  In September of 2006, when Dr. Swartz performed the revision to distal, he was shocked to discover that Dr. Felix had failed to bypass 150cm of intestine (which is the normal procedure and the one I had), that Dr. Felix had only bypassed 100cm – thereby reducing Brooke’s “window of opportunity” by 30%!

            When a Roué-en-y gastric bypass is done correctly, i.e., bypassing 150cm, the patient is availed of an 18 month “window of opportunity” during which the patient can lose up to 60% of their excess body weight, presenting an enormous opportunity for a healthier life.  This window is caused by the surgery’s effects on the body itself, the new plumbing and the mal-absorption rate of the reduced intestinal tract.  While we had assumed Brooke’s complications were randomly aberrant results, we now feel that the senior doctor’s arrogance, thoughtlessness and lack of detailed attention during Brooke’s original surgery were a major contributor to the problems that resulted.  He did not inform me after her surgery that he only bypassed 100cm; she was his last surgery of the day, and he made it obvious that he was anxious to get outta there!  He did not inform his partner when he passed Brooke’s care to him.  We will not take any action against him because any action would affect his partner.  Besides, legal recourse rarely benefits ordinary citizens; the laws are crafted to favor the rich and only throw sufficient crumbs to the rest of us to keep us satisfied.

            So watch your back.  Doctors aren’t perfect, just as we aren’t.  Don’t be afraid to ask questions that may annoy the doctor.  It’s YOUR body, and you walk around in it every day; the doctor gets a gander at you in your birthday suit once or twice a year, and he usually has to read the chart to remember your name.  The cost of medical care mandates that you have the right to question your health-care providers.  We had to self-pay for Brooke’s distal revision based on the insurance company’s glib decision that it was not necessary.  So it is likely that the insurance will not cover this latest operation, despite her life being in danger.  Since neither Russ or I are presently employed, this potentially ruinous obligation looms in our future – and it all could have been prevented if Dr. Edward Felix had done his job.

            Yup.  We are both unemployment statistics.  Russ lost his job in the summer; gasoline hauling is a volatile business favoring owner operators these days.  I was on disability starting in January of 2005 because of a failed knee prosthetic.  Although I had successful gastric bypass in April of 2005, and a successful replacement of my left knee prosthetic in August of 2005 AND I was read y to go back to work by October 2005, Northrop Grumman left me fall through one of their yawning bureaucratic cracks.  I left voice mail, I e-mailed, I even applied for jobs I qualified for on their web site:  the silence was deafening.   Finally I attracted the attention of the head of HR and received a fair termination package in March of 2007.  So imagine my surprise when on one day in June of 2007, I am notified by Northrop Grumman HR that they paid me too much termination pay, AND I am called by an excited Northrop Grumman technical recruiter wanting to hire me back at the very same Navy base where I once worked.  Hmmmmmm, she pondered, what a coincidence.  I was full of ambivalence and rampant suspicion.  Suspicious?  you say – of the government?  But I tried to qualm my fears by requesting that an accommodation agreement concerning my prosthetic knees’ limitations be drawn up and agreed upon.  I was assured that Northrop Grumman’s bungling of my previous disability was one of those rare Snafus that occasionally surface at leviathan corporations.  After all, SBC had continued to issue me paychecks for three months after my retirement, and they behaved in a good-natured way, simply readjusting my retirement date to a later date.  Still it took Northrop Grumman’s HR and Legal departments until the first of September to wrestle with these issues of my return to work on the day after Labor Day.

            But returning to the base as a Northrop Grumman employee was a huge mistake.  I was the naïve victim of a petty conspiracy concocted by low-level civil service management employees to rid themselves of the costly and arrogant defense contracting firm, Northrop Grumman.  It was made clear to me that I would be expected to perform all the physical tasks that the accommodation agreement had listed as forbidden.  For a month, Northrop Grumman did not enter me as an active employee in their database, thereby preventing me from entering my time card, receiving a paycheck and enrolling for benefits.  For a month and a half, the Navy could not find me a desk or computer; they would not give me access to the systems.  In spite of my 37 years experience, I was told that within 6 months, I must pass a professional certification exam to retain employment.  So I spent the next 2 weeks feverishly studying material covered in Linux and security tests so that I could take an exam and get that all-important piece of paper.

            However, in late October I was soberly informed that my progress was unsatisfactory and I was facing termination.  Reeling with shock, I wondered about the whispered rumors I had heard that the civil servants were manipulating situations to rid themselves of Northrop Grumman, a notoriously expensive defense contractor (one of many whose greedy corporate fingers are rooting around in the government’s pockets (translation: OUR pockets) for any coin of the realm they can palm in the name of national security.)

            So I was a stupid pawn in the hands of a minimally talented civil service manager – who will, no doubt, earn a bonus next year for these machinations – a pawn he used to force Northrop Grumman out.  I was shattered.  Luckily, since my employment had not even lasted 90 days and the accommodation agreement was being violated, I was re-instated to disability status with the company who had been paying my disability benefits since 2005.

            Well.  If you have sloughed your way through these dispiriting narratives, I commend your tenacity and humbly appreciate your attention.

            Now – to the Season:

            There is nothing like 2 months without a paycheck to make you appreciate the true spirit of Christmas, the spirituality and compassion of the season and the importance of love for our families and friends.  Visualize me – the consummate consumer – clipping grocery coupons and forgoing lavish gifts; I am properly humbled.  I have tried to avoid the glittering stores crowded with giddy shoppers being serenaded with MUZAK of the holiday persuasion.

            But the other day, still unpacking bags from Clovis and boxes of my property from the base, I thought of that wonderful song from the musical “Auntie Mame”  -- “We Need a Little Christmas”

            And we do.  We always do.  During wars and after terrorist attacks, during bleak times and joyful too, we need a little Christmas – right this very minute.  The manifestation doesn’t have to be piles of dazzlingly wrapped boxes under an elaborately festive tree.  After all, this Christmas Rusty and I have our daughter, our only child – alive, recovering, smiling, laughing and sounding like the Brooke we all knew and loved.  Perhaps a little glitter, a beautiful wreath made by a friend, a few Ritz cracker cookies and the promise of Christmas Day spent with loved ones – perhaps that is just what we need.

