(Don't say I didn't warn you.)

And A Surgery Blog You Shall Have

Last week, while I was handling and hinging and sniffling and snotting and punching my garbage bag into submission, and tearing the skin off my face and feeling abandoned and then feeling guilty for feeling abandoned, I passed something of a milestone.

Tuesday, April 5, 2005, was the one-year anniversary of my surgery.

I celebrated by, well, actually, I didn't celebrate it at all. I celebrated the day before by dropping almost $200 on some summer clothes. But now that I'm more back to my old self, I'm kind of sorry I didn't celebrate. With a drink, or a movie, or, well, even a blog.

The day before said anniversary was the day of my one year medical checkup. That's the day I got to meet my new surgeon. Well, wait. I don't guess he's my new surgeon, since my surgery's over. He replaced my old surgeon, who retired in October. He's my new doctor. Specialist. Whatever.

New Dr was OK. He was friendly and personable, and not mean or rude to me. He was just no Dr Davies. I can say with reckless abandon that Dr Davies was my White Knight. I love him in a way you can only love a man who's held your intestines in his hands.

I knew from the start the New Guy was not Dr Davies because I had to wait. See, Dr D was an ex-military man. When you had an appointment at 10:00, he was there in your face at 10:00. My appointment Monday was for 1:15. The woman who came in behind me had an appointment for 1:30. It was about 1:45 before I got to see New Guy, after waiting on a tissue paper-covered table by myself without even a picture of "The Doctor," starring John Cusack and US Grant, to keep me company.

And like I said, he was nice. He was talkative and cheery, and seemed to be happy with my progress. To a point. It was something like a TheCompanyIWorkFor meeting. See, any compliment that comes from the corporate weasels at TheCompanyIWorkFor is followed by a "but." There were several years of work where we in the office thought our names actually were But; "You're doing a good job here, but...."

And so I got my but.

He liked my weight loss, and to be honest, I did too, because for the first time the office scales did me better than my scales at home. He liked my blood pressure. He didn't, however, like the fact that my exercise has reduced to approximately zero. (I say "approximately zero" because they don't allow negative hours of exercise.) As I mentioned in my surgery blog, my only sin there was the sin of honesty. I would have loved to have said I was up to 3 miles a day, but I have this habit of being exceedingly honest when I don't necessarily want to be. And so I got the big lecture. In a friendly way, of course.

Then New Dr told me his personal theory about this surgery. Which was this. It's his theory, and it's his, Dr New Guy brackets. Ahem. Ahem. This is his theory: that we should forget the accepted notion that after a year or so, the rapid weight loss ends and the slow steady weight loss begins. He told me there's no reason I shouldn't lose just as much weight in the coming year as I did in the past year. He also said the accepted notion that surgery can be considered a success if a patient loses 70% of his/her excess body weight is bullshit. (Well, he didn't say bullshit, but I got the general idea.) He said, his words, not mine, that if a patient doesn't end up at his/her ideal body weight, the surgery can be considered "a failure."

Hey, that's encouraging!

Well, actually it is encouraging - if you get to pick your ideal weight. Unfortunately, that's not the case.

So I asked New Dr exactly what he meant by "ideal weight." And he started doing some figuring. He wrote down how much I'd lost, and what my "ideal" weight was, and how much I should still have to go.

My ideal weight? 110 pounds.

My ass! I weighed 110 when I was in the fourth grade! (Sorry, I guess that was too much information.)

Sooooo...not only am I supposed to lose yet another person (I've already lost one), but do it in the next year. And if I don't my surgery will be considered a failure. Wonder if that means I can get my money back?

Anyway, he ordered me to keep a 7-day food diary and when it's through to go have another consult with the dietician, who's really nice and I like her a lot. I'm only on the second day of my diary, and I can already tell exactly what she's going to say about it. (Hey, the expert mindreader has no "off" switch.) 1) I'm not getting in enough water. Plain and simple. I already know that. 2) I'm getting too much of my protein from "fake" sources, ie protein bars and drinks, instead of food. Don't know why, I just think she'll say something about that. 3) I have no variety whatsoever in my diet. Instead of having a meat and vegetable and salad, I just have one thing. One cup of soup. One scoop of tuna salad. One crabcake. That's a meal. I'm woefully short on vegetables. I'm big on "monomeals."

I also, the day I meet with the nutritionist, have to have a shitload of labwork done. But that's a good thing, I guess, seeing as how I really haven't had any done since my surgery. I'll be interested to see what all of my levels are at this point. Even if I know that it's going to be expensive, and let's all remember that I do have the Never Pay insurance policy.

So that was the clinical side of my one year. How about the "me" side?

At my doctor's appointment, my total of weight loss for the year was 124 pounds. I've gone from taking four different prescribed medications daily to taking none. (Which is not to say I'm not always popping pills. I take calcium, and vitamins by the handfulls. ) I've gone from having constant knee and foot pain, and occasional back pain, to having none. I've gone from having no energy whatsoever to enjoying getting out, walking, doing things, shopping, et cetera. I like buying new clothes and jewelry. And shoes. I like not feeling every second like I'm going to die. No, let me correct that. I love those things.

And yet, I feel like I'd be dishonest if I didn't say this - it's not all hats and horns. I get sick sometimes. Not often, I've been really lucky in that respect, but enough. I don't like going out with people and having to go puke in the restroom. I don't like pulling over and puking out the door of my car. I don't always like having to think about what I eat. It's odd, because I'm really pretty adaptable about it all, I can find something to eat in almost any restuarant you'd take me to. But rather than just put my brain on autopilot and head to the nearest fast food joint at lunch, I have to make myself think about who has what that I can safely eat. And at the end of the thinking I just generally go home. And yes, there are foods that I miss. But so far, I haven't missed any enough to try them again and risk being sick.

And most important? Something I knew going into it all. I was told, but I still already knew. Having surgery and losing a bunch of weight will not, and did not, solve my problems. It hasn't made anyone love me, or even like me. I'm still a slob. I still have an exceedingly low opinion of myself. I don't write better, or play the clarinet better, or do anything better because of a weight loss.

Maybe all that sinking in has caused my most recent depressive phase. Or maybe it's the little irksome things, like having occasional heartburn, and hot flashes, and acne. Maybe it's that for 10 1/2 months I was feeling so good that now when little things happen, they hit me harder. Pre-surgery it would have all been par for the course; now, when something happens it's like, "Hey. I'm healthy. I'm not supposed to be this way."

Maybe. Maybe it's something else altogether. I'm not sure I know at this point.

And maybe I'm not supposed to know at this point. All I know is that it's a year out, and I feel good. I even feel better about myself. I even feel I've accomplished something.

Happy birthday to me. Even if it is belated by a week.

Betland's Olympic Update:
* Commercial alert: Why is it that on television, whenever someone gets something dumped on them, they don't flinch. I noticed today in that awful DishTV commercial that ends with the wife dumping a bowl of popcorn on her husband's head. Then I got to thinking about it. On TV, no matter what's dumped onto a person, they just sit there and let it drip.
* We have Acrowinners! A small turnout, but nine great acros, any one of which would make a fitting royal winner. Results:
Honorable Mention: LilyG, with "Prince took his beloved. Very ho-hum." (very true)
Runner-Up: DeepFatFriar, with "Princely twit, horney bitch vow haphazardly." (also very true)
Winner: Mike, with "Pity the hired band: Van Halen." (not true, but priceless)