I am so sleepy -- between the Xanax, anesthesia, sleeping pills, lack of vitamins and not eating since last Friday, I'm zonked.  However, mentally I'm bouncing off the walls, but we must start at the beginning.

Three years ago with the stress of moving and serious culture shock, I developed Agoraphobia.  It took about a year to summon up the courage to visit the doctor's office and get a prescription.  Woo!  Paxil!  Unfortunately because of the stenosis I hadn't taken my medication in the past few days, and with the added stress of this surgery I've been considering upping my dosage.

So here we are, driving over to Fresno for my appointment and fifteen minutes into the ride I start having a panic attack.  I focus on slowly breathing in and out.  Another fifteen minutes pass and I cannot control it -- no amount of self- rationalizing with subdue my panicking. Oh crap, now what?  We're still about 90 miles from Fresno, there is no way I'm going to last that long.

I don't wanna tell my Mother cuz it'll upset her.  But then my hands and arms begin to go numb, I lose almost all my feeling and I can't even move my fingers.  Now I'm freaking and rationalization just didn't take a backseat, it hopped out of the car to hitch a ride with someone else.  I'm going to start clawing at the window any second.  I'm really squirming around in the car seat and Mother asks if I'm alright.  I tell her no and that I'm having a panic attack and I'm wigging out.  She asks if I want her to stop the car and walk around a bit.  I say, "No.  I don't know...  Yes, yes."

We pull into a gas station and I get out of the car.  I'm shaking like a leaf and my calves are like Jello, I can barely even walk.  And the only thing that keeps going through my mind: WANNA GO HOME WANNA GO HOME WANNA GO HOME WANNA GO HOME WANNA GO HOME! Wanna turn, go home and be safe.  But shit I can't do that, I've got to go to this doctor's appointment.  So I just stand there wobbling in the parking lot and repeating, "I don't know what to do."  Mother suggests putting the seat back and maybe laying down would make me feel better.  Yes.  I get back in the car -- the fresh air made me feel better.  I turn to Mother and say, "I have a plan."

Mother, "Let's hear it."  I told her, "I'm going to call Dr. Chang's office and ask if it's alright to take a mild sedative or tranquilizer (Because I wasn't supposed to take anything by mouth after 7 that morning and it was 8:30).  If they agreed I would call my PCP, tell her the situation and ask her to prescribe a tranquilizer and have it sent to a drugstore in Los Banos (which was about 10 miles away)."

A few calls and wrong numbers later, we got our prescription. One number I thought was the hospital ended up being a high school newspaper.  Seeing as how all I'm armed with is a cell phone and numbers verbally given to me, I'm freaked.  But bless this ladies heart, she says, "Here, let me look that up for ya." Just another nameless, faceless angel.

Anyways, we're at the Walgreens' drive-up pharmacy waiting for the prescription and who should call at that exact moment but my wonderful guardian angel of a friend, Kristy -- you'll remember her from pre-surgery days when she again called at the perfect time when I was feeling worried about the surgery.  So I tell her, "Boy did you ever call at the most perfect time."  I filled her in on the day's challenges and she told me Xanax was great stuff and always knocked her on her ass.  We also talked about my problems with the lack of weight loss  and she told me not to worry and it would come off.  So by the time I was off the phone with her the drugs had kicked in and I was feeling mighty fine.

That Xanax is some good shit.  It's quite a lot like being drunk -- I felt as thought I was staggering around after a couple Long Island Iced Teas.

Got to the hospital about 45 minutes later than we were supposed to, but no one seemed to mind, they were all smiles and thumbsup.  I saw Dr. Chang, poor guy he must have squeezed that procedure in for the day because he was wearing a nice suit and tie.  He asked if it had worked before and I told him that it was going great up until this past weekend.  So he put on his lil paper nightie and got to work.

I woke up in the recovery room and the staff was talking and giggling about Michael Jackson.  One of the nurses came over and said, "Isn't it sad?  We don't have a life."  I pointed out to him that everybody else was sleeping and I was awake.  He said, "Well ya sure are." And then wheeled me off to a lil room.  Dr. Chang had talked to Mom and said that he was able to get the opening a lil bigger than last time, and then I got dressed and they wheeled me outta there.