            We pray that you and yours are well, and that life is treating like the grand person you are.  God has rescued our family more than once, and we rejoice that His love has no boundaries.

            Though sometimes we have cynical thoughts about the season only living in our credit card statements – on and on with accumulating interest -- we all know its home is our hearts.  This year has certainly taught me just what matters: a smattering of Christmas accoutrement and the chance to remember  -- and be remembered by -- scores of folks we love and treasure.

 

Ya know after the town folk finally conceded that indeed there was no "putting Humpty Dumpty back together again", someone chimed in and asked, "Why the hell did we put him on top of that wall in the first place?"

This is not how I want to live my life; it's certainly not the future I envisioned before my first surgery. I'm happy to see it's worked for so many others, but I will never again boast of its great tidings of unfathomable weight loss.

How?  Please tell me how I'm supposed to ingest 20+ pills in the morning, not including my powder crap.  Good ol' Powder Crap came along after revision surgery to slow my digestion and keep the "Hey you guys!  I just crapped my pants again!", to a minimum. 

What the fuck is Hydrocortisone and why do I need to take it 3 times daily?

Who the hell has low cholesterol?  Seriously.  I was told I need more fat in my diet:  Dude, I buy avocados every time they're on sale and have also become quite chummy with my friend Hummus, roasted vegetable sandwich, etc, etc...  Apparently I'm just not absorbing any fat at all.

And now, the end is here

My adrenal gland's asleep and my thyroid is comatose.  To wake the buggers up I have to increase my Synthroid, but (and this is the best part) this must be done very gradually.  Why you ask? Well it turns out that too much thyroid hormone will toss ya into congestive heart failure.  (The good part's comin up, I'm super cereal).

Oh my, well what are the symptoms to this affliction?

Heart palpitations, feeling restless, nervous, etc...

Ummm, aren't those also common symptoms for panic attacks?

YES!  Is that fuckin hysterical or what?

By the way, could ya do me a favor and not call the cops?  Never cared anyway, just wanted notoriety on one of the many lame (which is purty much all of 'em) message boards the Internet has to offer.  Besides, I'm not going anywhere; Craig's decided to go into political science and wants to become a Senator.  And I wanna be there in my wheelchair, shitting my pants when he's sworn in.

Somewhere…

I know, I know; I’ve been silent but it’s hard to make your mind work when it feels like someone’s using a jackhammer on your spine.  And all ya seem to be doing is counting down the minutes till you can take more pain pills.

Rolled outta bed this afternoon with typical searing pain and Jabba the Hut staring back at me from my mirrored closet doors; that is if Jabba wore mint green jammies with lil kitties on ‘em.  At this point in time it’s hard not to think, “And I went through all that to still feel and look like this?”  However I did hop on the scale and learned I had lost another pound: “Alright, I guess I’ll go on then.”  This now brings us to a total of 24 pounds lost, but how much do I have to lose for my back to stop screaming?

So anyways, I’m no longer spending most of my time in the bathroom.  I know you guys were totally on the edge of your seat about that.  For awhile there I was having very nasty withdrawal symptoms from Effexor since it’s a time released capsule and none of the lil beads seemed to be absorbing.  So they put me on the regular Effexor, however since I was taking the maximum dosage prior they automatically prescribed the same amount.  Turns out taking too much Effexor has very similar symptoms to withdrawal.  Anyways I played experiment and found half the dosage normalized me and no longer made me feel like a paranoid schizophrenic.

I’m not kidding about the paranoid schizophrenia.  I could not focus on anything, 5 or 10 minutes tops.  And I saw things that weren’t really there.  Yeah seriously; like spiders, monsters and people who are dead.  Mix that all together with constant heart palpitations and you got one serious nightmare going on.  

I’ve got portable and cordless back massagers I can drag all over the house, now I just need a laptop to go with ‘em.  I promise next time I’m drugged up good I’ll try and tell ya all that happened and fill in the blanks.

Well originally I was trying to post to the Advanced Bariatric support group leader, but unfortunately Fat-Russ-I-Believe-in-Genie ripped the diagram that Dr. Swartz drew out of my hands thinking I was gonna whine on their message board about how Felix fucked me over by only giving me 100 cm bypass.  When in fact all I wanted it for was to try to explain what I was now (a mixture between RNY and the DS) and how that I feel so alone now because either surgical patients say, "Well I'm sorry honey but I can't just help you because you're different and not like us."

Anyway after my parents who no longer have any need for me go to sleep tonight, I'm gonna knock down the smoke detector that Craig put up for me as soon as I told him noone had bothered to do it for almost 3 years and I was too short (ladder and all), and then I'm gonna torch us all alive.

*thumbsup*

I'm mean and not gonna tell you right now because I can finally take my pain medication now that my dinner's gone down.  Yes I'm no longer terrified of food. 

But seriously, you'll never guess what I learned today; completely floored me and then of course I got pissed.  Anyways I promise to tell ya tomorrow when I'm pain free.

If I wasn’t stuck on the toilet I’d totally be out there kicking your ass.  Huh, maybe all those lil floaters are all my medications zippin on through.  That would explain why I’ve yet to have any relief in my back or abdomen.

Dr. Swartz wasn’t in today so I got to see the pretend surgeon.  First of all, if I hadn’t mentioned the bruising, tightness and pain he never woulda looked at my incisions.  As long as I’ve been going there they use staples on your incision to stop ya up.  Do I have staples?  Do I need something removed?  Would anyone like to share any information with me?  So according to play surgeon those bruises and pain are normal.  When we asked how long the pain would last he said that it’d be anywhere from a few weeks to months.  If you recall (or your own surgery for that matter) I never had much pain and Mother’s went away in just a few days.  Mine pulls on the incisions every step I take; it hurts to bend over, it hurts to reach for something, blah blah blah.  

