I'm Coming Out

Hello. Yes, I'm coming out today. No, not that kind of coming out. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

It's this kind of coming out. Today, I am coming to you from "the other side." No, I'm not dead, not yet, anyway. "The other side" is a WLS term.

WLS means "weight loss surgery," and being on "the other side" means you've completed your surgery successfully. Yep, that's right. That's where I've been the past couple of weeks. While Betland was getting a refurbishing, I was too. On April 5th, I had gastric bypass surgery.

So, where to start. How about with, "Well, you crum, why didn't you tell us this?" I don't know, actually. A few reasons I guess. First of all, somewhere in my mind I never knew that it would come off. I mean, I had visions of myself jumping off the table while the surgeon was standing there brandishing his knives. I also, well, hell, I don't know. It was just something I didn't want to be spouting off to the world. So I kept it on the down-low, as we say, save for family and a couple of friends.

How about, "Well, you crum, is this just something you decided to do as a whim? Because you have no willpower, or wanted a few weeks off from work?" OK, I'll admit up front that the weeks off from work I'm getting because of this are a real plus (even though I'm starting to get a little bored already). But for the rest of it, let's be honest here. I'm a big gal. I always have been. I've lost hundreds of pounds in my life (this is true), and gained back hundreds more. And it finally got to a point where there was no losing anymore. And it was starting to bother me, bother me more than just the lack of self-confidence in hating your looks. I mean, you've all heard me complain about my knees, my feet, my back. My body was showing the strain of being large. And I knew it was time to take the step, however drastic it may be.

And no, it was not on a whim at all. I've actually been thinking about this surgery on and off for over 2 years. And the day I had my surgery, April 5th, was lacking 3 days of being a complete year that I'd been working seriously on having it. You know, researching the types of surgeries, researching doctors, talking to doctors, talking to people who've had the surgery. It was a very long process. I chose a Dr in Roanoke who had an excellent reputation, and was on a months-long waiting list for an appointment. But I'm glad I stuck with him. My first impression of him was not actually a very friendly one; "no-nonsense" is how I described him. But he's turned out to be a very caring and kind man. I like my surgeon.

OK. Now how about, "Well, you crum, what was the whole thing like?" Scary, mostly. Scary and painful. I got to the hospital Monday morning and waited with my family until they took me to pre-op. On the trip down there, being wheeled on the bed, every turn took me to a colder part of the floor, till I finally asked if we were gonna end up outside at some point. Once I was in pre-op I met my anesthesiologist, who was nice, and his assistant, who was not only Australian, but very charming as well, and they told me that soon they'd be putting some "goofy juice" into my IV. During their questioning I felt a distinct tug upon my toe, and looked up to see it was my surgeon. He's a toe-puller.

Before I knew it, the goofy juice did indeed take effect, and I really don't remember a whole lot after that. I remember a very brief moment of seeing the operating room, and it had those big lights above the table just like they do on TV, and I thought, "Ooh. How clean." The next thing I remember were some people hovering over me in what I thought was the room I'd originally started out in that morning, but it turned out to be post-op, which is for some reason now called "the step down unit."

This is where things got interesting, not necessarily for me, but apparently I was, um, "working through the pain" a little harder than I thought I was, because at one point a nurse came over to me and told me that I had to be quiet, that there were other people there trying to recover as well. Well, how dare them! The selfish-asses.

From there it was to a room, where I woke up in earnest, loving family beside me, and I got to consume some ice chips, and I had these wild things attached to my feet that were like massagers and squeezed and pulled. (They were to help prevent blood clots till I could move.) Now it's at this point that I know you're thinking, "Well, you crum, did you at least get some good drugs for your trouble?" and I can answer that in two ways. Here I was lucky enough to be given an actual morphine pump, and I'll be damned if the stuff didn't do anything more than make me nauseous. Therefore, the first three nights were pretty much tough and sleepless (and as Mr M said, isn't it just like a hospital to put a gigantic wall clock right across from you with a second hand on it no less), until they finally started giving me liquid Oxycodone. Now, I hate Courtney Love's guts, but I can understand why the woman has a thing for Oxycodone. It's the bee's knee's, man. I didn't realize what I was supposed to feel like till I started taking it!

So anyway, I was almost released on Thursday but when Dr Surgeon realized we had a two-hour drive back home, he said I should stay one more day to be safe. And so it was Friday when I got to go back home, literally got to go home again, because as we speak I'm staying with my folks. And yes, I miss the Poderosa. I miss it terribly, and today, on my first foray outside since the surgery, I got to take a day trip back there. It was heaven. Before you ask, "Well, you crum, how are you hooking up to the internet from your luddite parents' house?" I'll give thanks and props to Mr M for that. He's lent me his laptop, and even hooked me up with a nice dial-up setup that's allowed me the opportunity to open Betland at least a week before scheduled.

And you may be thinking, "Well, you crum, how are you now?" Very well, thanks. I'm still sore, at my incision, but I went back for an appointment on Tuesday, had my staples (all 31 of them) removed (that hurt), and floored a woman in the waiting room when she found out I was only a week and day out of surgery. She said she wasn't walking so well after 3 months. I've been promoted to pureed foods, and things like mashed potatoes. And if that sounds bland to you, I had some pureed Wendy's Chili (it's popular with the wls crowd), and it was the best thing I ever ate. And it's walk. Walk, walk, around the house, around the couch, around the tables. It's boring, but for now it's all I have. And drink. Drink, drink, drink. I'm currently enjoying a lot of Pink Lemonade Crystal Light.

And most importantly. Just in case any of you out there are thinking, "Well, you crum, does this now mean that Betland will become Surgeryland?" Absolutely not. I am not going to make this experience the writing point of my blog. In fact, I created a blog some time ago devoted to that subject and that subject only, so I don't need to regale all of yall with the boring details of what I ate and if I feel too bloated to weigh. If there's a peripheral subject that comes up (there's one in particular I'll probably blog about tomorrow), I might go with it. But this is not, I repeat not, going to turn into the Diary of a Patient. If you think it's starting to, call me on it. I beg of you.

And so. There you have it. "Well, you crum, this was a pretty long blog, wasn't it?" Yep, it was. Let's go ahead and end it.