11/19/04: Day of Surgery

It’s the morning of surgery.  I still don’t believe it’s actually going to happen.  So many false starts.  I’ll just put one foot in front of the other and keep going like I really am having my DS today.

I fell asleep about 11:30 last night and slept soundly until I had to go to the bathroom at about 3:30am.  Then it wasn’t so easy to stay asleep.  DH (Ken) and I snuggle and drift in and out of sleep until the alarm goes off at 5:45am.

I get up, brush my teeth and mouthwash furiously, per surgeon’s instructions.  Then I “refresh myself” instead of repeating the shower I took last night and get dressed.

Everything’s cool.  We’re moving along like clockwork.  As I make sure I have everything I need, I look around the apartment, wondering in the back of my head if it’s the last time I will see any of it.

At 6:03am, my sister Angie calls to let me know she’s on the way; she is driving to us and then riding into the city in our car.  Shortly thereafter, my daughter Stacey calls to say she and her fiancé are leaving their apartment and will meet us at the hospital.

By 6:30am, we’re out the door.  It all feels a bit surreal but Angie and I chat about TV shows and generic stuff in the car as Ken heads for the hospital.

We’re supposed to be there at 8:00am but we get into the city so early (7:05am), that Ken decides to drop his stuff off at the apartment in the city where he’ll be staying while I’m in the hospital.

It’s just shy of 7:30am.  Ken drops Angie and I off at the corner near the hospital where Stacey and her fiancé are waiting.  Ken has to go drop the car off at the garage, so Stacey’s fiancé goes along with him for the ride.

Less than 5 minutes after we get up to the same day surgery desk, my name is called.  I say my first goodbyes to Angie and Stacey and go “to the back.”  I take off all my clothes, including shoes, and put them in a plastic bag.  I slip into a bariatric gown and slipper socks and go to a seating area for a quick set of pre-surgical tests.

First, time to weigh me.  Since this is the first time in ages I’m being weighed practically naked (except for the hospital gown), I’m 312.5 pounds … That’s 8.5 lbs less than what I weighed at my surgeon’s office a week ago!  But that was at 5pm, I was wearing full street clothes and boots.  It’s now first thing in the morning, I’m “emptied out,” and the boots are in the bag.

I still don’t believe it’s really going to happen.  Another nurse comes and takes some blood and my blood pressure.  He is slow and methodical but keeps looking at my smiling, anticipating face.  “You’re gonna do fine,” he says.  “You have just the right attitude.  Good luck.”

To my surprise, the first nurse returns and she gives me a shot of Heparin.  That I was not expecting … not pre-surgery.  I didn’t think the Heparin came until I am post-op.

It’s now about 9:30am.  It’s time to let me reunite with my family.  We are in a waiting area with a TV and it’s just the five of us.  I model my hospital ensemble.  We chat and try to keep conversation light.  I spend a little special time with each of my family members and give each of them an extra hug.

Then, as I suspected -- because of course, this isn’t really going to happen anyway, is it? -- we’re told that my surgeon is behind schedule and I probably won’t be in surgery until around noon.  We make the best of our time.  I start rearranging the seats in the room, making sure that everyone’s belongings are confined to a corner and safe.  

I sit in a comfy recliner, find a blanket to keep me warm, and we watch some television, continue chatting.  I sit in between my husband and my daughter, holding their hands.

I start to feel guilty because it’s all taking so long.  I start thinking about the timeline and how so many of my OH friends are going to be unnerved by the delay.  I trust my Snookums (Val Stalker) to make sure everyone stays informed.  My sister and son-in-law-to-be get in a catnap as the delay continues.

The pain management doctor stops by and we go over my medical and surgical history and what would be the best way to go for pain management post-op.  We decide to go with dilaudid.

It’s about 1pm and I’m told it’s time to head back to the operating room area.  It means that I’m about an hour away from surgery.  Yeah, sure.  It didn’t take much convincing to have them let Ken come with me.

But first I have to say my goodbyes to the rest of my family.  My sister has been behind me with this every step of the way and – like me – believes it’s the surest way to get healthy again.  Our goodbyes are sweet and simple.  My son-in-law-to-be is fighting sleep but hugs me tightly and tells me he loves me.  My daughter Stacey starts crying immediately and I do my best to let her know it’s all going to be alright.  Is it?  “Act as if.”