When it came to the nutritional questions Dr. “I pooped my pants” was completely lost.  

DR. DILDO: Oh no, lots of people have trouble with dairy products.  You were lactose intolerant before right?

ME: No

DR. DILDO: Oh… ummm…  Well you should be fine then or wait and see. *thumbsup*

ME: Is fiber no longer encouraged?  Can I have cooked vegetables or salads?

DR. DILDO: Oh well lots of patients have trouble with salads after this surgery.  If it can’t be digested it’ll just pass on through undigested.  Could you eat salads before?

ME: Yes

DR. DILDO: Oh well I’m sure it will be fine then or maybe you should test it out.

ME: I have a common channel of 100cm; I originally had a 150 cm bypass, so how much small intestines do I have bypassed now?

DR. DILDO: Oh ummm, let’s see.  Well there’s 8 feet of small intestines so that would make it… No that’s not right…

ME: There’s 12

DR. DILDO: Right so 12 feet that would be ummm… 6 feet, 6 feet you had bypassed.

What a moron; let’s play the round it off game and we have 365 cm in 12 feet.  Now let’s all add 150 to 100.  I dunno about you all but my calculator says 250.  Actually I have about 3 ft of intestines left and about 9 ft bypass, or 265 cm bypassed.

I went on to ask him about the constant gas, both belching and down under, and he said that was totally normal with this surgery too.  He actually went through this lil spiel about how gas is just a part of surgery; it was so darling.  So apparently I’m supposed to expect and get bloating, constant gas pain, belching; even from drinking water.  Yeah you heard me; I have all these symptoms after just drinking water.

I finally made him piss his pants and run off, mumbling something about getting Dr. Swartz.  Dr. Swartz wasn’t in the office today; there was no schedule for him to be in the office today.  By this time I turned over and faced the wall.  I overheard his conversation with Dr. Felix out in the hall (I don’t eavesdrop, I’m just an excellent listener); he mentioned me having diarrhea more than 8 times a day and Dr. Felix replied, “Oh no, that’s not good at all.”  Then he completely changed subjects and was talking about how Dr. Dildo liked Fresno and his wife back in Arizona, probably something about golf.  Oh the laughter and the tee hee hees.  

Dr. Dildo prescribed 4 Imodium Advanced a day and more if needed.  On our way out we met up with Dr. Felix in the hallway, all I could think is that if he has any inkling in that smarmy brain of his he will not say a word to me.  Instead he was a moron and said, “Oh hey, how you doin?”  I just hissed at him.  He was bumfuzzled for a moment but then got all uppity and was demanding to know what I said to him to which I replied, “I didn’t say anything to you; I hissed at you.”  Goddamn short lil kike doctor.  I’m beginning to think there was excellent reasoning behind everyone trying to wipe out the Jews, or at least kick ‘em outta their country, for the past couple millennia.

So we’re staying another night and supposed to see Dr. Swartz tomorrow.  

Oh wait I forgot to tell you the funny part!  I weighed 329 for my pre-op appt; the next day in the hospital I weighed 321 (same type of scales and wearing the same exact clothes); this morning I weighed 326; I couldn’t help but laugh when I stepped off the scales.  

By the way, Mother made me some real food because prior I was refusing to eat anything, but I figured if I was to eat and shit it back out it may as well be damn good.  So she made some mashed potatoes with turkey burger crumbled up in some gravy.  Twenty minutes later it was banging on the door to be released, and this was after I had taken all my pills plus the Imodium Advanced before I ever ate.

What idiot would have a revision of the same surgery that managed to ruin their life three years prior?

I’M THAT IDIOT!

No real surprise there.  

Once again the nurses were absolutely fabulous.  There was this sweet anesthesiologist nurse.  The day before it had occurred to me folks in the medical professional that I liked and admired had seen me naked.  This was a very disturbing thought.  It worse when the whole idea of the catheter came about, however this gal was cool and sweet I decided it to allow her to get to third base with me.  It was kinda funny, I didn’t count but I had the oxygen mask on and the anesthesiologist was doin his thing.  She tells her patients to imagine a wonderful dream.  Which she did, but you know me; I’m lying there and I said, “I’m not asleep yet.”  

COOL NURSE: In just a couple seconds you will be.  There we go.  Goodnight Sweetheart.  

It’s true things were getting mildly fuzzy but…

ME: I’m still not asleep.

COOL NURSE: Have a wonderful dream.

ME: I can’t, I still not asleep.

And that’s the last thing I remember.  By the way, everyone was incredibly nice towards me during the day of surgery because I couldn’t stop crying.  They’re rolling me down the hall; I’m staring up at the ceiling thinking of that David Gray song The One I Love:


Now I’m Leakin Life Faster than I’m Leakin Blood
Tell the Reaper Man
And the Stars Above
That You’re the One I Love

It’s actually Tell the Repo Man, but this song has either been used or was originally meant for Laguna Beach.  So change a few words and it actually becomes a much cooler song.

Anyways I’m getting tired so I’ll to tell you all about the surgery and the hospital later; right now we have to get to the reason why I’m on here in the first place.

Things need to be written before they’re forgotten.  Although… there is that story about my raging panic attack and how they wheeled me off for a few tests to which I’ve yet to see the results from (However I’m sure we’ll see the bill. Looks like Clovis will be getting more than just $12,000 – good for them).  Bleh, and my roommate who constantly moaned; loud, not pleasurable but I’m dying type of moan.  It totally kicked ass, but I’ll write about that later.

