Upon entering Clovis Outpatient Hospital I feel like Norm walking into Cheers.  

“Norm!”

By now most of the staff, and even my own surgeon,  know my name or say, “I’ve seen you before haven’t I?”  

A couple weeks ago I returned to Fresno for my fifth dilation.  While I wasn’t vomiting, I felt I was eating less and let’s face it, at this point I’m gonna be bangin on the surgeon’s door over every lil thing.  Of course everyone recognizes me and I have the same nurse to insert my IV.  This is a good thing because ever since surgery my veins are nearly impossible to find.  Before surgery?  They were always very welcoming and more than happy to greet an oncoming needle.  Now?  Shy lil wallflowers that scurry from their own shadow.

We were a lil early and passed the time by chattin with the nurses.  We were relaying our previous encounters with surgeon’s staff and the nurses were more than happy to commiserate with us.  It’s nice to know you’re not the only one with this problem.  We concluded that basically a staff is buffer (or bouncer) trying to keep patients from bugging the doctor.  That’s understandable but it would be nice if they could figure out the difference between the whiners and folks with real problems.

So off to the OR once again.  Same ol’ ol’…  Strap on the blood pressure gauge from hell, roll to side, put rubber do-hickey in mouth and long doo-dad shoved down throat.  I did purty well, didn’t cough and gag as much.  Afterwards Dr. Swartz said it was a mild stricture, but he went ahead and dilated it.  I told him that after everything that’s happened I’m really at the point of paranoia.  “Oh gosh, I don’t think I was able to eat as much… It must be a stricture!”  He said that it was a good thing I came in and it never hurts to check.  Other good news is that my ulcer was completely healed.  We were all down with that.

Right after the procedure I was up and jabberin away, so much so that they didn’t even bother to take me to the recovery room.  I don’t recall what drugs I was shot up with, but I remember the nurse behind me saying, “I gave her 10 mg and she’s already up and talkin!” So it looks like I’m developing a resistance to anesthesia.  *sniff* Just like the druggies.

Dr. Swartz came out and talked with Mother for a good ten minutes.  Lately we’d been having some concerns over how often can the stoma be stretched before the tissues start to weaken.

Side note:

A dear friend of Mother’s contracted Cancer.  While the Cancer did go into remission, the radiation treatments left her esophagus very weakened and she would often seek treatments to stretch the esophagus.  Eventually she was fitted with a stint to keep it open, unfortunately over time the stint wore holes in her esophagus and she died of infection.

Dr. Swartz said that wouldn’t happen and stated that if it strictured again he would insert a small metal tube for month to keep it open.  So it was purty obvious he’d been thinking about this.  It also turned out that only one other patient (out of 2000) had suffered numeral strictures.  In fact, at this point we’re tied for first place.

Mother also asked if he would consider performing the adjustable lap band on her.

Side note:

She’d been going on like this over a month.  Dr. Swartz only performs the Roux-en-Y, asking him to perform the lap band is like asking the garbage collector to setup your DSL -- it’s just not gonna happen.  I told her this over and over again, but she was determined.

You can imagine my jaw dropping to the floor when Mother told me that he said he would consider it.  Nuh uh.  Despite his practice being solely RNY and the less than favorable outcome of the lap band her in the US, his only objection was her Lupus.  Now Mother has the annoying type of Lupus, not the fatal type.  So basically she’s just plagued with fussy skin and owwies up her nose, and it’s also a good idea not to let her get pneumonia. Dr. Swartz told her that there had been cases where the band had eaten through the tissues.  He advised her to research it and gather all the information she could.  

She also apologized for chewing out his whole staff the week prior and he told her it was ok, she had every right because it was her child.  

After hearing all this, I was purty damned impressed.

Anyways just last Sunday I started throwing up again.  I was really mystified as to how this could be happening so soon.  Monday I threw up again.  Tuesday I tried nibbling at a salad, but it was a lost cause -- just a week ago I had no trouble eating part of the same salad.  So what gives?  I called the surgeon’s office and they put me right through to doctor Dr. Swartz. He was just as dumbfounded as I was.  He suggested that I try soft foods for the rest of the day and to call ‘em tomorrow.  

So there I was, rolling around in bed, annoyed I couldn’t eat anything and my cellphone rang.  I rarely answer my cell and this is why I receive so few calls.  The caller ID was blocked so I decided to answer.  Low and behold!  It was the surgeon’s office.

Nuh uh!

No it’s true!  I swear!

Alright, what were they calling about?  A bill?

Nope nope nope!  Get this: They were calling to check up on me and see how I was doing.

Well I could just shit

We’ve finally broken through!

I told her that food still wasn’t going down very well and even soup was fussy.  I asked if they would give me one more day to make sure and I’m supposed to call ‘em tomorrow.  

I’m so happy and take back all the bad things I said now that Dr. Swartz is really listening to us.

On another side, I’m really worried about Mom.  A few weeks ago she took a very bad spill in her bedroom -- in trying not to disturb the cat she tripped and belly flopped on the floor.  She hollered and Dad and I rushed outta our rooms to her.  She had landed on her knee and banged her shoulder purty good.  Now the hard part about this is that she has total knee replacements and consequently cannot put direct weight on them, ie get on her knees.  So we have to figure a way to get her up without using her knees for support.  It was difficult and she was in pain.  When she was finally on her feet she was really upset, and I popped a Xanax in her.  I was afraid the strain alone was gonna give her a heart attack.  I told her, “No more falling”  

Well about a week later she was in the computer room putting together some kind of file cabinet.  There was a crash and I figured the assembly wasn’t going so well -- I opted not to go in and check because I didn’t want to help put the damn thing together.  About fifteen minutes pass and on my way to get more water I decided to go in and check on her progress.  I look in the room and no one’s there.  She’s short but not that short.  I asked, “Did you vanish?”  She replied, “No I’m down here just trying to figure out how to get back up.”  I asked what the hell she was doing on the floor, and she said that she had fallen.  Shit!  Why didn’t you say something?  Now I feel bad about leaving you here all that time, and I almost didn’t come in now.  How long were planning on waddling around the floor before telling me?  She said that she wasn’t hurt this time.  I got her up even though Dad wasn’t there to help me.  It was easier this time but she was still coughin and weezin, I was scared to death she was gonna keel over -- and annoyed as hell that she didn’t call for me.