But the absolute best part of the day?  The part that made the whole day worth while?  The thing that everything else pales in comparison to?  The reason why I'm so nauseatingly happy?

They weighed me.  With my clothes and shoes on!  We'll all remember that 2 weeks ago I weighed 400.  

You on the edge of your seat yet?

I weighed 382.

Woohoo!  That's 18 pounds in two weeks and about 50 pounds total.

It makes all the past misery... Ok now..:)

Fortunately my Dad got very fussy and said, "Where's that number?  I'm gonna call 'em"  And he damn well did to, opened up a can of whoop ass on 'em and now I got an appointment for tomorrow. *thumbsup*

My therapist told me to do something "fun".  So I went out and spent over two hundred dollars at Coldwater Creek.

Well I was forced to go in search of answers behind the Maltitol and Glycerin mystery.  

Anyways, Maltitol is a "sort of" carbohydrate with only 2.1 calories per gram.  It's absorbed much more slowly and this is why manufactures don't count them as effective carbs.  However, the FDA says they must be counted as carbohydrates -- and thus a huge controversy ensues.   It's deemed safe for diabetics, but that doesn't tell me how bariatric patients absorb Maltitol.  This is something I'd really like to know, but I imagine I need a nutritionist who has a fair knowledge of gastric bypass patients -- otherwise all I get is a bunch of blank stares.

Glycerin is even more interesting because many people believe it deserves its own category.  Glycerin contains 4.3 calories per gram, but does not act like a carbohydrate because it does not invoke the pancreas to produce insulin.  But once again the FDA weasels in there and deems it must be counted as a carb. 

*shrug* What'd I learn from all of this?  That I'll probably keep on doing whatever the hell I want.

And now the exciting news. *thumbsup* 

I have a stricture again.  It started Saturday morning and progressively became worse.  I'm to the point now that I can't even tolerate pureed foods.  Weeee  Of course the doctors say, or rather or favorite fellow Dr. "Hwang" but I prefer Wong, yes Wong says that a stricture doesn't happen overnight.  Well it does to me so Pffft! 

So I called Dr. Chang's office, but the gal wanted me to call my PCP to see what she would like to do.  Well, like me, I rather believe she would like this taken care of as soon as possible, but ok, let's waste some time.  Unfortunately I didn't hear back from her and now I'm gonna have to bug folks in the morning.  I do not want to end up in the hospital lying in a bed from hell while being hog-tied to an IV.

I can't decide whether I wanna gouge my eyes out or go bury myself in the backyard.

Thin ankles Sweetie! Thin ankles! -- Edina from Absolutely Fabulous

I updated my measurements.  I must say I was a lil surprised -- five inches off my waist?  I have no idea what I weigh at the moment and rather think I'm happier for it.

Just received an order of ISOPure Zero Carb individual drinks.  I rather enjoyed the clean taste, unfortunately 1/3 of the way through the bottle and I already feel bleh.  I just don't think I can stomach whey protein.  *shrug*

I'm dying for something to crunch on.  I've got these Genisoy crisps, but I don't know if I can have 'em or not.  It'll be a cold day in hell before I eat a pork rind.

Unfortunately the surgeon's office only gave instructions and meal options for the liquid and pureed stage.  As for solid all they said was no rice, bread or pasta for you.  I've heard many on here had a comprehensive guide from a real nutritionist for three to even six months of their journey.  I suppose it's because I belong to a program that doesn't believe in a minimum calorie intake.

Another thing that boggles my mind are these damn protein bars.  3 effective carbs it claims, yet it contains quite a bit of Maltitol and Glycerin.  Now I final found an explanation behind maltitol: It claimed that while your regular carbohydrate equals four calories per gram, Maltitol equals only 2.6 ish.  Still that doesn't tell me what your body breaks it down to.  And Glycerin is completely up for grabs.  So what the hell?  If our bodies don't turn into glucose, then what happens to it?

My kingdom for a nutritionist!