Unfortunately I was treated and given instructions for a RNY gastric bypass patient.  Yeah these really don’t apply to me; my pouch and stoma weren’t even touched.  When I first got to my room the nurse gave me some ice chips then said I could move up to water but I’d have to sip.  She also gave me a one ounce cup to remind me of my pouch size.  All surgeons will tell you that your pouch will expand to 2 to 3 ounces or a bit more depending on your situation – it’s normal.  I don’t guzzle water anymore, but I pretty much drink fairly normal and like I used to.

ME: But I had a revision and they didn’t even touch the pouch.

NURSE: Well we don’t want you taxing the small intestine they moved.

Dr. Swartz honest to God told me I could have solid food by my second day, which of course floored me.

ME: Huh? You mean mushy type solid food right?

DR. SWARTZ: No I mean solid, solid type food.

ME: Seriously?

DR. SWARTZ: If mushy solids will make you feel comfortable I have no problem with you trying that for a lil while.

ME: Well you are the surgeon here so I guess you know what you’re talking about.

First day was liquids; it’s what Dr. Swartz said so I was expecting it.  Second was also liquids – huh.  This surgery is less dangerous than the first, but they never took me off that fucking IV again until it was time to go home, and believe me when I say: I drank buckets.

During my discharge the surgeon doing his fellowship with Dr. Swartz and other guy told me I was to eat soft foods.  Huh?  My discharge papers said right on the top: Instructions for the RNY gastric bypass patient.  Yeah thanks.  

I’m also not sure if the blood clot was a big threat as it was for the bypass surgery.  Plus!  My lil incision in the middle of my abdomen has grown a bruise the size of Rhode Island.  I never ever got a bruise from my first surgery; got the pictures to prove it.  I also never had any incision pain.  Not only do I have incision pain now, but it’s also hard and painful around the incisions.  Is that normal?  Well I don’t have a fucking clue because noone has bothered to share much.

So for the last couple days I’ve been hanging out on the toilet shitting my brains out; all the weight loss in the world isn’t worth that.  Fortunately my Vicodin and muscle relaxers tend to work in my favor and turn off the faucet.  Besides drinking water my first day I ate ½ cup of lowfat, midget curd cottage cheese and a cup of cream of chicken soup.  Today I had the same amount of cottage cheese, a sugar free popsicle and 1 scrambled egg.  Totally badass foods eh?  I actually wouldn’t mind a popsicle now, but since I’ve taken my pills I’m scared to death to eat anything or even finish a bottle of water.  There are some fat free refried beans in there that I’m terrified to go near.  There’s oatmeal but I’m suddenly unsure of dairy products now.

It’s kinda like that old recycled joke I heard as a lil kid about a polish guy; as the years go by you just change the ethnicity.  So I guess we would use Muslims, Islamics or sand niggers.  Well probably not that last one, how bout this?

How do you make a terrorist nuts?

Tell him to go into a strip bar and find 77 virgins.

Ok that was mine, this one’s real now:

How do you make a terrorist go crazy?

Put him inna round room and tell him to pee inna corner.

I think I see how this surgery works now: I don’t want to live my life on the toilet so I become terrified.  I just went from Bulimic to Anorexic; I’m movin on up!

See you kids on the other side; I promise.

I got to meet Susan from soontobeanewme.blogspot.com She's totally cool and we had great fun chattin. 

Oh, you wanna know what we talked about eh?  Pffft!  Well ya better show up for our pow-wow next time.

So I accompanied Mother to her one year post-op visit with the surgeon.  I seriously considered having her drop me off some place while she went to the appointment.  I always enjoy seeing doctor Swartz, plus this would be the appointment where she got to view her before picture in comparison, but let’s face it; I cannot handle going to that office.  Patients breezing in and out bragging how they’ve maintained for two years and how their life is so wonderful, and don’t forget the walls plastered with an inconceivable number of 100+ pound weight loss before and after pictures.  It’s enough to make me stab my eyes out or walk in front of a bus.

Mother’s lost a total of 140 pounds and got to take her cute lil after picture.  She mentioned to Dr. Swartz that she really doesn’t enjoy eating anymore.  She loves to savor the first bite or two, but because she can’t eat much the admiration is gone.  Suddenly a deep and wide canyon grew between us; I had wondered why she just opted for soup all the time but I had no idea that’s how she really felt.  This has always been one of our unbreakable bonds:  We heart food.  But now occasionally I need binoculars to see her and she’s drifted so far away – I haven’t shared this with her yet.

I still love food; damn, hell, ass love it!  Not just one particular dish or variety, but all types.  I still loved food when I was vomiting it up.  You’d think the opposite, but…  I did go through a period where I quit eating but that was just out of desperation.  My admiration is still glowing and fiercely loyal now just as it was before surgery.

So to add a bitter lil bing cherry on top of this fun filled visit, a man came skipping up behind me with the swelling of pride and dick-in-his-eye look of one who’s lost a great deal of weight and can’t wait to yap about it.  I was waiting for Mother to bring the car around and poked my damn eye out started a conversation.

DUMBASS OLD FART: So, you gonna have it done?

I turned to him with a deadpan face and the voice of a soulless possessed Linda Blair, “I had it done nearly three years ago.  It failed.”

CLUELESS OLD FART: Oh… well…  I was really lucky…  Although I was really sick in the beginning.

With the same voice and glassy eyed stare that bore through his faltering happy go lucky expression, “So was I.”

Now slightly terrified dumbass old fart is quickly shuffling away to his car, calls out but does not turn to face me for fear of turning into stone, “Well I hope things work out for you.”

I raised my voice just enough for him to hear, “I seriously doubt you give shit.”  Then I stared at the pavement and said, “I wish I was dead.”

As a gag, the night before, I made an annoyingly peppy cd for our lil trip.  When I opened the car door I begged, “Please, please stop the peppy music; I’m not up for it.”

I know you've all been asking and wondering but the wait is finally over.  After numerous problems and setbacks I finally received that revision I needed.  Unfortunately due to the insurance forcing me to change surgeons and opt for a much more invasive surgery, ridiculous as it sounds, I've actually become way too skinny.