Ever since I’ve started having complications with this surgery, I forbid her to have the same.  I couldn’t stand it if she had to endure what I have, or even worse.  With the invasiveness of the surgery while adding to it her age and Lupus, I was scared to death or her having this surgery.  I’m still scared!  But I was also scared when she fell.  So now what?  Wait till she has a heart attack or let the doc cut her open?

We were really pushin for the lap band before Dr. Swartz told her about the whole “eating through the tissues” process.  But I still want a consultation with a doctor up in Sacramento who does the lap banding, and find Lupus patients who’ve had the same surgery.

I had a mild victory today: Today I was a lil early for my therapy appointment, and so I was waiting outside for her to arrive.  At this time a slew of kids (your garden variety junior high types) came swarming out of the library to head back to school, which is just up the hill.  

Here they come.  
I can do two things here:
Duck into the doctor's office one door down or just stand there and suck it up.

I chose the latter.  And it turns out there was nothing to it anyway -- some smiled and some increased their pace.  *shrug*  I was ready for a "You're fat" comment, to which I could reply, "Have you thoroughly researched your hypothesis or was that just an educated guess?"  And this could go on forever where I ask them to document and write up a report.  But not a thing and ya know what occurred to me?  It really didn't matter and I really didn't care.

On another message board, a gal was talking about how some men (highly insecure men) preferred obese women because of "our" low self-esteem.  She then said that every pound she lost, she could feel the self-esteem rising.  But I don't see myself in her category.  Yes I'm an extremely obese woman, but I also have self-esteem out the wazoo -- at times a bit too much.  And I believe it's important to recover the self-esteem before starting this journey -- not just WLS, but any kind of weightloss.  

Most obese people have suffered through this most of their lives and especially during childhood, meaning quite a few were withdrawn and never experienced much of the adolescent sexual awakening (with someone other than themselves), rebellion or just the social aspect of conversing with their fellow peers.  The danger here lies in the fact that when these folks lose weight, in a sense, they'll experience a second puberty -- unfortunately this time there's no authority figure to set limits.   So after so many years of starvation, the appetite becomes insatiable.   

No no, the doctor hasn't called back.  Mother finally got tired and plowed through everyone till they put her through to the doctor, who was so incredibly accommodating it was obvious he was wetting them.  My theory is he must recall Mother's line of work and he fears she has a nuclear bomb aimed at his anus, and she can press that button anytime she likes.

On the plus side, I did have the pleasure of driving by the masturbating horse.  Oh that naughty horse.  Down the road a piece there's a house with a big corral right by the road.  They occasionally go out there and rope up some cattle, and always there's a horse or two when ya drive by.  Well a couple weeks ago while driving by Mother pointed out, "Hey look at that horse, he's rubbin his belly."  I turned to see this horsey straddling a pole and indeed rubbing himself.  I turned to Mother, "Either that or getting his jollies." Mother gasps, "You don't really think he was doing that, was he?"  "Well his stomach should be higher up than that."  After laughing Mother replies, "Oh my God!  I just saw a masturbating horse!"

It's Mother's birthday tomorrow and she wanted to go out and celebrate.  So we went to what used to be our favorite restaurant -- it was changed into an "Asian fusion" restaurant.  We were skeptical at first and certainly crestfallen that they'd dare take The Paradiso from us, still John Pisto can do no wrong (Infamous chef in Monterey who owns numerous restaurants around here -- makes the most divine creme brulee). Turned out it was the same menu with a sushi bar added and different interior.  Shhh!  Don't tell anyone!

A sweetie of a waitress came by to share the specials:  Scampi Prawns in a garlic and wine sauce with rice and sundried tomatoes; Scampi Prawns in a garlic and wine sauce with linguine; Scampi Prawns in a Thai Red Curry sauce; Seared and Sesame Crusted Ahi Tuna Sashimi style; and a Stuffed Salmon Filet with crab, spinach, artichokes and parmesan topped with hollandaise sauce and served with asparagus.  After this she had to wipe the drool off my face.  I picked the Salmon, but it was a tough choice.

Also, despite my declaration of going teetohal for a year, I desperately wanted booze, and they just happened to have my favorite wine Gewurztraminer (Yes I had to look that one up, who the hell could spell that?)  I call it Gert for short.  Anyways I asked Mom if I should and she thought it was alright if I just sipped at it.  I drank about 3/4's of a glass and found it quite comical that I was already looped, but I never had any trouble with it.  

I nibbled away at my salmon, possibly devouring only a quarter of the filet, but I believe I enjoyed it much more than I would have pre-surgery.  Pre-op I just wolfed everything down, now with the constant need for chewing I can really relax and enjoy all the complex flavors.  Of course it does look weird, big huge gurl barely ate a damn thing.  We asked to have it boxed up for Dad and my Mother pointed out I had WLS and couldn't eat that much.  Both parents do this, but it really never bothers me -- if she had asked I would've told her anyway.

It was very nice and relaxing -- we saw a few seals and wondered how those guys out on the lil boat with no light were gonna get home.  We also contemplated that if there was a blackout, they'd probably wet 'em, but it was ok since they were on the ocean.

At this moment I'm currently waiting for the surgeon's office to call me back.  As of now it's ten till five.  So there's still time to get in on the bets.

While I've yet to get sick, I haven't been able to eat the amount I could a week ago, and there have been a couple of incidences where I had to sit up for two hours, sip on water and wait for my pills to go down.  It only makes sense that the scar tissue from the ulcer is causing another stricture.

Conversation with Mom:

MOTHER: What did the doctor's office say?

ME: Oh wait till you hear, this is a good one.

Conversation with nurse

ME: I notice I've been having difficulty and eating less and less.

NURSE: Have you been vomiting?

ME: No because I've had 4 prior strictures and recognize the symptoms.

NURSE: So you don't think it's a stricture.

ME: Yes I do!

NURSE: So have you been vomiting?

ME: Noooooo...  I understand the symptoms and stop before I get sick.

End of nurse conversation

*Mother laughing in the background*

ME: I need smart people.