Ken and I start going through the halls into the bank of operating suites.  First we have to go to a “holding area.”  There’s hardly anyone there initially and all is good.  We see at least five different medical personnel: My surgeon (ever so briefly), three nurses (one male) who introduce themselves as part of the team, and the anesthesiologist.  Somehow I am very comfortable with these people; they all seem somehow familiar to me, even though I’ve only met my surgeon previously.  The male nurse reassures Ken that they are a positive bunch and “there’s no negativity allowed.”

It’s just about 1:45pm.  The holding area is now packed … four beds, 3-4 patients waiting in seats … I’m really fortunate because I’m the only one there whose spouse was allowed to accompany me.  Even the surgeon is getting anxious.  I really wanted to say: “How does it feel to wait?” But decide against it.

Then it’s time for Ken & I to part; they’re ready for me in the operating suite.  The rest of this experience I must face on my own.   Ken and I look into each other’s eyes, share a warm and semi-passionate kiss.  I hand him my glasses (they’re not allowed in the operating room), and head for the operating room on foot.  Ken tells the nurse to take good care of me.  

I get into the operating room and the anesthesiologist is there, along with his colleague.  Two of the nurses are sort of in the background – arranging medical instruments, doing their thing.  They tell me to hop up on the table (which looks oddly crucifix-like … a long table with two half-length leaves in a semi-cross shape, one extending from each side).

There’s a loud construction-like noise in the room.  I thought it was part of the room’s logistics until the anesthesiologist told the nurse that no anesthesia goes in until the noise goes out.  She makes a few calls and within minutes, the room is almost silent.

The anesthesiologist chats with me, very lighthearted, kidding around.  Heck, maybe it is going to happen after all.  He warns me that I am about to get a shot in my wrist and it will feel very warm … 

“Melissa!  Melissa!  Time to get up…Are you with us?”

Whoosh! … I’m sucked out of a dark tunnel and hearing voices … I feel a mask on my mouth and it’s uncomfortable.  I need to spit up.  Not vomit.  But spit up.  I start yanking on the mask.  

“What’s the matter…Is the mask bothering you?…Wait a second…”

I spit out whatever is in my mouth.  I thought it was saliva.  Evidently, it was blood.  No one seems to be overly concerned.

I start to open my eyes and see the warm orange glow of the surgical lights above me. 

First thought: “Son of a bitch, I made it.  I’m alive.”

Second thought: “They’re moving me.  My body is numb but there’s a pain and tightness right in the center of my body.   Ouch!!!” (My procedure was an open DS.)

Third thought…and pretty much the only thing I could say for the next 12-24 hours: “Whoa!”

I’m quite out of it as I lay in the recovery room.  Surgeon said it was an even two hours in surgery, no surprises, and I’m “pretty skinny on the inside.”  I have no idea what’s happening to my family as they continue to wait.  I eventually find out that they were not being informed as to what specifically was going on and while they knew I was out of surgery, they were not being allowed access to me.

The pain is astounding to me … all about the stomach … I don’t feel it anywhere else.  But it is much more severe, somehow, than I’d realized was possible.  All’s I can think is “wow” and feel bad that my family has had to endure this agonizing wait.

The perception one usually has of the recovery room is nothing like the reality I experienced.  At Lenox Hill, the recovery room consisted of four banks of six beds each.  There sure were a lot of surgeries going on in the hospital that day!

They plug me in to some oxygen (also unexpected).  And I’m not quite sure why the delay was but I think it was almost 7pm before I got to have visitors.  

By the time I saw Ken and Stacey, they were pretty strung out.  All I could say besides “Wow/whoa!” was “I’m sorry” for having put them through the stress of the experience.  I get my glasses back from Ken and don’t have the chance to say much else because they were spirited away quickly.  

My eyes sort of periodically float in the back of my head and I am so thirsty.  I’m told no liquids, no ice chips.  But one nurse mistakenly gives me ice chips.  I don’t abuse the privilege and don’t swallow but at least my mouth isn’t so awfully dry.

Surgery was over by 4:45pm and it is now after 8pm.  I ask the nurse if I will be assigned a room tonight and she said yes but I won’t be going there until after the shift change.

I’m so out of it … In and out … I’m not much of a napper so I don’t sleep at all and I’m relatively conscious of all that is going on around me.  Don’t have much to say.  I know that the pain I’m feeling is temporary.  I don’t sweat it or complain.  I miss my family and pray they have an idea of everything that’s going on but no assurances of this.  I also know that if they were with me the whole time, I couldn’t say very much to them.

