Jonay

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To say that the last few weeks have been rough is probably one of the biggest understatements that I could have made this year. I am not saying that I regret my decision for surgery, but I have to say that I think it has been one of the hardest transitions I have ever had to make in life. Just last night, I had one of my biggest meltdowns and afterwards (when I could process what I had just gone through) it kind of scared me to realize how big it was.

I saw my NUT yesterday and she did not pass me onto the next stage. I was not happy. I had plans to celebrate with my first craving since surgery (which was a very healthy turkey sandwich or at least a couple of bites of one) and I did not get to have it. I understand her reasoning behind the fail (since it was not a pass), but it still sucked. I have been doing great with protein and walking, but I have not been able to keep ahead of the water. I spent too much focus on protein instead of water and this was one of the ending results this week. Instead of getting my craving fix, I spent another couple of hours at the infusion clinic.

Again, I understand why, I just did not like it and with hormones going wishy-washy, it was just time for another hiccuping cry. I was in the middle of a hang out with family and I just could not stand to break down in front of them. They don’t understand what I am going through, so how can they help? I a surrounded by wonderful people who support my decision, but they still don’t understand and I cannot seem to say the right words for them to be able to [understand].

Thank God I got the right phone call when I did. A fell WLS pal called just to check in and I just kind of lost it. I wasn’t thrilled that I wound up (almost literally) running out of the restaurant (where I only had hot tea) crying, but I couldn’t breathe enough to even tell her what was going on. Granted, she gave me time to cry it out and pull myself together so I could at least relate what was going on, but I still felt like an ooph (sp?) trying to talk to her.

At that point, I did not feel quite so alone, but I still felt kind of freakish. Her husband (a fellow WLS friend) had the same surgery as me (on the same day, actually) and he hasn’t had any issues. She had the sleeve a couple of months ago and seemed to sail right through it. Then here I am, crying almost daily and just feeling (overall) like a failure on this journey.

I know it doesn’t last forever and that I need to push through it. I will succeed. I am not giving up, but I felt the need to share on what turned out to be quite a difficult day. Hopefully my experience can help someone else to not feel so alone.

We all have good days and we all have bad days; the idea behind life is to have more good days than bad ones. I don’t think I am quoting anyone, but it’s a good one.

I had my surgery on 3/31/15 and I was scared spitless. I almost cancelled, that is how scared I was. But I made it through with flying colors.

I did not have too bad of a reaction to the anesthesia; just really pissy, demanding to see my husband. Apparently, they broke protocol to let him in my recovery ‘room’ for a minute. I only remember him standing at my bed for a second, but they said it was all it took and I was fine.

My stay in the hospital was on track, though I was concerned about hydration because I had (really) dark urine output before my release. They seemed un-phased by it. I did spike a fever later that night, but my husband was instructed to wake me every hour for fluids and the fever broke later that night. I have been fine (fever-wise) since.

Five days after surgery, I ordered a small decaf sugar free coffee…BUT I don’t think they gave me decaf and I wound up on a downhill slide for dehydration, ending with a trip to the infusion clinic three days later.

I have been pushing protein and hitting my mark most days. It has been difficult to find foods that satisfy, but still provide the necessary protein. I have found myself experimenting with various soup type foods to add protein powder to and for the most part, I have been successful. I will admit to a few horrible outcomes…stuff a dog would not eat. Water is still an issue as I am still dealing with some nausea and the medicine does not always seem to work, but overall, I am doing okay.

I see my NUT in tomorrow and hopefully will be released to the moist and mushy/fork tender phase. I have not had any real sugar cravings, mostly meat, like deli sandwiches or turkey bacon. I have pushed the rules and twice and paid for it with (what I believe is) a small bout of dumping. Too much grease with a sausage burrito (not homemade). I had my suspicions and glad that I stopped when I did as I am sure it could have been much worse.

Four days until surgery. Just four little days, yet they seem to be bigger than life right now. Overall, I am fairly calm, though I do worry that something will stop the surgery (again). I have my emotional moments, (again) worrying...aftercare for me, simple day-to-day care for my husband, and just the little tasks that I will not able to complete for a while.

One of the books I have read regarding WLS talks about the generality of obese persons are typically the caregivers and the strong emotional support providers and once surgery has taken place and this new chapter begins, it is hard for them to ask for help, since they are the ones who normally give it. So, I ask myself...am I the emotionally supportive or the emotionally needy one? I like to think I am an independent person, but not pig-headed enough to not ask when I need help.

I would be lying. I am pig-headed because I have a VERY hard time asking for help. I strive to be a strong person, yet worry that I am not. Does that make sense?

I know in the coming days, months, and even years my strength (physically and emotionally) will be tested every day and it seems ridiculous to put myself through all of that unnecessary burden when all I have to do is ask. Easier said than done, but this is my life. I have a second chance to live my life and I am not going to sabotage it because of pride.