MOTHER: Well unfortunately these are the types of folks who, while at the drive- up at Wendy's, are staring blankly and looking around trying to figure out where that voice is coming from.

ME: God is that you?  Yes I do want to supersize it!
I bet they won't call, I hope they all get Genital Warts.

MOTHER: Well, we can pray for it.

ME:  Genital Warts
For you and me
They're soft and squishy
And they never leave

MOTHER: *still laughing*  You've cheered me up now.

ME: Well I still ain't!  

A couple weeks ago we went back to Fresno for my follow-up.  I came prepared with the whole gang in tow.  It would seem Dr. Felix's office has yet to send anything to my personal physician.  I joked with her and said I'd probably have to take a gun to actually get 'em to fax anything.

First they weighed me and this was AFTER I wazzed.  If you'll remember I weighed 342 two weeks prior at the hospital.  Their scale said 368.  How in God's name is that possible?  Once I got home, and this was after drinking water and eatin a chicken strip, my scale said 351.  I would imagine their scale purposely weighs higher in order to fool the insurance companies for those who are on the borderline.  Nice...

Of course, upon entry, Dr. Swartz once again gets my name wrong.  He then proceeds to tell us that a stricture could happen again, but it's very rare to need a second dilation. I hollered, "I HAD FOUR!"  He says, "Oh yeah, that's right.  Well if you get another one there's nothing to it.  You just call us up and we'll dilate it again."

Nothing to it...  I'd like to see him go through all that pain and frustration.  He then says, "And when you were hospitalized you were just a lil dehydrated.  Nothing serious."

Nothing serious...  The nurse had told my Mother I was a very sick gurl -- my electrolytes and blood sugar were below sea level.  I was nearly in a comatose state.

Dad pointed out that my doctor had not received a peep from them and Dr. Swartz said, "Oh yes, we'll send a summary letter of what has occurred."  I piped up, "Oh no!  You're not just gonna send some little letter saying hey we cut on her and everything's fine now *thumbsup*.  Send her details."  He interrupts me and says, "We'll send a letter," sounding all snippy.  Cocksucker.

He asked how my depression was and I asked him, "How do ya think it is?  It's purty damn frustrating having these complications all the time." He walked towards me and tentatively reached out to shake my hand, fearful that I might pop a grenade in it and hold on real tight.

So after I mowed everyone down in the building with my machine gun, we left.

Actually one nice thing did happen while I was there: There was a gal and her Mother waiting for a consultation.  They asked if I had the surgery and how it went, and I told 'em the truth.  By the end of the story the poor gal was ready to leap outta her chair and make a run for it so I told her, "I'm not saying you should be terrified of this surgery -- just respect it."  Her Mother asked if I would do it all over again and I said yes.  If I could snap my fingers and suddenly be back to normal, I'd be crammin hamburgers, pizza, shakes, and so so many sandwiches into my mouth.

My dear therapist, like everyone else, is purty pissy with the folks up in Fresno and wants me to get a second opinion.  I had tried to see Dr. Mark Vierra who is here in Monterey, but his secretary told me that he would never see patients who already had the surgery.  

BUT!

During the end of our session my therapist hopped up and said, "Let's do something proactive." She called Dr. Olsen, who I had seen a lil over a year ago about this surgery, told the receptionist about my problems and asked if she would refer me to Dr. Vierra.  *sniff* my hero.  A few days later Dr. Vierra's office called to set up an appointment, but unfortunately no matter who ya are, new patients have to wait for six months for their first appointment -- sometime in August.

Well so much for that.  I poked around on Google for awhile, but turns out there ain't no such thing as a stricture expert.  So I'm screwed.

Also, after scouring through the library on this site I've concluded I have something called reactive hypoglycemia.  Basically if I don't get in enough carbohydrates I get shaky, dizzy, fussy and cranky.  Just another complication no one bothered to tell me about.  I also received a few letters from gals who've had the same problem with strictures.  While all their symptoms and frustrations seemed to mimic my own (I think it's ironic my problem is that I'm too damn healthy -- my scar tissue tends to form very quickly.),unfortunately I didn't find them entirely encouraging.  One poor gal after several, several dilations had a revision and is STILL having problems.

I have to admit I'm not in the best frame of mind.  I tend to lie around in bed a lot -- mainly because I can't think of one good reason to get up.  The other night when I was havin trouble getting anything down.  Mother asked if Dad had eaten the chicken strips.  I said, "No, why?"  She asked if it was ok if she ate 'em. I told her, "Lady I don't care if you eat 'em.  I don't care if the cat eats them, but it's purty damn clear I can't eat 'em. So go nuts.  And while you're at it, have a drink for me.  Have two."  Then it hit me!  "Hey I could have vodka and Pedialyte!"

It's now a quarter to 6 and I'm so gonna win 50 bucks.

I spent my New Year's Eve by taking a marathon four to five hour bath -- I'm not sure really, I lost count.  I angered the Water Heater Gods greatly by draining the tub and fillin it back up with hot water numerous times.  I knew it was midnite by the distant sound of fireworks.  I cried woohoo and bid a parting farewell to the year 2003 by farting in the tub -- I won't miss it much.

It goes something like this:

It turns out I should have paid more attention to my frequent vomiting.  I spent most of Christmas Eve and Christmas in bed, when I wasn't in bed I was either going stark raving mad or falling on my face.  I had absolutely no balance and could barely walk.  The night after Christmas was very bad indeed, I was doing everything in my power to escape myself -- besides popping Xanax like Tic Tacs, I ran up $2000 on plane tickets and hotel rooms, even tried to get a passport in order to go to Cancun.  Mother called the doctor the next day and explained my erratic behavior.  The doctor told her to get me to the hospital immediately because it sounded as though my electrolytes were low.  It turns out when your electrolytes plummet towards the ground you tend to go into a manic episode -- kinda like a diabetic attack that doesn't stop.

We drove 2 1/2 hours to Fresno.  Mother had to do some major shaking of her fist to get me a wheelchair and a room immediately.  The doctor arrived and had it in his mind that I was just nuts.  Mother kept insisting this wasn't normal behavior for me.  He asked if I was depressed and I said, I sure am.  He asked if I was suicidal and I replied, you bet!  He asked if I wanted someone to sit in the room with me all night.  I asked, why?  Would they talk to me?  He says no, they'll just watch you.  I said, well what fun is that?