It’s just after 9pm and they’re ready to move me.  What an experience.  Two female nurses/aides.  No one says a word to me but they chat the whole way there.

I get to my room and the nurses set me up with everything (IV, monitors/telemetry, etc), before my family comes into the room.  When the poor zonked out trio (my future son-in-law was “sent home” by my daughter) arrive, all I can do is apologize for having them go through this stress.  Otherwise “wow/whoa” are still #1 on my dialogue list.

Once they see I’m settled in, visiting hours are over, they depart, and I am on my own.  Nurses and aides come in several times throughout the night to give me heparin shots, take my blood pressure, take my temperature, empty the drain “bulbs.”  I have Zofran injected into my IV for nausea and a dilaudid drip (for pain).  

That first night I first met the night nurse Bella.  She was so extraordinary, in every way.  A little bit of a thing, she was completely compassionate, competent, and responsive to my needs.  What an incredible professional!

I have a roommate but am in no condition to be very social.  She is an RNYer who is 3 months out and was hospitalized for an ulcer.  She’s going home tomorrow.  Nice lady; too bad I can’t chat much.

Another unexpected: When I tried to move, my stomach still was so sore/pained that it would go into spasms.  They lasted maybe a minute or so and occurred about 10x the first three days.  In plain English, they sucked!  

11/20/04: Saturday… Day After Surgery

About 7am, Bella herself came in and gave me a sponge bath.  It hurt so much to move but she extended her hand and told me to lean on her arm and she lifted me up to my feet.  She gave me a lovely and thorough sponge bath, made sure the bed was made and fresh, and convinced me to sit up in the recliner for a while.  What a doll!

The interns make their way on rounds and decide to check my incision.  They open the binder and it feels like a dam had burst.  Man it hurt so badly!  I get a look at the drains and the “set-up” … surprised that my staples aren’t flush with the incision but are more like “little bridges” spaced about a ¼” inch apart, all the way down to my belly button.  The interns realize that my binder was on too tight and when they Velcro it together again, the pain is a little lessened.  

But am I bummed to find out I can’t have anything to drink UNTIL MONDAY!!  First I’m told that it’s because they can’t do a leak test until Monday.  I could care less about food but man … Nothing to drink????  That blows.

It’s 10am.  Ken and Stacey come in.  Both had to get special dispensation since visiting hours don’t begin until 11am.  That’s not what I was told by my surgeon’s assistant.  She said 10am.  Well, in any case, they’re here.

But I’m of little use to them.  I hate not being up to entertaining my company but I’m pretty much out of it.  We chat when I’m lucid enough to do so, we watch TV, we get through the day.

My roommate gets to go home and says her goodbyes.  She is so kind and leaves me some magazines.  No other patients take over the spare bed.  It’s like having my own private room.

I want to cough so badly but it hurts 1000x worse to do so.  I don’t think anyone gets over the fear that if they cough, they’ll pop open their incision.  I know there’s phlegm in the back of my throat, I can’t get it up and I can’t get anything to drink.  Stacey even tried patting me on the back to get me to bring something up to no good result. This now becomes quite the nuisance.

A long time ago I learned that when I have the urge to sneeze and it doesn't want to emerge, I look up and focus on the ceiling and/or a light on the ceiling and the sneeze magically happens.  Well a couple of times while laying in my hospital bed I thought I needed/wanted to sneeze and instead of following my now-natural instinct to look up at the light to make it happen, I refocused my attention because if I can't cough without major discomfort, I know I absolutely can't SNEEZE!!! 

The day nurse on duty starts freaking me out.  My blood pressure (which was 126/68 the day of surgery) starts giving wacky readings … 198/98, 172/89 … I start thinking I’m the first one to have the DS and GET high blood pressure.  My surgeon isn’t on call that weekend but the surgeon on call (his partner Marina Kurian) says she wouldn’t worry about it.  She said if the systolic (top number) starts hitting the 200s, she’ll consider taking action.

Well for whatever reason, the nurse remains adamant about doing something.  She gives me a Lopressor paste and smacks that underneath the right side of my collar bone.  About an hour later my BP reads like 172/40.  Son of a bitch, they’re gonna kill me.   Why won’t this broad leave well enough alone?  Even my family is concerned.