‘Member the elated feeling I experienced after my tiara wearing doctor’s appointment?  Yeah I’d like to get back to that now.  Oh right, I was denied.  Yeah yeah, we’re going to appeal; blah blah blah.  

Doctor told me the other day (in reference to my back) that I’ll have to learn to live with pain.  I just blinked several times.  While I totally respect my physician and vice versa, well…  I just kept on blinking and staring.  First of all having never dealt with chronic back problems this came as a bit of a shock.  Second, it turns out my own theory of popping my back into place turns out to have been my demise.  

Mother had her legs sawed in half; there a people with rods in their spine and very large screws placed strategically within their bone structure.  How can lower back pain possibly be this debilitating?  I used think I was cold-hearted, kick ass strong.  I suffered through months of gall bladder attacks at 17 until they finally figured out the source.  Then I got to experience gall bladder surgery and let me tell ya:  Laparoscopic surgery wasn’t so easy-breezy eleven years ago while being performed in the Midwest.  I did have six smaller incisions, however one on my lower abdomen wound up being about five inches long.  That same day, a few hours later, I went to the bathroom and wiped my ass all by myself.  The next morning I dressed myself, including bending over and pulling up my pants.  I couldn’t sleep on my stomach for an entire month after that surgery.

Then there was the bounding out of bed just after the bypass surgery; numerous endoscopies while wide awake.  So is this real honest to God pain, or am I just totally wussing out?

Vicodin’s addictive, that’s nothing new.  But non-narcotic painkillers may as well be Tic-Tacs as far as I’m concerned.  If anything they’ve made my condition worse:  I may never shit again and all the oatmeal and Flaxmeal in the world can’t save me now.  Ultram’s only managed to make my head pound.  And even though I’m taking two Protonix a day now, someone is managing to make me nauseous.  So big whoop?  What’s wrong with being addicted to Vicodin if it keeps me functional, happy and pain free?

Insurance has denied my request for a revision.  Funny enough they stated in their letter that they felt the Biliopancreatic Diversion with Duodenal Switch would be much safer than a one hour operation bypassing more intestines.

Actually this letter came two days ago and I was the last one to find out.  This would explain why Mother was cranky and strung out on Ativan last night.

It’s such a conundrum.  I’m absolutely thrilled my revision isn’t going to be some nerve-racking, daunting procedure.  I’m also happy to announce that they won’t be ripping all my teeth out and replacing them with dentures; my gum problem isn’t even remotely as bad as I originally foretold; and the few lil spots on the tops of various teeth are actually just very recent cavities.  (Although the wisdom teeth are gonna have to be yanked, and the sooner the better.)

This is all great news and I can’t wait to get everything fixed, and yet the other part of me is taking a four year-old’s prone position; beating my fists, kicking my legs all the while screaming, “I don’t wanna!”

You go on ahead without me; I’ll catch up to ya later.

I’m too damn hormonal.  My premenstrual symptoms mirror the hormonal changes of a pregnant woman.  Or better yet: Eerily remind you of the Mothers who murdered their own children during a severe bout of post-partum depression.  Seriously, it’s like I’m trapped in someone else’s body and unable to escape for the next week or two.

Throw another medical procedure on the to-do list cuz I’m thisclose to having my uterus removed.    

It took me a month to get my Upper GI results faxed to the surgeon’s office.  I must have called at least a dozen times:  Gave them all the information, blah blah blah and, “Ok, we’ll get that right out.” Or, “I’ll fax that off to ‘em right now.”  And nothing.  In fact it was made extremely clear that the results had to be faxed to the surgeon’s office in Fresno.  They even bothered to make a copy of this request for their records.

Salinas Valley Imaging Center is notorious for communication breakdown.  You have to ask everyone you meet from the doctor to the janitor, to please send the results to my physician, and in most cases that still doesn’t work.  

So what the hell am I supposed to do?  The office gal in Fresno told me to just keep trying and tell ‘em it’s important.  Well I’ve been doing that and I’m a lil tired of trying; this approach is clearly not working.  Then I thought of a plan and wrote down my lil spiel so I wouldn’t falter halfway into the conversation.

Here’s what I said:

Hi there!  My name is Erica and I work for the Advanced Bariatric Center over in Fresno for Dr. Felix and Dr. Swartz.  One of our patients Elizabeth Brooke Lee had an Upper GI performed on December the 6th at your office, and it’s imperative we receive those results so that Dr. Swartz may determine what options are best for her and that the patient can continue in her quest for surgery. 

Our fax number is area code 559-446-6288  and that’s attention to Erica.

Not ten minutes later Erica called me to say they just faxed the results over.  I was rather proud of myself.

Not surprisingly I was feeling a little overwhelmed and seriously wigging out.  Then I recalled this silly tiara Mother got me, saying this will have to do until I can get you a real one.  I saw it setting there on the kitchen counter.  Well why not?  And a perfect day for it!  I clipped it in my hair and asked Mother what she thought, she said, “It looks natural, like you were born to wear it.”

It was kinda fun riding through traffic and getting strange looks; I’d holler out, “Yes, I am wearing a tiara.”  Then they’d avert their eyes.  While walking towards the doctors office we passed by people who stopped and blinked a few times to which I once again replied, “Why yes, I am wearing tiara.”  They scurried off.

And into the surgeon’s office I go. I had a mixture of smiles, adverted eyes and who the hell does she think she is looks; all quite fun.

We meet with Dr. Swartz who just had to comment on my headgear; I told him that I just wanted to feel special.  Then we got down to business:

My Upper GI results showed I have a one ounce pouch, but since they’re using liquid it’s not totally accurate.  Still I can eat the same amount as Mother so I can’t possibly have over a two to three ounce pouch.  On that note, Dr. Swartz would prefer to the leave the pouch area alone; if there’s not a significant stretch or capacity then it’s certainly not worth all the risks involved with resizing one’s pouch.

