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

They shot me up three times.

NURSE: Ya feeling anything yet?

ME: Well yeah a lil.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But.

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

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

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

Noone gave a shit about me, but that's alright, I don't give a shit about them either.  So it all works out in the end.