Because I was also severely dehydrated they had trouble gettin an IV started, they ended up havin to put in the crook of my arm, which meant I had to keep my right arm perfectly still otherwise the IV machine would screech. But all is well and the doc schedules me for an endoscopy in the morning.  They take a bunch of blood and the nurse sitting at the end of my bed mentions something in kilograms.  I said, "Huh? Did the bed just weigh me?"  They said yes and I thought that was just too cool.  I asked what that was in pounds and it came 342.  I said, "Wow! I should get sick more often."

The orderly brings in a liquid dinner, unfortunately half of it contains sugar which obviously I can't have.  She comes back and I point out that I've had gastric bypass surgery and cannot tolerate sugar.  She says, "Well you can drink your juice."  No I can't!  Stupid woman it's cranberry juice, high fructose syrup is one of the highest ingredients.  Then she replies, "Well your doctor only specified a liquid meal so you'll have to talk to him."  Whatever, just take the tray and please don't come back.  A cutie pie orderly came in and said he'd try to find some sugarless Jello for me, but to be honest by the time he brought it, I just didn't care.

It just so happened that my very best friend Snookie got me the latest Gameboy for Christmas -- tested and approved by her geeky fiance, bless 'em both.  Unfortunately, I learned it's impossible to play your Gameboy with one arm.  I lead a good fight, but finally gave up.  So I played with the TV and bed instead.

Also because of my spazzing system I'm having the period from hell.  Then I suddenly had the feeling of a mighty poo coming on.  I struggle to get outta bed , unplug the IV machine and drag it along with me.  But guess what?  By this time I've purty much shit my pants.  Now I'm completely mortified and try to clean it up off the floor.  I just threw my underwear away -- I didn't care to ever see it again.  A nurse comes in, I tell her what happened and asked if I could take a quick shower.  Nope couldn't do that, the IV has to stay in.  But she offers to get some towels to help me clean up.  15 minutes pass by and I'm standing in the door way in tears, meanwhile blood and shit are dripping down my thighs.  I give up and try to clean myself up as best as possible and also find some clean undies.  Then as I'm dragging my IV back to my bed, I have to go again.  I made it that time, but I'm still not having fun.  So I drag the IV out to the nurses station and say that I've had diarrhea twice now and am gettin ready for my third, could I please have an anti-diarrhea pill?  She says no because the doctor wanted that medicine in my IV to clean me out incase I had a blockage.  I had never mentioned any problems to him about pooing.

Now I'm raving.  If I'm dehydrated and incredibly vitamin deficient, how the hell is shitting my brains out gonna help me.  I try and call Mom on her cellphone, but because it's long distance I can't get through.  Well a few minutes pass by and she calls me -- just as I'm talking to her Jeremy comes in and said that my Mom had called, I'm irratible and want him to go away so I can ask Mother to take me the hell away from here.  So I say, "No it's fine, you can go now."  Mother says, "Oh ok," and proceeds to hang up.  I screeched NO NOT YOU, HIM! PISS OFF! Poor Jeremy ran scurrying away.  I then told Mother all that was happening, that they were just out to get me and begged her to come and get me. Of course she couldn't do that and I hung up on her.  I went to the bathroom again and figured out how to turn off my IV, then I put my clothes on under my hospital nightie and planned to escape.

Told ya I was nuts.

I was back in bed and Jeremy timidly entered, I asked him if they just put magnesium phosphate in my IV bag.  He said that he'd get the nurse to come in answer that question.  I asked what was in the bag and she said that it was loads of vitamins.  Then I asked about the crapping part and said that I haven't had a problem with constipation.  She said that I could still have a partial blockage. Then I asked how the hell am I getting rehydrated and getting in vitamins if I'm goin to the bathroom all the time?  She said that I was getting 200 cc an hour and that my electrolytes were dangerously low, that I was a very sick girl and they were just trying to figure out what was wrong with me.  She also said she herself had gastric bypass surgery and knew what it was like.  This made me feel much better so I told her that I was a very smart girl and figured out how to turn off the IV, so she might wanna turn that back on.  She plugged the IV into the bathroom so I wouldn't have to be dragging it with me, she moved all obstacles outta my way and then propped my arm onna pillow so I'd be more comfortable.  She also jimmy-rigged the IV so it wouldn't screech at me all night.  

I finally stopped running to the bathroom, but was freezing my ass off.  So the nurse turned up the thermostat and shut the door so the room would heat up.  The bed kept makin sounds even when I wasn't playin with the buttons.  I asked the nurse and she said that it contours to your position.  The bed cost $7000 but it's damn worth it.  Oh my God, I'd move my toe and it would adjust for me. So around one I finally fell asleep.  

About six I woke up to a different orderly, Eddie, takin my blood pressure -- he was a very sweet man and reminded me exactly like Joel Grey.  Then at a quarter to eight a couple of nurses came in and asked if I was ready for the endoscopy.  Well woohoo!  By this time I was much steadier on my feet and was able to walk to the gurney myself.

I told the nurse that the last time I had this done I felt everything and didn't have enough anesthetic.  So she said she'd give me more this time.  And it was much better this time.  I was still awake, but didn't feel much until he dilated, because unlike Dr. Chang, he balloons it for five minutes.  But I looked up at him and he said, "She opened her eyes, give her some more."  Woohoo!  I also had an ulcer that probably caused the stricture.  So he concluded I wasn't nuts and was really sick.  I told him about my updated weightloss and he patted me and said that I was doing great and actually ahead of schedule, and to stop worrying and being depressed.  So I got a prescription for my ulcer, my very wonderful Joel Grey orderly got me some towels to clean up with then wheeled me outta there.

During my nutso time I took many a spill, but I wasn't lucid enough to feel the pain -- now I'm covered head to toe with bruises.  I was also ashamed and mortified at all the things I said to folks not including the bills I ran up.  After a chat with a hotel manager and a few rounds with Priceline I got the $2000 debt down to about $750.  But I still felt really really bad and while I was in the kitchen with Dad today I asked him, "Do you still like me?"  He hugged me and said of course, I even loved ya when you were nuts.  I apologized for the things I said and he said that he knew I didn't mean 'em.  I apologized for the money and said that the check (from closing out one of my E-Trade accounts) I deposited into his saving's account he could keep and that would make up for the difference. He said, "You think I'm very concerned with money, but I'm not. I figured the money was gone and that was that.  My main concern was you."