Finally the rocket scientist figures out that the wall blood pressure meter is out of whack.  They bring in a manual unit and continue taking my blood pressures with that through the remainder of my stay (although I still need to remind nurses from time to time not to use the wall unit).  From that point on, my BP was OK.

Although I tried to let them off the hook several times because I was hardly the life of the party, visiting hours end and my family is once again on their way.

It seems like everyone that comes near me either reeks of perfume or has extreme body odor.  How weird.

Ahhh… Another night with the wonderful Nurse Bella.  I am lucky to see her again as I thought she was supposed to have the night off.  I tell her about the phlegm in the back of my throat and she brings me a nebulizer treatment.  It does the trick.  I’m her biggest fan.  

Turns out that Ken was worried about me so he called my birthday sis -- OH board member Margie R, who has the same birthdate as me, AND the same doctor – and she lets him know that the day after surgery is most definitely the worst.  It sure made him feel better.

11/21/04: Sunday … 2nd Day Post-op

I had a relatively restful night.  I become less and less dependent on the dilaudid.  As a matter-of-fact, we figured out it was making me nauseas, so the pain management doctor drops by and we decide to go off the dilaudid and try shots of Demerol instead.

Dr Kurian comes by and I casually mention that I was told no liquids because of the pending leak test on Monday.  She says that Dr. Roslin actually does the leak test before he closes the incision.  So then why no liquids?  No straight answer.  I figure it’s all about catering to the new belly.

The interns come by on rounds and start asking me if I’ve passed gas or had a bowel movement.  Uh, no … Based on what?  I haven’t had anything to eat or drink since 10pm Thursday!!  Hey guys, you’re the experts … Nothing in, nothing out!!!

Ken and Stacey come to see me again and feel better because I’m perkier.  I’m less sleepy, more responsive, adjusting my bed.  But the pain/severe soreness in my stomach is no picnic.

We revert to chatting and watching TV.  I ask Ken how and what he’s been eating all this time.  It doesn’t make me hungry to know.  We do, however, steer clear of the Food channel which is included in the TV cable package at the hospital.  Doesn’t make me hungry, just makes me sick!

Then one of the greatest highlights of my whole time in the hospital … Heck, of practically the last few months: I get to meet Margie R!!  We’ve been chatting on the phone for several months now and just haven’t had the opportunity to meet.  I’m so happy.  She brings me balloons and a spritzer for my incision and little cups that are absolutely perfect for a portion of what my meals will be for a while.  I can’t believe she’s actually sitting and chatting with my family and I.  My only regret was not being able to hug her tightly.

Ken, Stacey and I continue our visit but after another couple of hours I convince Stacey to get home to her honey.  Ken and I enjoy some alone time as best we can.

The nurse comes in to tell me that she wants to remove the catheter.  I know it’s time but I’m still expecting my sister and niece to come and I don’t want to have to crawl to the bathroom while they are there.  I ask the nurse to wait a while longer.

But of course my sister is running behind schedule … She never knows she’s stopped running until she’s in bed, poor thing … So the nurse removes the catheter anyway. An added benefit was removing the telemetry and oxygen.  I don't feel quite so "wired" anymore!

My sister and niece arrive and we do some quick catching up and chatting.  My niece makes me laugh and my stomach starts to spasm and she feels guilty.  But by the time she gets “I’m sorry” out of her mouth, it’s stopped.

My sister and niece leave and it’s just Ken and me.  I make my first trip to the bathroom.  Oh boy, this is not a picnic.  I cannot walk without being hunched over.  It freakin’ hurts to walk that 10’ (probably less)!   I go to the bathroom but I can’t bend AND I have my period.  Thank God I brought a gizmo from Dr. Leonard’s Healthcare (online) that they call a lotion applier, or something like that.  It’s so you can put lotion on your back without help.  I use that to help with simple bathroom hygiene.  I feel like sharp dull pain then soreness on my lower left side while I sit on the commode and somehow think it’s related to my duodenum.  It’s a couple of days before I figure it out but I’m not alarmed.  Then I shuffle back to bed.

Some of the dearest OH angels (Val Stalker & Alice W) even called me today.  Although I wasn't in top conversational form, it was wonderful to hear their voices. 

All-in-all, not so bad a day … as long as I don’t get up!  

11/22/04: Monday … 3rd Day after Surgery

No Bella last night.  She is off and I will not see her again while I’m here.  I felt her absence.  Everything was okay but then I’m not really having any problems so I’m pretty easy to care for.  I’ve just about eliminated my pain meds.  

