A Tale from a Middle Aged Fluffy Chick

Now that I have had some time to digest(forgive the pun)all that has happened, here is a little tidbit of my life.

Okay, so I have to explain myself. When I was at my heaviest weight I would say “ I’m not fat I am fluffy!” A nice sentiment for sure, but the truth is, I am FAT. Dr.’s would classify me as Morbidly Obese. That brings me to why I am writing this…after much longing, fear , yo yo diets, and spending money on many worthless gimmick diet out there, I have taken the plunge. I have taken my fear and turned it into a tool. A tool that I carry around with my everyday. It cost more than a screwdriver or wrench, but works all the same. A means to an end…I had RNY or Gastric Bypass Surgery. On October 20, 2009 at approximately 8:30 am I put my body in the hands of a wonderfully talented and brilliant surgeon, Dr. Emma Patterson.

The first day of the rest of my life

That morning my dear husband, Gary, and I drove into Portland’s Good Samaritan Hospital. I signed in, put the gown on, spoke with Dr Patterson, and filled out all the papers and whatnots. My blood pressure was normal, I weighed in, 266lbs. Just 2 weeks earlier I had been 274lbs. That pre op liquid diet will sheer off the pounds. More on that later.
I was all set, prepped and prayed over by my sweet hubby and our pastor, Curt. He read Psalm 91 and it calmed me. I knew I was doing the right thing for me, for our kids and for the health of our family. I was just scared to give up control to a Dr who was administering drugs to make me sleep while another was cutting into my body and rearranging my guts. So here they come to take me to the OR. Up until that point I didn’t shed a tear. All of a sudden like a breached levy, my heart raced and the tears I was working so hard to hold back ran down my face. I told Gary I would see him in a few hours, told him to kiss the boys for me and please, please, take care of them. Down the long hall we went. The doors parted and into this beautiful OR. Lights dim, and nurses and other OR staff were all around. I heard a voice from on high, actually just behind me saying “this will be great, no worries, you’re doing great.” The sweetest nurse with her hand in mine reassured me. No anxiety, no worries, then the Dr behind me once again says, “ Are you nervous?”, I replied “ A little”, he promptly asked me if I was ready for my relaxing juice? “Oh yeah…” That didn’t take long, oh that felt so wonderful. Just for a few moments it felt like the best back massage and warm bath all in one. Bliss… pure bliss. No worries. Then a mask from above, smelled like oranges, sort of, and next thing I know, some crazy person is trying to put my CPAP mask on my face. Badly I might add. I don’t think I was awake, I think I was dreaming, but then again, maybe not.
Next thing I remember, I was delirious in my room with my sweet friend Ann trying to talk to me. Giving me something, I later saw the flowers, balloon and cards, but all I could muster was my hand on her face, her blurry angelic face and say “thank you”. Morphine is a powerful friend after surgery. In and out I went all day. The lines really did blur between reality and a wakeful sleep. I remember seeing people come in, pass, chat, and leave again. I just remember thinking in my mind, I made it. Did it happen? Am I really here? Again, Morphine is a powerful drug. It provides rest from pain, but it also offers what I can only call, “fuzzy reality”. Everyone said I kept pushing my pump. It was set to every 10 minutes or so. I remember pushing it a lot. It helped.
A little confession…I spend so much time taking care of others, our boys, preparing meals, brushing teeth, making beds, it felt good to rest. The meds helped me rest. I was so tired.
That evening I was able to really open my eyes. Gary had left, my mom and dad had come and gone, and I was finally able to focus, move in my bed, and WOW, my left side felt like a big ol’ knife when all the way though. That external oblique muscle really smarted. My sweet nurse Sophia came in and encouraged me to get up, stand up, see if my feet and legs were ready to move. Here is where I knew I had control. I knew that if I got up, walked a little and went back to sleep that I am ahead of the game. So, my over achieving pain hating self kicked it into high gear. I stood up. I put my slippers on, my robe, and I walked out the door, IV pole, Morphine button and all. I made it all the way to the end of the hall and back. I was exausted! That took every bit of energy I had just to walk 50 yards, maybe. I gingerly sad down, hit the pump button, and laid back with an ice pack on my left side. I was out in seconds. I got up 2 more times that night. I think it was night. Time means nothing on Morphine. At any rate, I walked a bit more and I felt like I had climbed Everest.
I still felt groggy for my remaining day at the hospital. In and out, walking around. The highlight of my stay was my first HOT shower. Gary had to help me, I sat on a shower seat and let the water run all over me. I felt like I sat there for an hour. I had no IV, no nothing, just me, the warm water and I felt like a new person. I think I felt after all I had been though that I should have been skinny now. Alas, that water did not wash it all away. My super glued incisions remained and all I had to show for the pain was a big pain in the gut! The price we WLS patients pay. The next few hours seemed to sweep by…I was in and out of sleep. At one time I even fell asleep sitting up. That night, Sophia came in once again, I just loved her! She was the perfect nurse. The right blend of motivation and empathy. I was in horrible pain that night. I couldn’t get comfy, no rest from the pain on my left side. She rescued me. She advocated for me to have some anti inflammatory and told me I had to get up and move, but, she gave me my morphine pump back. Just for a while I had the relief I needed to get some real rest. She was an angel. Just because she did that it made me want to move more. I got up and walked many times in the night. That was my last set back.
The next morning about 10am Dr Patterson came in, looked at my incision and said, I was ready to go home. “What? Are you sure I can do this?” She assured me I would be fine. I felt rushed, but Gary took me home. The ride home was horrible, nauseating, bumpy. Not good when you have 6 belly incisions, but we made it home. The fresh air felt good. It was like a head clearer. I made it! I really made it! Now the hard work begins! Oh my word, what have I gotten myself into?