Then I got the courage to tell Mom I ordered Xanax off the net and was popping 'em like mad.  Then I said I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry dozens of times then asked, "Do ya still like me?"  She cried and said she coulda lost me and of course she still loves me.  I gave the pills to her and vowed never to do it again.

Reflections

Christmas may be a loss this year, but there will be others.

As I look back over the following weeks I can see the signs were forming.  I thought the vomiting was normal and was afraid of sounding like Chicken Little, "The sky is falling! The sky is falling!"  From now on I won't be ignoring symptoms.  And though I already knew this, this situation only cemented my belief in how much I'm loved by friends and family -- to so quickly and easily forgive me for wrong doings.  I am lucky.  

I also figure if I can survive all that, I can purty much count on making it through anything.

Yo

I must say, without a doubt, this Christmas will go down in history as being the worst ever.   I'm actually purty tired and don't feel like gettin all detailed at the moment.  But ummm, with all the vomiting I've been doing I became severely dehydrated and my electrolytes plummeted to the ground.  Turns out when this happens you tend to be in a psychotic and irrational state -- alot like when a diabetic wigs out.  I had absolutely no balance, I'm covered head to toe with bruises.  I also learned the hard way that I could do the splits.  But I wasn't even lucid enough to realize it hurt a damn lot.  

Doctors get called and turns out Dr. Schwartz was unaware I had three strictures so he said to get me to the emergency room.  Piled in the car, went to Fresno, hung out in the emergency room with zillions of flu victims.  Mother was completely irate, and demanded I be admitted and put on an IV immediately.  She succeeded in frightening the lil man working behind the desk and we got a room.  

Dr. Schwartz comes gets up to speed on my symptoms and just thinks I'm nuts -- Mother keeps saying that this was not normal behavior for me.  So they took lots of blood and found out that indeed my electrolytes were purty damn low.  In the morning I was much more steady on my feet, they did an endoscopy and not only did they find a pinhole stricture, they also found an ulcer.  Dr. Schwartz seemed very remorseful for not believing and was extra kind.  *thumbsup*

I'll tell ya the fun-filled details later -- like how I wigged out, figured out how to turn off the IV and escape from the hospital.  

The house was clean and I was reluctant to drag all those boxes in and mess it up.  Obviously no baking this year, and we're doing a lean Christmas this year because I plan on going to Vegas for my birthday.  But by God, there will drinking!

I had a shot of vodka last night and it didn't kill me, so Poinsettas here I come!

A couple weeks ago I had my first instance of eating out.  Because of all the vomiting I'd been very weary of the idea.  We went to Applebee's and I ordered the grilled chicken caesar salad -- nibbled on some chicken, drank a lil water and shoved the plate in front of my Dad to finish.  Later on I actually stole a few more bites of chicken and a few bites of his garlic mashed potatoes.  All in all I was very pleased with the outcome of not hurling.

Speaking of hurling, it's been exactly a week since I barfed -- this is the longest length of time since surgery.

I also went nuts at the Coldwater Creek Outlet in Gilroy, but what are ya gonna do?  It was 70% off and stuff.

I also updated my measurements, admittedly this time they were less than stellar.  So I decided to add Pilates to my routine.  Those are hard!  And far from fat friendly.  I roll around, attempting to do a half-ass version, cussing the instructor out all the way.  But!  They work!  I'm not kidding.  After a couple of sessions and three days, I'd already lost an inch off my belly and hips.

No climbing the bell tower today and pickin off folks.  My three month anniversary is almost upon us.  Because of my weight and staggering BMI, I assumed by this time that I woulda lost 80 to 100 pounds.  This is one of the biggest mistakes I made -- predicting my weightloss before surgery.  For all you pre-ops out there, absolutely positively, without a doubt, do not do this -- you'll be so disappointed afterwards I guarantee it.  

Things I can do now: I can walk up and down a hill without keeling over. I can take a shower without becoming exhausted and reach almost all of my, according to Lever, 2000 parts.  I can take a bath again!  I can sit up in bed (my stomach was so big I couldn't before). I now wear a size 7 W shoe as opposed to 7 1/2 W.  I can sit indian style on the couch and my back no longer kills me.

I bought some Erythritol and tried making some brownies with it, but they sucked.  The problem with Erythritol is that it has an almost minty aftertaste -- I'm not sure how to get around that.  The reason why I'm interested in it is because it registers a zero on the glycemic index and has only .2 calories per gram.  While Splenda does have Maltodextrin in it.  I was, however, able to make a purty damn comparable low carb eggnog.

Thanksgiving wasn't a problem as we decided to skip it.  I must admit though, I'm not sure if I can make it through the Holiday Season without a drink.  Poinsettias... *drool*  It just seems sack-religious.

HAHAHAHA!  Oh my God!  I'd OD on Xanax if there weren't only three left.  My kingdom for a shot of vodka.

Yeah yeah yeah, I'm alright, in fact, I could just shit.

Long and tiring story short, I don't have a surgeon -- I don't need a surgeon.  Whatever problems arise, my physician is more than capable of handling them.

You know what I believe in?  Superstition.  I know, I know.  You would think I was actually smarter than that, but try as I might, I can't shake it.  You know the drill, letting everyone know it's all ok and BAM, turns out it ain't.  Pffft!

Now that I've managed to tell everyone my strictures are of the past, it seems as though I'm throwing up more.  Oh honestly, couldn't life not be predictable just this once?  I'm just not gonna worry about it, I still think everything's ok.  

Ya know... I kinda wish celebrities who've had WLS were more open and honest about their daily routine and what to expect, not just: Hey I eat a lil bit, exercise and lost the weight *thumbsup*.  Because there's a helluva lot more to this story.  For instance, how about learning the foods you're unable to tolerate?  IE, learning the hard way.  And the constant belching and hiccuping.  There are times I get caught in a hiccup frenzy.