I will do my best to keep you all post on my journey. Thank you for all of your kind words of wisdom and support; it is very much appreciated.

My advise to anyone:

Stay strong. Stay Positive. Lose the pig-headed attitude and ask for help.

So, there is such a thing as second chances. After the disappointing news that my original (2/3/15) surgery date had to be cancelled, I felt like I had been kicked...hard. I did all of that work and for what? Nothing. I was a smoker for some 19 years and I managed to quit. I could rant about the hurt for a while, but I have accepted it and now I have a new date, 3/31/15. This gives me time to take the treatments and repeat the EGD to make sure my stomach can handle the surgery. I am doing everything that I can to ensure a successful outcome, but I do not know if it will work or if I get 'stood up' again.

The new revelation I have had is that I am not excited. Everyone is asking, wanting updates, or if I am excited. The truth is...I am not excited. I do not want to get excited and I do not want to think of it. I can not get excited, but it is ALL that I can think about; it consumes my thoughts most every second of the day. It isn't so much the surgery that is consuming my thoughts, but it is the endoscopy that I am worried about, the outcome, not the procedure itself.

I just don't know if I can handle getting kicked again. I cannot give up. I just can't.

 

So…I had a date. I became petrified of the actual surgery and then had my EGD. My surgeon was not concerned, just wanted to see if I needed the hiatal hernia repair for some acid reflux that showed up during the upper GI. I was nervous about the procedure, but as I have said all along, I am going to do what it takes to gain my life back. Having the EGD actually helped ease my worries about the surgery (because of the anesthesia reaction) until the doctor came in with his findings. Nodules, ulcers, and an inappropriate digestion rate (as I had lunch from the day before still in my stomach). I told him about the surgery and my surgery date. He said things would be fine…he was confident that nothing would change, but he was going to send of the biopsy to verify if it is an infection. The Monday after Christmas, I finally was told that I would not be released for surgery as scheduled.   For all of the reasons listed above, I need to take an eight week course of antibiotics and then repeat the EGD.

I was devastated. I cannot count the amount of times I burst into tears that night. I felt…betrayed. He said everything would be fine and that my surgery would still happen. Now this…and what if it is not fixed? So many questions going through my head, but even more so, is the feeling of being let down. Yes, I do feel a bit let down by the doctor giving false hope, but more importantly, I feel like I have let myself down.

Now, before anyone decides to harp on me for this, it was how I felt. To be honest, I still do, in a way, feel the same.

I am working on coming to terms with this decision as well as working through the negative feelings. I know there is a silver lining to all of this. I have accepted that my surgery date has been cancelled for right now. I am grateful that the problem as spotted now instead of later. I understand that this is why these tests are run and why we go through the hoops we do. It is not something I want taken lightly because I do matter.

I suppose now I need to forgive myself. It is not the doctors to blame for my physical state, it is mine and mine alone. I have made my choices and this is what has happened because of them. I can only hope I continue to make better choices that will help me in leading a more productive and healthier life, a better and longer life.

I am not a religious person, but these are the parts of the prayer that I try every day to live by. It is not my intention to offend, only to share.

The Serenity Prayer

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,

Courage to change the things I can,

And wisdom to know the difference.

Living one day at a time,

Enjoying one moment at a time,

Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace.

When my journey with wls began, I did not shout my intentions; I barely whispered. I think even my whisper whispered. I told my closest friends, the ones I thought would not judge me (which does not say much for the friends that do not know). I told my mother, the one family member I had any hope of respecting my decision (which does not say much for my other blood relations). Everyone has such mixed views about everything and people seem to think it is entertaining to watch someone bash another for their lifestyle choices.

I have a very strong support system with my loved ones and my friends, but I wanted something more. I wanted advice, information, and even support from those who have gone or are going down this path; a friend in arms, if you will. I have been seeking out various sources of information and support. This day and age, the largest source to find it is through the internet and that was where I went. I am not really a Facebook(er) the way I see many other people do it. I have an account, but rarely post and mostly use it for games or chatting with people I do not get to see very often. It was suggested to me to seek out some of the support groups currently set up. I never really thought about Facebook or Yahoo groups, I was searching for places dedicated to the topic.

The good news – I found some and am gaining more information, support, and insight into the [possible] road ahead for me.

The bad news – it got me thinking.

“Do I set up a new Facebook account or do I announce, not just to my close friends and family, but to the world my intentions for surgery?”

Part of my depression issue during the first couple of months after I quit smoking was facing facts: I put myself where I am – no one is responsible for it, but me. That is a very hard pill to swallow when all you want to do is curl up on the couch and suck your thumb (or something equally unbecoming for an adult). I swallowed it, warts and all, and began to really let go of the past, live in the brace, and embrace the possibilities for the future.