I thought it would be some kind of fancy announcement by my surgeon when he came by that I could finally have liquids.  Nope, the interns on rounds said liquids and “ta-da” … a tray of broth, sf jello and tea appear.  The broth tasted like the finest elixir, the jello tasted like crap, and instead of the tea, I started drinking my Vita-J, which had already been approved by my surgeon’s nutritionist.  I knew my body needed vitamins and while I guess some configuration is included in the IV, I wasn’t responding to it.

So I sip, sip, sip merrily through my day.  When Dr. Roslin shows up, I’m sitting up in the recliner, Ken and Stacey by my side.  I feel overall pretty darn good (all I wanted was something to drink for God’s sake!) … He takes one look at me and says “When do you want to go home?”  We decide on tomorrow (Tuesday), which was what we’d been hoping all along.

Going to the bathroom is still an unpleasant adventure and unfortunately my responses to the “Have you passed gas or had a bowel movement?” question has been a resounding “Nope.”  Now it’s really important because my release depends on it.  Besides, it’s my proof that the plumbing is operating correctly.  Fart, baby, fart!!!

So the pressure is now on me big time to get up and moving a lot.  I have been on my feet.  I have walked around the room.  I have walked as far as the door.  But that’s not good enough for the nurse practitioner.  I have to walk the halls.  

I have heard legendary tales of fellow boarders who have walked so much while in the hospital that the nurses made them go back to their room and settle down.  Why can’t I be such a good girl?  I do what I can.  I’m no baby.  But it freakin’ hurts!!  I feel like an aged lady.  Can’t stand straight.  Hunched over, shuffling through the boring halls.  But each time I do it, I walk a little further.  By the time Ken goes home, I’m on my fourth “run” of the day.

Tonight I ask for a Demerol shot so I can get a good night’s sleep.  I’ll need all my energy to get out the door tomorrow.  But they have a surprise in store for me.  Not one I’m all that delighted about, either.  

About 10pm, I get a roommate.  Poor woman.  She was expecting to have a laproscopic cholecystectomy (gall bladder removal) and it was reverted to a very complicated open surgery.  To add insult to injury, they moved her from one room to another and made her move herself from her gurney to the bed.  She was in pain and getting sick and they wouldn’t give her a catheter, so she had to go back and forth to the bathroom.  One of the problems is the bathroom was about 5’ from the foot of my bed and she kept leaving the bathroom light on.  It was a lousy night for my poor roomie but not exactly a banner one for me either.  I’m glad to be going home in the morning.

11/23/04: Tuesday…4th Day After Surgery…GOING HOME!

At about 4am, I couldn’t sleep because my roommate was either throwing up, in pain, or snoring really loudly.  The poor thing couldn’t figure out the “nurse alarm,” so I would ring for her when she was in distress.  I got up, sat in the recliner, and watched TV.  At about 6am, I got back in bed and faded in and out of sleep.

Sometime around 7:30am, before the dreaded question could be posed, I went to the bathroom and while in there, I let out one perfect medicinal smelling poof of gas … I did it … I’m going home, baby!  How could anyone be so excited by a fart?

All systems were go for me to be released and to really drive it home, I made yet another visit to the bathroom and actually had a bowel movement.  It was medicinal-smelling and loose but baby … it was good enough to get me the heck out of there. Like I said … They gave me something to drink and eventually everything was going to work right!

The same routine: the interns on rounds, nurses taking one last BP, temperature, a final heparin shot, etc.  The nutritionist, the nurse practiioner, then Dr. Roslin made an appearance to tell me I was officially released and that the NP would take out the drains.  

My right drain had already been draining to practically clear liquid, which showed how quickly it was healing.  My left drain was a little more messy and hurt quite a bit when it was pulled, it felt much deeper than the other … And that’s when I figured out that the “duodenal pain/soreness” was really related to the left drain.  It was planted in there pretty solidly and pretty deeply.  I can actually feel the soreness a month later but everyday it’s a little less extreme than the day before.

I was released with prescriptions for Vicodin and Axcid.  I have taken two Vicodin in all as of today (12/14/04) and just stopped the Axcid two days ago.  I’ve been supplementing any discomfort with Tums.

The trip home was uneventful.  I was wheeled down to the car by a great male aide.  I felt a little register on the pain meter when hitting some of the more potholed city streets but I made it up the four porch steps with a little effort, then a full flight of stairs up to my apartment with a little more.  Slow and steady all the way.