After surgery

I woke up to folks pokin me and calling my name.  I asked if he (Dr. Felix) was able to do it Laproscopically.  The anesthesiologist replied that yes he did.  My stomach wasn't in a lot of pain, but oh dear God did my back ever hurt.  Apparently I was in surgery till 5, so three hours on the lil narrow table from hell had took its toll.  Also I thought sure I was gonna be sick.  The nurse told me, "Sweetie you don't have anything in your lil tummy."  I still did my best at coughing and retching.  The anesthesiologist came back, shot something into my IV and said, "This will help with your nausea."  And it sure damn did, I immediately felt better.  I told them about my back so they gave me some morphine.  Then they gave me this lil button and said to press whenever I need pain relief.  Is there anything more wonderful than patient controlled morphine?

I slept all through recovery and woke up in my room and found Mom was there waiting for me.  I was in and out of it and don't really remember much.  I told Mother that all she was doing was watchin me sleep, so she might as well go on back to the hotel.

Sometime around 8:30 ish I woke up and asked if I could walk yet, but the nurses weren't really sure and said they'd ask my doctor about it.  More sleepy time.  Then around 11 they let me get up and walk.  I was surprised by how easily I was able to sit up, surprised the nurse too.  The nurse walked with me around the nursing station. About halfway she asked if I wanted to stop or go ahead, I opted to go on and she seemed very pleased.

Thanks to the morphine I had no trouble sleeping the first night.  I also have problems with my legs going numb and tingling when lying on my back, but thanks to the lil compression booties, no worries there.  I still had the oxygen mask throughout the night and part of the next day.  That really didn't bother me.  The thing I hated?  That miserable lil screeching machine that measured my oxygen levels.  I've never been tested for sleep apnea, but my PCP and I concluded I probably did have it due to my excessive weight gain over the last year.  So I'd be laying there, almost off to dream land and then suddenly, "SCREEEEEECH!" The nurse would tell me to breath deeply.  

The nurses at St Agnes are a dream.  They were so darling and sweet.  And believe me, I bugged 'em a lot.

Unfortunately the next day they ran off with my morphine and I was very sad.  That's also when my back started killing me -- that's just how hospital beds are.  The funny thing is, I could rarely get to my controls.  Now picture my wide ass.  Now picture a hospital bed with a phone, nurse call button and bed controls all in it.  So everytime I go to get back in bed, I'd knock everything off.  Sigh..  I'd have to ask my roommate to call the nurse and tell 'em I have sooo many problems.

Because of my back I hardly slept at all on the second night, and instead just walked a lot.  I assumed I was doing really well until the next morning when I asked Dr. Swartz, "Can I go home today?"  And he said, "No."  Why the hell not?  He told me I hadn't drank enough water.  Well crap!  The Goddamn water is all the way over there on that table most of the time.  So he asks, "How come ya wanna leave anyway."  I told him that everyone was wonderful, but my back was killing me.  So he says, "I tell ya what, if you drink a liter of water today I'll let ya out tomorrow morning."  Not good enough!  Then he says, "Well if you can drink a liter of water by five today I'll let you out this evening."  No problem!

So I drank my water, got rid of the screech-a-thon and got my IV yanked out.  And I was outta there.

At the hotel

First off, if anyone is going to Fresno for surgery, stay at the TownePlace Suites by Marriot.  It looks brand new and they keep that place spotless.  Also very well insulated, we rarely heard a peep from our neighbors.  They even installed a hand held shower for us. Every suite has a full kitchen which is nice for extended stays.  We stayed in a two bedroom suite for about $100 a night.

We got to the hotel and I had a helluva time getting comfortable.  Mother ended up scooting the chair over to the couch where I was sitting with my legs up, she then piled pillows into the chair so I could rest my arm on 'em.  I was so exhausted I ended up falling asleep that way.  Meanwhile Mother ran off to Target to buy a foam topper and some body pillows.  Although the foam topper helped some, it still bothered me to sleep on my back.  I tried several different positions with the body pillow, but still wasn't happy.  I kept bouncing from the bed to the couch, all the while becoming hot and flushed.  Mother was really starting to wig out and said I was gonna make myself sick.  We finally found a solution by putting a couple of pillows under my knees to take the pressure off my back.  I was finally able to sleep.