So here’s the plan:  I already have 150 cm bypass plus the 30 bypassing the duodenum; this leaves me with about 7 to 10 feet of small intestines that are absorbing.  If we guesstimate I have 8 ½ feet that gives me a 250 cm common channel.  He wants to bypass another 125 cm (give or take) and leave me with 125 common channel.  Most duodenal switch patients have a 100 cm common channel, but I’ve seen many in the 80, 75 and sometimes 60 cm range.

The surgery should only take about an hour, can be performed laparoscopically and I only have to stay one to two nights in the hospital.  I’ll be on liquids for the first 24 hours, but I won’t have to go through the whole liquid, mush and soft foods stage since the pouch and stoma will stay completely untouched.

Hurray!  No Strictures!

I want Dr. Swartz to do my surgery, but since Felix did my original he felt he needed to consult.  So Dr. Felix came but was already enamored by my tiara and respected my authoratay.  He did start off by asking, “Now do you understand the procedure and everything to expect.”  And before I could even open my mouth Dr. Swartz hopped right in and said, “She understands it completely; she understands it all.”  So between that and my tiara Dr. Felix kinda let his guard down and was rather fun and pleasant.

I was so thrilled I left my tiara on for the rest of the day: shopping, going out to eat.  I learned wearing a tiara is a lot like Xanax.  It makes for one smashing security blanket.

I guess I never quite understood the full extent of my fear till it was lifted off me. I’ve been out and about more in just the past few days than I have for the past six weeks.  Not only was I sashaying along the aisles of stores, but also accosting strangers and askin ‘em how this hat looked on me, askin folks about their cats,  helping a guy pick out a mp3 player for his son and flirting with the cute fisherman guy at the farmer’s market.

Physically I’m the same person I was six weeks ago, but amazingly as I walked by folks they’d actually turn around to look at me.  A few even looked down my shirt; if his wife hadn’t been there at the time I woulda thanked him.  

I’m cranky, I’m cold, the idiotic rooster is crowing and it’s only a quarter till four, does anyone remember if I took my Effexor yesterday, I’ve been up since one, my back hurts…  Wait, I could turn my nifty chair on.  Well yeah that does help a lil bit.  Anyways I have an appointment for 3:30 this afternoon with Dr. Swartz and that other guy to discuss all my options for a revision, i.e. how bloody dangerous it is and every single solitary thing that can possibly go wrong.  Booyeah!  

Now it’s very important I refrain from kicking Dr. Felix in the nuts, and since there’s an excellent chance I won’t be sleeping anytime between now and then, it’s fair to say a lil Xanax will be needed.

But!

This is a very important meeting and I need to stay lucid, and annoy the shit out of Dr. Felix by keeping my vast vocabulary intact.

What to do?

This time I’m not starving myself for the weigh in.  Yes, I weigh lots.  We all know that, and the glaring precise numbers aren’t really a necessity at the moment.  In fact the last time I was forced onna scale the Lifeline helicopter had to be brought in, and it wasn’t for me. 

I actually had a dream where somebody emailed me and said that they were happy to announce that they wouldn't be in town the same day.

I have six bottles of vodka in the pantry; maybe I should take one for the road.

I have an overwhelming need to drive a pick axe into Amy Williams’ smug face.  S’pose that’s just the crankiness and vulnerability talking.  Still, I know someone who’ll do it just for a six pack.  Actually that’s no fun.  Death is too easy.  I say cut her off at the knees, force her to be short and gain all her weight back.

I was gonna tattle on her to Dr. Swartz, so’s he could go to the head honchos as they do pay to be on their site.  Unfortunately $3500 isn’t much clout up against two million dollars.  Still, I think I’ll tell him anyway that it’s nothing but a money grubbing corporation using obesity support as a smoke screen.  He’s a rather intuitive guy though and probably already realizes that, but at least he does think highly of Mother and I and maybe he’ll totally agree that they suck ass just to make me feel better.

I haven’t even packed yet, although it’s not as if ya have to pack much for Fresno.  Seriously, we shoulda bought a second home there over a year ago.  Real estate has already soared over there; we coulda made a killing by renting a place out.  We have a friend who bought a place over in Clovis about six months ago; 4000 sq feet, swimming pool and the house is already appraising at least more than $100,000 from what he paid for it.  He said we oughta come over and visit; maybe I should spend my recovery time at his house.  

Damnit!  If I’d been thinking I woulda got us a room at the new casino just 20 miles up the road.  However, Mother’s promised me a lil getaway down to Cambria where we can tour the wineries Sideways style.  Because (knock on wood) her old boss may have found her a job, and we may not have to do the whole court battle thing – which noone was lookin forward to.  

And after this goddamn surgery and I lose 100 pounds, I’m goin to Vegas to get plastered and lose my virginity with the first good lookin guy I see.  Then I’ll marry him and get it annulled the next morning, come back and tell everyone I’m a widower.  

Well I guess I should go bathe and put on a mildly good impression, but I ain’t shavin my legs.

This is a question that’s always lurking in the shadows, and sticking its tongue out on occasion.  It’s kinda caused me to have doubts as to whether I’m really committed to this surgery, or am just wasting everyone's time and money.  I was committed during my first surgery, but after the stricture and an incredibly disappointing loss of only 14 pounds my first month; I just said screw it.

But this is why God invented Mothers.  Mother reminded me that during my previous weight loss, I exercised all the time – at least three hours a day!  I would run up and down the stairs, we had a weight set and not to mention a 4000 sq ft house at the time that I always kept immaculate.  I was like a football player or Olympic athlete and still only ate 1200 calories a day.

I believe my blood tests more than prove that I’m absorbing much more than your normal bypass patient.  Vitamin b12 can only be absorbed in either the duodenum or the jejunum (I can’t remember) and of course under the tongue.  If I’ve taken this supplement a dozen times since surgery I’d be surprised, and yet all my blood tests show my B12 is in perfect range.  If that’s not evidence, then I dunno what is

I get to see both surgeons on Tuesday to talk about the revision.  My only problem is Dr. Felix will be present and I must keep myself from saying every five minutes, “I’m gonna kick you in the nuts!”  