*hiccup* *hiccup* *hiccup* *hiccup* *belch* *hiccup* *hic-hic-hic-hic-hic* *slight pause allowing drink of water* *heavy sigh* Finally!

That's just part of my daily routine now.

And while it may not be a daily occurrence, vomiting is certainly a two to three times a week gig -- whether it's intolerance of a certain food or eating too much.

Now this isn't where I cry foul and claim this surgery to be nothing but a device of torture, but I do think people need to know EXACTLY what they're getting into.  To be quite honest, I never knew it would be this difficult.

However, all hurling and hiccuping aside, my weight is down to 367.  That's 47 pounds since surgery and a grand total of 63.  It's still just a drop in the bucket for me, but it's a start.  I also updated my inches -- had to dig through that cesspool of a bedroom to find the notebook.

I've started riding my bike again and am walking up and down to the mailbox -- which was impossible before.  I've yet to make it to gym.  I set my alarm and before it goes off, I lie awake obsessing over breaking the equipment, and then of course I turn the alarm off and go back to bed.  It's silly.

I concede that Dr. Felix is a very gifted surgeon, but let's face it, the Advanced Bariatric Center is nothing more than a money making machine. His staff is less than stellar, his after care lacking and his very own message board on MSN is nothing but a joke.

I've had three strictures and never have they called to see how I was doing.  In fact, I basically scheduled the endoscopies myself.  They file everyone under a "textbook" case and dismiss varies symptoms of complications you relay to them.  They file folks into the office like a slaughter house and because of this multitude, you are never recognized.

I have a theory that the only reason they encourage no minimal caloric intake (quote from the head nurse: I'd be happy if you didn't eat anything at all) is to keep their after care at a bare minimum.  And speaking of!  They say that you may phone in your post-op "office" visits -- in fact this is strongly encouraged, I assume in order to pave the way for newer patients.

They sent me a letter about their seminar at Pismo beach and strongly encouraged us to tell others about it (obviously those who are overweight).  This isn't a medical practice, it's a pyramid scam.

During my pre-op class, the head nurse said something that sent up a red flag and that was, "I'm the head a multi-million dollar business."

Business...

Starbucks is a business.  Walmart is a business.  Coldwell Banker is a business.  Even drug dealing and prostitution are businesses, with the exchange of monetary units for services -- indifferent and unattached.  A medical practice is not a business.  When you're stripped of your dignity (ie, naked with only a lil paper nightie to cover ya), shoved onto a cold metal table and revealed to strangers for the purpose of poking and prodding -- that is damn well personal.

Dr. Felix's office has nothing to do with personal and certainly not emotional attachment.

I've been extremely fortunate to have two wonderful physicians in my short life.  Both with genuine concern for my well being.  Good grief, they even hugged me!  These are two doctors whom, if saw me on the other side of the street, they would cross it in order to say hello -- as opposed to, "Oh God, it's one of my patients," and run in the opposite direction.

Am I just completely spoiled and expecting too much?  

The thing is, if I had to do it all over again I would still choose Dr. Felix as my surgeon.  Why?  Because I believe he may have been the only one to do my surgery laproscopically.  And despite it all, I still like him.  But I'm very disappointed and if no one from that office bothers to call around my 3 month anniversary, I'm changing surgeons.

God I'm tired of this. While I'm thrilled about losing 35 pounds I could certainly do without the constant hurling. Just recently I commissioned a second puking cup for the computer room.  At the moment I'm doing a bang up job being in complete denial over it being a fourth stricture. I think I'll just go back to bed.

I grew weary of the boycott against bread.  After  all, what has bread ever done to me but make me happy and hold my sandwiches together.  I had bought this low carb bread online, basically for my Dad to try since he's on Atkins.  So I decided to have a cheeseburger (boca burger), and I was able to eat about half. But...  The bread did expand in my lil pouch and I thought I was gonna have to throw up, fortunately it went down but I don't think I'll be having bread again for awhile.

I know I know!  I swore I'd never get anywhere near a pork rind.  But you must understand that the only pork rinds I was familiar with were those nasty store bought kind Grandpa always came home with.  So a couple weeks ago I was searchin the web.  How come pork rinds only come in hot, cheese or barbeque?  I want all the potato chip type flavors.  So I typed in sour cream and onion pork rinds to see what it came up with.  I happened on a lil Mom and Pop site that claimed they made farm fresh pork rinds.  But the best thing?  They had like 17 flavors!  And God Bless 'em, they'd letcha sample 'em all for only $18.  They arrived today and I whipped out some cheddar and sour cream, and was pleasantly surprised.  They weren't greasy and didn't have that funky pork rindy taste.  Still I wasn't sure -- perhaps I was lil too desperate to find something satisfying and couldn't trust my own taste buds.  The real test was shoving 'em down Mother's gullet. Even she was pleasantly surprised AND asked for another.  It's official, they're damn good.  Unfortunately I got a lil over excited about the cinnamon and splenda kind -- I ralphed 'em up later.

I must admit I'm a lil paranoid over strictures, any lil twinge I find myself worrying it's a sign.  But the doctor was very confident and I'm sure I'm fine.

Since I'm two months post-op, I thought I'd list some typical things I eat throughout the day.

Filling from one chicken gordita
1/4 cup of crushed tomatoes (a lil garlic powder, a lil cayenne and splenda) 9 or 10 slices of turkey pepperoni and a slice of cheese on top. Then slap it in the microwave
1/4 cup of Nutlettes with 1 tablespoon of peanut butter
Atkins Crunchers
Scrambled eggs, a bit of a fritatta
Tofu dog with cheese wrapped in a lettuce leaf
Chili! About 1/4 to 1/2 cup
1 1/2 to 2 oz of turkey breast, chicken or lean pork
1/3 cup of Atkins cereal with 1/3 cup of Soy milk

Wow, that was unpleasant.

I had no problems with panic attacks on the way over to Fresno -- had a very nice drive, listened to some cd's and was very relaxed.  By now I'm an ol' pro at gettin scoped, so no worries.  I even helped the nurse put my IV in.  I thought watching the needle go in would totally wig me out, but it was actually purty cool.