That’s when I figured out that it wasn’t that everybody in the hospital had body odor or too much perfume, my sense of smell was really affected by the surgery.  I smelled more smells in my house than I care to divulge.  Cat food smelled so sickening, I could barely go near the kitchen.  Somewhere on some item somewhere in the house, something smelled mildewed.  Thank God I got some flowers at the hospital; they balanced the annoying smells.

I slipped into our easy chair.  Kitty immediately followed.  She jumped onto my lap and -- as she is used to do doing -- approached my belly to cop a squat.  I put my hand out to let her know she could not go any further than my lap.  She sniffed my belly and then settled for resting on my lap, her head against my renovated abdomen.  I was home and very grateful.  

12/14/04: Since Then…

Now I’m almost a month out of surgery.  It’s true when they say every day it gets a little better.  The pain subsided so swiftly that by one week out of surgery I could get myself up from a laying-flat-down position (okay, I got stuck a few times and hubby helped).  Now that’s not to say I’m not sore in some places and moving slowly and deliberately but it’s all manageable.

I’ve had some issues with “gastric juices” … can’t explain it much better than that – especially since I never really had issues with heartburn or reflux or the like before.  It’s funny because I shouldn’t really have any stomach acids going on at all anymore (at least that what the doc says … he said the DS in particular should eliminate such issues).  I took Axcid for about three weeks and started with Tums to help me along.  It’s actually been less drastic since I’ve done this.

Twelve days out of surgery I had my staples removed and my surgeon’s office weighed me and I’d already lost 25 lbs!

They were not kidding when they told me my stomach could only hold about 2 oz.  It is a chore and I must eat painfully, deliberately slowly – especially when eating meats – or I have what I refer to as an “overflow valve” … I don’t really vomit, it’s like I feel uncomfortable and then whatever isn’t going to settle down just comes out.  I mean I get to the bathroom fine and everything but it’s just not going down.  This has happened twice.  

I miss larger portions and like my food anything but bland, which just makes me want to eat more but I simply can’t.  The holidays are not the best time of year to have surgery but once I finally got approval, I wasn’t going to wait any longer than I absolutely had to.  So be it.  But please, all you pre-ops, address your food demons/issues now because they will drive you batty when you’re early post-op.

Within the first week of being home, I realized that I had bruise-like pain (but no external bruising) on both outer thighs (e.g., impossible to lay on my side because of the pain, with or without surgery). After some private consultation with our fabulous Tooter, it appears possible that this is due to post-op nerve damage that will eventually fade. Such pain is very common with post-ops in the upper leg area. It has to do with the hydraulic operating table tilting your body so all organs are accessible during surgery. The pain was not there pre-surgery and it was a weird and very unexpected development.

Even though I was incredibly prepared for this surgery and had done my research, I find surprises about it with regularity.  Everyone I’ve talked to has had gas.  Me?  NONE, zippo, nada.  Diarrhea?  After the first two weeks, fuhgeddaboutit … I have to be careful not to get constipated.  This is an earmark of my surgeon (wonder why I fought so hard to make sure he was my surgeon?).

Everything has full flavor; I expected things to taste differently after surgery but they don’t.  In fact, I tried Carb Countdown yogurts pre-surgery and thought they were terribly chalky but now I love ‘em.  

Practically nothing other than water reaches my lips unless it has nutritional value.  It must have protein and/or vitamins or no way.  I have always been anal retentive about applying myself to my weight loss food plan.  After all, before my autoimmune disease, I was the queen at losing … It’s always been about KEEPING the weight off … And now that I’ve had my DS, I have confidence that will no longer be an issue.

Am I happy I had my DS?  Let’s just say I’m not unhappy.  Seeing and feeling weight loss definitely is a huge positive.  Healthwise I’m about 2/3rds of where I was pre-surgery but remember, I am disabled with big stamina and energy problems.  I’m struggling most with getting in enough liquids and I know once I get that in hand, I’ll be alleviating a lot of those problems (i.e., when I’d get particular “wobbly” pre-op, it was because I wasn’t well-hydrated).

I’m hopeful, optimistic, and determined … definitely in this for the long haul. If you want to know the God’s honest truth, I still can’t believe I actually did it! That's pretty easy to say when you've been blessed by God and the power of love to emerge from WLS with virtually no complications. I hope this holds true for all who read this as well. {{{HUGS}}}