The next day I felt fine.  Sipped at my water and protein shakes, took my vitamins.  It took me about two hours to get through a one pint bottle of Aquafina.  I'd drink about a liter of water and get the rest of my liquids through protein shakes or broth.  I also would do my lil walks down the hallway.  I did also have very black and loose stools, but other than that I felt damn fine for someone who had just undergone major surgery. 
However Sunday night a protein drink made me nauseous -- it was that Nectar crap.  I laid down and two hours later it passed.  Monday morning I went to see the dietitian -- who was less than informative.  She didn't think Glycerine was a problem and was surprised to learn that ketchup contains sugar.  I doodled on my lil papers while she blabbered away.  However I did learn we are not allowed any bread, rice or pasta for the next four months.  I was very bummed indeed.

I had bought some protein tomato soup at the dr's office.  I was so thrilled, something besides broth. *thumbsup*  Alas, it made me hurl.  The rest of the day any kind of protein drink I tried made me sick.  I was not down with this.  Fortunately my one week post-op appointment was the next day. 
Tuesday at the doctor's office I weigh in to find I was still the same damn weight I was at the pre-op meeting -- 414.  They said it was fluid from the IV, blah blah blah.  Anyways, got my staples out and told Dr. Swartz about the nausea.  He said that was a common occurrence in  patients and gave me some pills for it.  Woohoo! 

Back home

Finally on the 17th, after arriving in Fresno on the 5th, we went home.  I was doin great, was now on mush and pureed foods.  I was able to drink 64 oz of water daily -- I could take in water much more easily than before.  I was also riding my stationary bike 4 to 5 miles a day.  But there was no denying it.  I missed food.  I missed the taste and texture.  I missed cooking.  Whenever Mom or Dad had something to eat I'd say, "Just let me smell it!"  I'd read cookbooks and take-out menus.  I'd dream about food.  It was nuts.  I was counting down the days till I could have solids -- Oct 1.  Then I had a brilliant idea:  I can have Hot and Sour soup!  So went to our favorite Chinese place and got me some soup.  It then occurred to me that I could have Stroganoff pureed in a blender.  I basically lived on these till my solid food day came.

October the first arrived and oh what a happy day it was.  I had been planning my menu in advance: Pizza Burgers.  I enjoyed being able to cook again and as usual, they were wonderful.  Unfortunately I got sick, assumed that I'd just eaten too much but I would later learn that wasn't the case.

I began tracking my intake on Fitday and learned I was only taking in about 400 - 450 calories a day.  I called the surgeons office and asked if there are a minimum number of calories I should be taking in.  The nurse replied, "Oh no.  In fact I'd be happy if you didn't eat at all."  This statement bugged me on so very many levels.  I went to my PCP the next day and she definitely wanted me to take in at least 600 calories, if not a bit more, and to also eat "real food" (non of that low fat crap) since I was only taking in a lil bit.  

So I went back home a happier gal and fixed spaghetti squash that night with homemade tomato sauce -- using Splenda instead of honey and it was still damn fine.  But once again, I had the pain in my chest and I got sick.  Earlier that day I had noticed I had not been able to eat the amount of cottage cheese that I usually could, but I just chalked it up to be being a morning thing.

Friday night I had a terrible time sleeping and for the first time in my life had heartburn.  I took a Nexium and urped it right back up.  I threw up once more and felt better.  That morning I tried drinking some water and threw that up.  So I called the surgeon's office and learned that Dr. Wong (The newest associate with Dr. Felix and low man on the totem pole) was on call.  He asked about my symptoms and said it couldn't be a stenosis or stricture of the stoma because they happen gradually over time and not that fast.  So he said to try and drink more water later and if I couldn't keep that down I'd have to go to the emergency room.  Otherwise they'd see me on my next appointment which was next Friday.  I was able to keep water down and even ate a lil soup that night.  But on Sunday night I was vomiting up bile.  I called again on Monday and was told to come in the next day.