“Does everyone need to know it?”

It doesn’t matter how the question pops up or whether or not Facebook has anything at all to do with it. I could care less what my old high school pals (and enemies) or people I am friends with because we play the same games think of my decision to have surgery to save my life. The same goes for old co-workers who were too busy stabbing each other in the back to give one lick about someone’s feelings or doing the right thing. That is for another post. J If I am being honest, I will admit that I just lied. Whether anyone wants to admit it or not, everyone craves it. That horrible phrase called social acceptance happens through conformity, riches, or fame. In the world as a whole, it does not happen by admitting to the world that you made a very long serious of unhealthy choices and now you suffer from many illnesses and take $1000s worth of medication every month, but it’s okay because you are going to go under the knife to fix it all. That was long winded and potentially jaded, but it is my (current) view of the situation, even if it is a bit snarky.

The Truth

Truth be told, I don’t want to deal with it. It would be worth the time and effort to defend myself because I do matter, but I just do not want to deal with close minded people who will never be able to fully understand my situation (if I can avoid it). You could say that ‘they’ are not worth the effort, but that sounds very mean and I do not want to be a mean person. People say to “let it go” or “don’t let it bother you.” I have handed out that advice many times over on various topics. If that makes me a hypocrite, I will freely accept the title.

The thing I keep forgetting is: they just don’t matter that much. All people matter and I always strive to not intentionally be mean, but sometimes it happens. This is one of those times. Part of the problem that got me where I am is that I always put other people’s feelings, wants, and needs first. To succeed with embracing the changes and persevering the harder times of bettering my life, I need to be put first.

Do I want to be socially accepted? Sure. Do I NEED to be socially accepted in order to live a happy and healthy life? Not at all.

In the end, nothing matters more than I do.

I have a date. I finally do. I guess I cannot say finally…I have seen people here who have been waiting years and it has only been six months for me…my apologies for my rudeness (and I swear it isn’t sarcasm).

When it finally hit me that this is the thing that was going to save my life…the tool that was going to save my life, I busted my ass off to fix what needed to be fixed. After 19 years of smoking and seven attempts, I finally quit AND only gained 7 pounds in the process. I did test after test (and still have one more to go) and was a good sport about it. “I’ll do whatever I need to do to save my life.” My claustrophobic butt sat in a closed booth for 30 minutes breathing into a tube that was smashed in front of my face! I battled with depression (while quitting) and the food demons – I won, I persevered.

I am not saying this to say that my experience was horrible and that people should pitty me…NOT at all. I got myself where I am and I am doing what I need to do to get my second chance at life.

I am being honest here and promise I am not looking for someone to talk me out of the surgery. I am going through with it.

The problem I have is that I am absolutely petrified at the surgery itself. I have had surgery before: gallbladder removal and a pelvic laparoscopy (ruptured cyst). I have a good idea what to expect, both from previous experience and from all of the literature and testimonials, but that is not stopping the fear. My level of fear is beyond claustrophobia and I cannot seem to get a grip on it.

Am I excited? Yes. My life has been changing for the last six months and it will only continue to get better. I know that it is only fear and I refuse to allow it to stop me from having the surgery, but I cannot even think about the surgery itself without tearing up.

Is this normal? This fear that I have seems very irrational. I cannot help but wonder if I missed something. I even read Garth Davis’ book three times…I just do not know.

I have a feeling this is going to sound like a childish rant, but it has been on my nerves for a while now. I have decided it is time to let loose with the truth (as I see it).

I have talked to a lot of people in my life who have felt entitled. Whether it is for food stamps, the latest fashions, or ultimate respects, a lot of people seem to think that their existence automatically entitles them to anything and everything. While everyone is entitled to their beliefs, I do not agree they are entitled to anything they want.

Everyone claims a reason for their entitlement, but is it really a reason? I do not believe so.

People should not be entitled because they grew up with shitty parents or in a poor neighborhood.

People should not be entitled because they had a hard time in school.

...

And this is where I need to stop. I cannot tell if I am projecting or if I am just pissed off that everyone seems to know what I am entitled to receive. No matter their own faults, they know EXACTLY what I need.

I cannot help but be upset by the 'fat shaming' ads. It has been on my mind since I read about it yesterday. I don't live in a large city, so maybe I am not exposed to enough, but when I saw the article on the ads from PETA, I was hurt - it was wrong...unbelievably wrong.

I understand they are trying to gain awareness to their cause, but I do not believe for one second that their intentions were to bring to light the health benefits of going vegan for overweight/unhealthy people. I doubt they ever stopped to think of all the people that probably joked (as I know I am one of them) about feeling like a beached whale. Any reference made to it was an attempt to hide my disgust/contempt for myself, but I sure as hell did not need anyone else telling me what I already felt.

