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obese people have suffered through this most of their lives and especially during childhood, meaning quite a few were withdrawn and never experienced much of the adolescent sexual awakening (with someone other than themselves), rebellion or just the social aspect of conversing with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.