It’s hard for yours truly to be on her best behavior.  I’ll try, but I’m hoping Dr. Swartz has already intervened and said, “If you treat her like every other moo cow patient that lumbers through this slaughter house.  She’s liable to kick you in the nuts.”

Dr. Felix is a spectacular surgeon, it’s just that he’s uppity and lumps all patients together; never bothering with individuality.  Isn’t that what we call Communism?  The truth is Dr. Felix, although highly skilled at his job and doesn’t enjoy killing folks, is just a bully.  And baby if you wanna go that route I can bring ya to your knees.  I ain’t skeert of bullies cuz I am.  Master of Bullidom!

I kinda drug my feet over getting this appointment set up.  Mind you surgeons aren’t in this business to kill folks, but even though my initial surgery (ignoring the later complications) went off without a hitch; I swore I’d never have surgery again.  I was honestly amazed at my stamina after a major operation.  But it’s the whole concept of someone fiddling around with your innards, and you have absolutely no control over the situation.  

Control is such a major issue in anxiety, panic attacks and eating disorders such as bulimia; you feel you’ve lost complete control over your life or a strong presence seems to be dictating your life for you.  This leads to panic attacks, irrational fears and sometimes agoraphobia.  In a bulimic’s case they vomit up their food because this is the one thing they have complete control over in their life.

Anyway I got sidetracked, where was I?  So yeah, I’m off to Fresno on Tuesday.

But just like an alcoholic charged with vehicular manslaughter whose plea is, “But it’s a disease!”  My surgeon told me to take it easy over the holidays.  So I surrounded myself with vodka, wine, and champagne, Ritz Cracker Cookies, Russian Tea Cakes, truffles, a bed pan, the remote control, warmie blankie, cats and a well formed butt groove on the couch.  Consequently it shouldn’t come as much of a shock that I gained 15 pounds.  Still it was rather distressing when I saw a reflection inna glass door of Jabba the Hut covered with lil fluffy blue clouds (presumably a night shirt).  Mother claimed the reflection from that particular glass door is very distorted, but when you have a person who can once again wear high heels for the first time in ten years and just purchased a push-up bra; then there’s an excellent possibility they’re just trying to make you feel better.

So today was supposed to be the start of, “I’m gonna stop eating crap and get back to eating healthier.”  But then my period started, and all women should be allowed to drink alcohol on the first day of their period – keeps the cramps and massacres to a minimum.

Ah yes, the truth comes out; comparing my weight loss to Mother’s success, Russ said that I wasn’t even trying.  I asked, “What do you think I’ve been doing for these past few months and checking out my revision options.”  He said that didn’t count and that I was just looking for a magic wand.

Oh, I see. 

He then goes on about gal we meet who had a hernia problem after my first month appointment where I lost an astonishing 14 pounds, and that I just need to work on it like she did.  Well if he’d been paying attention:  The past few months I was actually losing weight I rarely ate and when I did, I threw it up, however I did have the courtesy to turn on the fan and sink so’s ya wouldn’t have to hear me hacking up in the bathroom all the time.

This type of opinion is fine coming from a stranger but someone you love is really a low blow.

My Upper GI is completed; faxed the results to the surgeon; blah, blah, blah.  

Ya know, no matter how many times people tell you that you’re not the one to blame, it never really quite penetrates.  And to be quite honest, I’m a lil cranky over the fact that people don’t seem terribly concerned.  

ME:  Ummm, yeah, hi.  It turns out that having a full fledged revision is a helluva lot more dangerous than your first go around at surgery.  So instead of slapping your knee and telling me good luck could you at least pretend to look a lil worried?

I want some official documents printed up about how I don’t wanna hang out as a vegetable; don’t resuscitate me if certain things go awry; don’t sue if anything goes wrong, and there’s something else but I can’t remember it now.  When I say “certain things” I’m referring to the very rare complications where folks end up inna wheelchair and the like.  Yes yes, handicapped folk can still excel, enjoy life and show off on 20/20.  That’s great, but I’ve been fat all my life and I don’t wanna be tossed another debilitating obstacle.

As the Bible says: Screw that! – Homer Simpson

I’m cranky and wish the following folks would just fall off the planet.  I’m tired of the folks who say, “Well I’m not a doctor but in my opinion…”  If this is how your sentence begins then it’s a good idea to stop right there before you embarrass yourself further.  Or how bout the folks who literally breezed through this surgery and now believe themselves to be floating onna higher plane of wisdom?

PERSON WHO BARELY HAD A BMI OF 40 AND LOST ALL THEIR WEIGHT IN THE FIRST FIVE MINUTES:  I know all!

ME:  Shut-the-fuck-up.

Everyone is different.  Your expertise only lies in yourself.  Please stop talking.

Oh and seriously:  Like a Suburban black man in the South or (ironically enough) the fat kid in junior high; everyone prefers to keep a minimum of at least five feet from the gastric bypass failure at all times – for fear of it being contagious.  

Ya know what’ll cheer me up?  A poinsettia (the drink; not the plant) and watching Paris Hilton die.  

Speaking of poinsettias:  Our nice neighbors brought us one, however it’s currently perched atop the highest shelf as Mr. Patches is one curious lil boy and them be poisonous plants.  This cat gives cat burglar a whole new meaning.  He can pry open any door; he’s like a master locksmith.

Oh and I gotta tell this:  We have one those automated litter boxes.  He was using it and I thought everything was fine until one day he heard it going off.  Of course he had to run in there to see what all the ruckus was about and I thought, “Oh shit, he’ll never get near that box again now.”  He spent a great deal of time checking the box out; walked all around its perimeter and even waved his paw to see if he could get it to move again.  Turns out he isn’t scared; on the contrary he finds this device completely fascinating.  No matter what part of the house he’s in, when that litter box goes off he comes tearing into the room just to watch.  He’ll even run in here when the fax machine is going off because he thinks it’s the box.  He’s gone from scared lil boy under the bed to mildly spooky and yet well adjusted cat inna a matter of three weeks.  