Bringing awareness to going vegan could have been done other ways. I gained more insight and was more interested in the idea when I saw the documentary "Vegucated" than I did with the ads that only proved how everyone (individual or otherwise) feels entitled to slam the overweight community, as if we are the cause behind their mission.

I do love myself and I am not going to stop my journey because of this, but I would be lying if I said it did not hurt to see such cruel and thoughtless behavior. I am worthy and I will fight another day to have my second chance at life.

 

A question that keeps coming up, not only in my head, but out of the mouths of others, is why now? Why do I want the surgery now?

It is one that I have an answer to, but I am going to share some background information first. It is not a pitty party; I want you to really understand the answer.

It hurt to get picked on and made fun of because I was not only fat, but had the 'bearded lady' look as early as junior high. My nickname during junior high and high school years, though I stopped going as soon as I could, was BIC...not the pens, but the brand of razors. Astonishingly enough, I was diagnosed with major depression, anger issues, thyroid issues, and PCOS all in that same year (1998).

I would have to say that was when it started. I started to hate people. I did not want to be around friends or family. I felt deserted because no one could look past how horribly ugly I was and see that I was a good person...a nice person. It did not matter because I was big. I could not really blame them. After being receiving my nickname, I did not engage in making new friends. I was angry. So what did I do?

You got it! I turned to food. I might get gas or make myself sick if I ate too much, but it never talked back, never treated me with (unwarranted) disrespect, and never cared what I looked like. It was my therapy for all the hateful experiences I had endured in school and at home. And it did not stop. I did not want it to stop. When I moved out of foster care and got my own apartment, I stocked it with frozen pizzas and boxes of macaroni n' cheese or roman noodles (by the case). The worst food a person could eat, aside from Crisco straight out of the can, was in my kitchen and I never once thought about the consequences.

A lot of years pass and the same patterns continue. I am diagnosed with diabetes, high blood pressure, high cholesterol, and asthma in 2005. I was a bit more aware of what I was eating, but for the most part, it stayed the same. I probably would have eaten a bit better if it did not cost so much, but I do not believe that I would have stopped the destructive and self-sabotaging behaviors; after all, food was still my best friend.

So, even after all those years, I still did not get it. It took almost another decade before I realized that I needed help.

I thought I had it under control. I knew I did  not feel good, but the lights were still out. I would buy a treadmill and find a reason not to use it, or I would diet for a month, not lose a pound, and give up. It was easier to be friends with food.

Fast forward to March of this year. I had insurance finally, so I went to (what I believed was a better doctor). She was a diabetes educator, after all. We started from scratch, but within two months of trial and error, my A1C actually went up, not down, and she was ready to put me on insulin. 

This was a true turning point for me. Here I am, barely 30 years old, and I am now having to give myself shots. I watched my grandmother do it. I have known other people who have had to do it, but did I really learn what that meant? No, I just did not like needles and hated the idea of shoving those things in me everyday. I did not fully awake from my fantasy land until I actually started taking the insulin. It burned, but my diabetes educator had that attitude that I needed to suck it up. I got in contact with my mother (who is a nurse) and told her about the burning. She said it sounded like I hit a stretch mark and a bad burning sensation could happen with that. After the conversation ended, I sat down and cried. Silent tears just pouring out as I look down at my stomach. I have yo-yoed so much with dieting that my stomach is truly full of stretch marks. I did not have a safe place to insert that needle without feeling that pain. My stomach is so stretched and marked that I really could not tell what was the stretch mark and what was the safe zone. Regardless, my doctor was right; I needed to suck it up.

Sitting on the couch, reeling from the multitude of light bulbs going off, I realized the problem: me. I was the enemy. I was the one who had made any problem I had worse by running to the kind of food children are taught to stay away from. Whether or not I was taught this during my childhood does not matter. As soon as I moved out and became responsible for feeding myself (and even before then), I should have taken care of what I was putting in my mouth.

I know there has not been a lot of time between now and then, but I have done a lot of thinking and true soul searching.

Like many, I have been obese for most of my life (all but three years of it, actually). Was I jealous of the skinny girls who always seemed to radiate with flawless skin and endless amounts of energy? Yeah, I was jealous. Why did they deserve it and I did not...

I remember first contemplating gastric bypass surgery back in 2002, but I talked myself out of it. I did not need to take such drastic measures to lose weight. I only needed to do it. I wanted to lose weight and be one of the beauties you see all over magazines and billboards, but not enough for surgery.

So, why now?

Because now:

I do not hate food, I am just eating too much of it.

I no longer hate myself; I do not have to be perfect, I just need to be true to myself.

I no longer hate people. They may think or feel however they want. I will still love them.

I no longer resent the skinny girls.

BIC or no BIC, I know I am beautiful and worthy.

This is my life and I am not giving it up for anything. I want my chance to live it.

I am ready to admit that I need help and to accept the help that is offered.