I get into the lil procedure room and Dr. Chang says, "Well hello again."  He tells me that this time he's gonna open it up a bit more -- he mentioned 12 so I assume that meant twelve millimeters.  He said that when I was under a lot of anesthesia, I fought the scope, so they were gonna give me less.  Oh God was it ever less.  I was wide awake and alert when he started puttin that thing down my throat.  I coughed and spewed and gagged through the whole thing.

Now here I am with a lil plastic doo-hickey to keep my mouth open, a tube shoved down my throat and the nurse is tellin me, "Breath through your nose honey."  Pffft!  I was too lucid to think logically.  I felt everything and I mean everything.  When he started to dilate the stoma, that really hurt and he asked how I was doing and I just shook my head.  So he gave me a couple shots of Demerol, and that relaxed me quite a bit and kept the gagging to a minimum.  But I was never so glad when they pulled that thing out. Anyways when he came in to talk to Mom and me the first thing I said was, "Next time I wanna be knocked out."  He smiled and patted my leg and said, "There won't be a next time."  Oh good.

Since I had fought the scope so hard, my throat really hurt all day.  I ended up going home and sleeping for about 18 hours.  I'm still tired now, but at least I can eat again. *thumbsup*

They did weigh me at the hospital and I had lost a couple more pounds, but I really need to start exercising again.

It was going smashingly well earlier.  I'd wake up in the morning and find myself saying, "Hey! I'm smaller than yesterday." And happily, not a scale in sight to prove otherwise.  I even went to Taco Bell and got a chicken gordita, tossed the bread away of course, doused the filling with hot sauce and it was damn fine.  But last Thursday I began to notice the signs and by the weekend it was back to good ol' liquefied food.  I'm really kind of annoyed, besides the obvious reasons, because I was planning to test out new recipes like a Smoked Salmon Fritatta and a possible savory cheesecake.

I called Dr. Felix's office first thing this morning and the gal told me she'd fax that over to Dr. Chang's office.  However two hours later she calls me back questioning me about my symptoms: How long have you felt this way? Are you throwing up? Did you make yourself throw up?  What the hell was that all about?  Lady, this is my third stricture, I should be giving you lessons on the symptoms.  To be quite honest I haven't thrown up because I've learned how to detect this problem, but I dare not tell them that for her next sentence would have been, "Well it doesn't sound like you're having a stricture."  It's clearly the old doctor's rule: How dare you diagnose what's wrong with you.

But aside from my strictures every two weeks, I'm feeling purty damn good.  My knees don't pop like they used to and my lower back is no longer killing me, and saints be praised, I can get in and out of the bathtub again.  We have one of those deep soaking tubs and you can imagine my grief over the loss of bath time privileges.

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.

Well, come Friday morning I'm buggerin off for Fresno -- long pre-op appointment and testing at the hospital.  I ordered a few hospital gowns from http://www.amplestuff.com I also ordered their portable bidet and strongly recommend it for the hospital stay.  For those of you caught up in this brilliant "wooden spoon" idea, that's fine if you want splinters up your ass (and I really do hope this spoon isn't returning to the kitchen), but I would just like to point out that you have other options.

Taking Harry Potter with me to the hospital to keep me company, and my Nintendo 64 (which I bought especially for this purpose/ plus they're cheap as hell) to keep me occupied in the hotel -- seeing as how I don't get to go home till the 16th.

About a week ago for the first time I found myself becoming a lil frightened.  And wouldn't you know it, just then Serendipity showed up in the form of a dear friend of mine.  She said that I'd been on her mind and decided to give me a ring.  She said that I was a beautiful person and to remember that she loved me even when I was fat.  She also reminded me that this surgery will change some plumbing inside, but at any weight, I'll still be me.  What a damn fine woman!

This got me to thinking because I wasn't worried about the surgery so much as I was about the changes afterwards.  Would I be able to do this?  Then something occurred to me and I asked Mom:

ME: Mom?  I rarely let things beat me, do I?

MOTHER: No.  In fact you're a very bad loser.

I feel better now.

I did so something though that I have to wonder if it wasn't purty moronic on my part.  What can I say?  Coldwater Creek was having a sale.  I'm weak I tell you!  Weak!  Well there was this black silk sun dress that was originally $160 marked down to $25.  But that's not the stupid part, the stupid part is that it's a size 8.  Insane?  Maybe, but hell, ya never know.

Woohoo!  I got a date!  9/8/03  

And actually she originally asked about the 28th of this month, but that's the day Dad gets back from Africa.  I'm happy -- I'm not sure if I would've been mentally prepared in just two weeks.

Amazingly enough I think I've actually lost a lil weight.  Pffft! Couldn't tell ya how that happened.

I've been trying to cut my food intake back, which hasn't been too bad. However I then had this great idea to try and start eatin like ya do after surgery.  Makes sense right?  Pffft!  Well I suck at it.  I do great up until the evening hours then Mother calls before she leaves for work.  

MOTHER: So how the hell are?

ME: I'm starving!

And this is how I've ended up with Wendys, Margie's and Foster's for the past few nights.  But now I'm gonna be really strong!  Yeah here I go, bein strong and stuff.

I did come up with a trick to make a chocolate protein shake palatable -- I toss in some crushed ice and a tablespoon of peanut butter, and it's just bitchin.  Also we get these things from Safeway called Edge.  15 grams of protein and only 2 or 3 carbs and it kinda taste like a melted fudgsicle.

Of course the most important news of the week is that a Blue Cross Care Manager called to say that my surgery has been approved.  Also the most out of pocket I'll have to pay is $2500 *thumbsup* But, I don't have a date yet.

YARG!

I called the Dr's office and she said to just to hold tight, if they have everything they need the gal would be callin soon.  Well right after, I saw my name on an unopened envelope -- it was from the Dr's office saying they did not have my EKG.  So I got that faxed over and still no call.

YARG!

I decided I needed to try and build up stamina now instead of waiting till after surgery.  So I've been able to ride 2 miles on my exercise bike for the past couple days.

There was a time when I could ride 20 miles in one setting, and this is when I weighed 330.

5 1/2 years ago I lost 150 lbs (over a two year period) and ended up at 200.  That was a bitchin time -- I was so hot.  I still have all my clothes from that time.  In fact, I have an entire wardrobe from size 6X to a 14.