Well like Kenny dying in all the earlier episodes of South Park I have to admit that we probably saw that one coming.

They shot me up three times.

NURSE: Ya feeling anything yet?

ME: Well yeah a lil.

Dr. Swartz says to hit me again and then once more and then he said, “Well let’s just go for it.”

Yeah I was awake again, but it wasn’t as bad.  I dunno if I’m just used to it, but I didn’t even remotely cough, sputter or fight the endoscope like I have in the past.  Every once in awhile I’d have to swallow and do a lil gurgle, but mainly I focused on the lil plastic doo-hickey in my mouth.  It’s really hard to breathe through your nose when your mouth is wide open, but if I concentrated on biting down I could actually do it.  Although I must admit my favorite part was when he pulled the incredibly long thing outta me.  In fact I said so, “Oh, that’s always the best part.”  So later on in the car on our way back home I relayed this story to Mom and concluded that I must have a great future in giving spectacular blowjobs.

Anyways I sat right up on the bed and asked Dr. Swartz, “So what’s the verdict?”

His reply, “The verdict is we clearly didn’t give you enough anesthesia.”  He later commented that they gave me enough to knock him to the floor and I’ve just built up a helluva tolerance.

First of all he did find a nasty ulcer in my pouch, but this didn’t surprise me because I had accidentally been out of Protonix for two weeks.  The other news is that while my stoma is the perfect size, my pouch is wider than it should be.  He actually outlined the depth of the pouch with the scope and took a picture.  Once we get full power again I’ll scan it in for you.  

Until I have the Upper GI we have no exact way of knowing my pouch’s capacity, but the visual is enough to prove that they’ll need to operate on it also.  Basically meaning I’m going to need the entire surgery done again, including bypassing additional intestines.  

So I ask Dr. Swartz, “Ok, we do all this then I need to know how to prevent my pouch from stretching again.”  And this was a lil nice surprise: He said that it didn’t stretch.  Because I was so heavy, a lumbering BMI of 80, it made it difficult to precisely make a one ounce pouch; with all that fat in the way they can only guesstimate and cut off as much as they possibly can.

So it’s not my fault after all!  *thumbsup*

But.

Make no bones about it; this is a much riskier surgery.  Dr. Swartz said he wanted to see me after the Upper GI and when I make the appointment to make sure I see both him and Dr. Felix together.  When an incredibly competent surgeon prefers another to be present for the consultation and/or procedure; ya know it means business.

Haha, I did have fun though:  When he said that I patted him on the arm and said, “Well ya know, and this isn’t just the drugs talking, I do like you best.”

Still, this is purty damn daunting.  I mean literally I’m looking forward to doing this entire procedure all over again just slightly two years later, and after all the problems I had before I do have to wonder if I’m flirting with disaster here.  It’s not death that scares me, it’s the major complications that could possibly arise and cause me to become an even greater burden on my parents than I already am.  But surprisingly Mother’s feeling very gung-ho about this and wants to proceed.  I personally keep changing my mind every five minutes.  However, after arriving home I had to play wrangle the Black the Widow who was hanging out in the doorway; bastard nearly fell on me a couple times.  Can’t possibly be much more dangerous than that, can it?

I’ll have an endoscopy done next week to check the size of my pouch.  Then I’ll need an upper GI to check the size of my stoma; sees if the liquid flows right through or stays a bit.  If my pouch and stoma have not stretched then it’s time to consider a more distal surgery.  I know, just exactly what I didn’t want to do.

I didn’t really get a clear example of what Dr. Swartz was suggesting as I was too busy throwing a fit.  He mentioned 150 cm and I thought that meant all he was gonna leave me with and be like a damn duodenal switch patient, but I’m sure that wasn’t it.  Dr. Swartz is 100%, puttin his foot down, adamantly against DS.  

I trust Dr. Swartz and know he only wants to do what’s best for me, and certainly not having me crapping myself onna daily basis.  It wouldn’t be a risky procedure as he would only be playing with the bowel; no pouch involvement.  He also said it was common to for their practice to conduct one of these revisions every month.  It’s never going to be an exact science for everybody.

So hey, wouldn’t that be neat if it turns out it really isn’t my fault?

Still until I see all the test results I’ll have to keep an open mind.  Even though it seems my pouch and stoma have no problems there’s still a possibility, and I may have to deal with other revision options.

Either way it’s rather uncertain and purty scary.  If I bypass another 150 cm what effects will that have on my body?  Number one is that the malabsorption rate will be much greater.  I just had sooooo many problems before with this surgery; it just seems rather insane to tempt fate again.

But wouldn’t it be great to finally get my fun time?  

Risks and Rewards; who out weighs who?

I’m not like most of the patients who have revisions, I’m basically maintaining without large gains.  For example: I had gained 8 pounds since last year when I weighed at the office.  I made it to 285 on my scales and could never break that for the life of me.

I’m envious of Mother; she’s already lost one hundred pounds and still goin strong.  She’s pulling out old clothes she forgotten she had and finding that they fit.  She’s clearly having fun time.  Once again I’d have to say:  I really wouldn’t mind finally getting my fun time.

I’ve gotten to the point now that I prefer not to disclose my surgery in public.  A bystander learns you had surgery over two years ago and still sees a 300 pound gurl; I grow weary of explanations or just drawing a large L on my forehead.

When it comes to seeking guidance, support, sympathy, etc; I’ve always been incredibly stubborn and refuse to ask for help, or share my sob story complete with melancholy violin music in the background.  Unless of course I have ulterior motives or am just being a jerk.  But this is really, really hard.