Back in Fresno

I figured I had a stricture and assumed it would be all taken care on the same day.  At first it looked as though we drove 2 1/2 hours for a "Yep it sounds like a stricture."  This was Dr. Wong again and he was very condescending towards us.   

But wait!  I've forgotten to tell you the best part!  The best part was my weigh in, and mind you, it had been a month.  

Drum roll please

14 pounds

Nope, that was it.  All that suffering, all that riding on the bike and not to mention starving -- all for 14 pounds.  Whoopty shit.  I had lost 13 pounds the month prior to surgery AND I had great mass quantities of food.

So you can imagine my mood.  I asked Dr. Wong about why I'd lost so little, he threw out some typical doctor jargon and basically said, "I don't know crap." *thumbsup*  

So now back to the stricture.  They have a surgeon in Fresno who performs all their scopes and he says he would get me an appointment sometime next week.  Next week?  I want this over and done with now.  My Dad asks if there's a possibility that the stoma could close up in that time.  Dr. Wong says that couldn't possibly happen in just a weeks time.  But I'm still antsy.  Dad points out that he's off tomorrow so Dr. Wong says he'll call Dr. Chang to see if he has any openings.  (Note: My Dad is a big bear of a guy and Wong's a weenie lil Chinese guy.  Weenie lil guys often are happy to take orders from Dad as to opposing them.  Not that he would ever do anything, but the illusion does come in handy from time to time.)  It turned out he had some time right then.

Since I hadn't had anything to eat that day. (how the hell could I?) He could do the procedure right then. So I was whisked back to a pre-op room over at St Agnes, and told once again to remove all my clothes.  Sigh..  As I'm undressing I wonder how many people today will see my ass or boobs.  I wonder if they take pictures for keepsakes and take 'em home to show 'em to the wife and kids.  Maybe even now I have a website dedicated to me.  I wouldn't so much be upset about the pictures as I would that I'm not receiving royalties off 'em.

Anyways, in the hospital bed again and I'm scared spitless.  I don't know a damn thing about this procedure except that something's gonna be down my throat.  It turned out to be a breeze though.  They had me turn to my side and put a pillow behind me so I'd be comfortable, then they started to give me sleepy drugs.  I woke up a little coughing and gagging, but I wasn't awake enough to wig out and I fell right back asleep.  I woke up soon after the procedure and asked if they found anything and the doctor said yes, your stoma had narrowed.  In fact it was so narrow, he had trouble getting his instrument down there.  He didn't dilate it entirely for fear it would tear, so I do have to go back next month.  I have a picture.  I'm lazy at the moment, but I will try and post it tomorrow.

That night back at home I was purty damn angry and so were Mom and Dad.  If we had sat idly by while Dr. Wong scheduled me for next week I would have most assuredly landed in the hospital.

So between that and the fourteen pounds, I was so bloody depressed.  You really do tend to lose your faith in the medical community.  I was also scared to death it would narrow again, in fact I still am.  I'm not afraid of the procedure, but I don't want to go throw the pain, nausea and vomiting again.  Oh I know they say, "That's how you learn."  Well I'm sorry, but I really don't agree when you say it's wrong that I have a relationship with food.  Now I think it's wrong to have a relationship with a Water Buffalo, but food?  That's ok.  And hey, if you have the Water Buffalo's consent, I see no problem with it.

I don't believe I'm a bad person because I like food.  I don't believe I'm a bad person because I like lots of food.

And so every five minutes, it's a different mood: From I suppose I'm ok with the surgery to reverse me right now!  I imagine it will be that way for sometime.  

I have been happy for the past two days -- because I've been able to eat solid foods.  I was able to eat a veggie dog, after peeling the casing off, and some lil strips of chicken.  I also cooked up some fresh tomato soup.  I'm the biggest tomato fan and was appalled to find that all canned tomato soup has a high content of sugar.  So screw them, I made my own and it was so wonderful I'll probably never go back to canned.  And I also just finished up an ounce of smoked salmon.  No troubles so far.