I've noticed a lot of folks whose weight ranges between 220 and 240 are also pursuing surgery, AND they're taller than me.  If I weighed only that much I wouldn't need this damn surgery!

I'll get to my appointment in a minute, first I'd like to say something.

I just got back from combing the forums at NAFAA (the national association for fat acceptance).

Years ago, around the time I was 17, my Mother and I were introduced to this organization, and boy were we excited.  Finally someone on our side!  We joined up right away, got our lil papers and then...  

Nothing

We would get newsletters stating exactly what was wrong with society and how they should accept us unconditionally.  Mind you I agreed with them to a point.  I was tired of being called names and not being able to fit in a booth at a restaurant.  And yet it bothered me when my Aunt would proclaim loudly in a restaurant, "We need a fat friendly booth."  I also found it hard to accept the blatant exhibitionism. Three to four hundred pound women galavanting around in lingerie or skimpies and demanding to be praised for it.

We saw no need to renew our membership.

Do I want to lose weight for society?  Maybe.  I think we all do a little.  We all have a dream running about downtown in a cute little outfit, shopping and stopping at a lil cafe with itty bitty chairs for a spot of lunch.  Or an even simpler wish of having an outing without enduring snide comments.

There was a gal on a Discovery Health Channel special who had gastric bypass surgery, and she had the best quote.  "Why do people tell me I'm fat?  Do they think I don't know?"

And so back to our original subject NAFAA.  I found a forum on WLS and it was just as I expected -- shrill cries of foul play and spouting outlandish percentages with no real statistical proof to back these accusations up.  Remarks like "cosmetic surgery and easy way out" just to name a few.

Two years ago I reguarded gastric bypass as nothing more than a heinous punishment for the morbidly obese created by the medical society.  However the opinions and stories I knew were from its infant stages, and I hadn't bothered to investigate on my own.

It was a dear friend of mine and my own therapist who turned me onto the idea.  And so I began my research.

Research
Research
Research

I can't express to you how important this is.

I researched and pondered for a year, and now here I am with squealin tires and ready to burn some rubber.

Am I aware of the risks?  Yes, but there are risks present in everything we do and if we always led our life with caution, wouldn't it be a crushing bore?

And now onto the appointment!  

First thing we did was got lost in Fresno and drove around yelling for fourty minutes -- we learned the hard way that it's best to take Northern route and exit off of 41.  However once we arrived I overheard the nurse giving directions on the phone, and I didn't feel so bad then.

First thing they did was weigh me, and dear God in heaven was that ever upsetting.  427, I just don't have anything more to add to that.  Then a fellow of Dr. Felix, Dr. Wong came into to see me.  He asked me some questions and poked at my belly, looking for old gallbladder scars.  Asked if I had any questions for him and I asked about hernias and if there was any prevention.  He said that with The Lap hernias rarely happen.  So I was down with this. Oh whether they do proximal or distal, and he said proximal.  *thumbsup*

Then Dr. Felix came into see me.  What a darling man!  He was outgoing and playful -- reminded me a great deal of our wonderful doctor back in Topeka, Dr. Toth.  

Went to the seminar, which was very informative.  Dr. Felix doesn't do any pussy footin around, he tells it like it is but with humor and good grace, and I respect him for it.  He also clearly gets a lot of enjoyment from his job -- he loves this!  

The Q&A afterwards, I asked if there was more chance of suffering greater vitamin and protein deficiancy with the 150cm bypass as opposed to the 100cm.  They were clearly impressed by my question. (Yeah, you know I'm the coolest) Dr. Swartz answered and said that studies have proven you won't lose more vitamins and protein by bypassing an extra 50cm, however people with BMI's over 50 have more success losing weight with the extra bypass.

So yeah, we were really impressed.  So much so that Mother has decided to go to Dr. Felix instead of the clinic in LA.

Did I mention they have the smallest mortality rate in the country. That night there was actually someone who had flown in from Guam to here the seminar, if that's any indication of how good he is.

Dern, I'm 26 now.  However I do have insurance and an appointment with Dr. Edward Felix in Fresno on the 15th.  *thumbsup*

Although I received my insurance on the first of May I was suddenly reluctant to follow with the procedures. 

I had the misfortune of watching a documentary on the Discovery Health Channel titled, Christie's Story.  From the beginning it looked like yer typical weightloss story: 25 yr old, single Mother at 500 pounds.  But as the story delved deeper we find Christie a year after surgery, thinner yes but nowhere near any smarter.  With food out of the running as a constant companion, she turns to drugs and alcohol -- thus keeping up with her self-conscious self-destruction.

I found this greatly disturbing and worried I too may search for another self-destructive obsession once food is no longer an option.  But I talked with my psychologist and she was sure there were quite a bit of differences between Christie and I.

Woohoo!

And now the really important stuff:  What I want to eat before the surgery!

Creme Brulee -- already had
Turkey burgers -- already had
Peanut Chicken
Eclairs from Angelina's Bakery
Clam Chowder from the Fish Hopper
Guacomole and Cheese dip -- already had
An endless supply of Drumsticks -- already had
Magnums of Martini and Rossi Asti
Long Island Ice Teas by the gallon -- already had
Chicken Fried Steak from Margies
Squid and Chips from Phil's
Homemade Grilled chicken and artichoke pizza

That'll do for now

 
Things I want to do when I'm smaller:

 Go to Six Flags and be able to fit through the turn styles and all the rides
Go on a hike and not get exhausted
Go test drive an itty bitty car with bucket seats
Go into Victoria Secret's without the "Fat Girl" alarm goin off
Buy something from Victoria Secret's
Buy entire wardrobe from Coldwater Creek
Go to lil hotel in Carmel for afternoon tea
Tour the Hearst Castle
Wear a bathing suit without crying or upsetting others
Wear a bathing suit in Vegas!
Take a helicopter ride
Sit in an airplane without rubbing thighs with my neighbor and not needing a seat belt extender
Wear six inch heels!
Go to New York and go shopping
Wear shorts inna public area
Bungee jumping, but Mom won't let me
Learn to scuba dive
Go on a cruise!
Learn every dance ever invented
Learn how to ski

I think that about covers it for now.