So there ya go, that's my story for now.  Honestly, I'd be happy if the rest of the time remains uneventful.

My last meal.

Thank the Lord in heaven!  There was a Chili's just down the corner from the hotel we stayed.  Unfortunately no Long Islands for me since it was only 2 days from surgery, but I did have them damn fine Buffalo tenders.  All mine!  Didn't even share!  And the Chicken Ranch sandwich -- which also includes the same spicy Buffalo sauce.  See a trend here?

Thought I was gonna explode, but didn't care.  I wished I'd order more, only because I knew the dreaded liquid diet was upon me.

The night before surgery.

I took my Magnesium Citrate around 4.  For all you Pre-Ops out there, get the Fleet's Enema instead.  I'm serious.  In about a couple hours I was squirtin out nothing but stomach acid.  Can you say, Owww?  My ass was on fire.  It ate through my skin and I bled like a stuck pig.  This went on till about one in the morning, and I was still going by 8 the next day.

The surgery

My surgery was later in the day, so we didn't get there till around noon.  I had my surgery at St. Agnes Hospital.  One of the number cool things they do there?  Complimentary Valet Parking.  If you have a handicapped tag they'll do it for ya all the time, otherwise it's only for those who are patients (dropping 'em off and pickin them up, things like that). So no worries about parking.  

So they take me into the pre-op area and tell me to get undressed and put on my one-way nightie.  (This is the first clue that sooo many people are going to see you nude today.)  

The nurse who put my IV in was very sweet.  She had a lil trouble finding a vein.  She asked if I wanted numbing cream, but warned it might make her lose the vein.  So I told her I'd just suck it up, it turns out I didn't feel a thing anyway.  She also gave me a blood thinner shot and warned that it burns and really bothers some patients.  So I look away while she's giving it to me, take in a deep breath and she says, "So what do ya think?"  And I asked, "About what?"  She replies, "Well I'm done!"  Oh well pffft!  Once again I didn't feel a thing.

Now I'm just hanging out, waitin for them to go get Mother.  A chaplain comes by.  She's a dear, sweet old lady and asks of my religious preference.  I reply Buddhist and then she asks if I'd like prayer.  Pfft!  Well sure, every bit helps.  She states that she believes in Jesus Christ and that's how she would pray.  After praying she says that she doesn't know much about Buddhism.  I tell her that basically they embrace all other religions and just like everyone else, want Peace.  She then tells me, "Well you can't have Peace without God dear."  I thought it was ironic because before arriving at the hospital I watched a documentary about children of war  -- most of the wars being fought over nothing but Religion.  But I just smiled and patted her hand.

Mother comes in and she's a total nervous wreck.  I asked the nurse if she could her some Valium. It's about 1:30 by now and Dr. Felix came in to see how I was and said he'd be ready for me in about 30 minutes.  Then the anesthesiologist comes in and pokes at me a bit.  However there's some concern about me not being able to give a urine sample (I was all tapped out).  It's a State Law to check and see if you're pregnant or not.  My Mother and I assured them that unless it was a divine conception, I won't be pregnant.  So I just signed a lil sheet and they took my word for it.

Ten till two they start wheeling me off.  Now up until this point I'd been very calm, not worried at all, but while they're wheeling me down the hallway fear began to sneak up on me -- I suddenly found myself wondering if I could hop off the gurney and make a break for it.  Obviously I didn't.  Now I'm in the operating room and I gotta scoot over to that cold, hard and extremely narrow table.  I manage to maneuver myself on to it.  Now I'm lying there, each of my sides oozing off the table.  They pull out these lil side trays and I lay my arms on 'em.  They spray something in my mouth called Hurricane Spray and it goes all numb.  All the while I'm jabbering away asking questions like, "Do they play music while doing surgery." (Turned out Dr. Felix doesn't care for the music being very loud.)   I must have too chatty because the anesthesiologist said, "Let's put something in there to relax her."  Then he says, "You should be feeling sleepy now."    No, didn't feel anything yet.  "Where'd my lips go."  Then I remember nothing else.

Stay tuned to see if I survived.