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This entry actually covers three days: Tuesday, April 28 (surgery day) through Thursday, April 30.
Hospital days (written after release): Ouch, help, this sucks, please nurse please, why is no one coming; why is time moving so slowly; do they really expect me to _____ (wash; get up) myself; should I push the morphine pump again?!; oh please, not another visitor; God I stink!; I’d kill to have my hair washed - but how?!; ouch!; this nurse or whoever she is, is horrible/great/mean/stupid…..; I can’t take this another minute!; what was I thinking?!; there’s no way this was worth it; I can’t believe they forgot to hook me up to oxygen all night!; if I die its their fault!; I feel so sorry for myself; ouch!; please, please let me sleep; why must the nurses turn all the lights on each time they come into check my vitals during the night?!; why is this nurse so chatty when my throat is killing me and my lips have curled into a snarl from dryness and I can’t even talk or smile back at her; Oh God is it Friday yet?; what if they don’t let me out on Friday; can I will my temperature and blood sugar and oxygen to normalize; will it hurt more if I walk or if I lay here even longer; who designed these f’***ing rooms and this lounge chair?!; help; ouch. What are they going to do to me next?! God their thermometers and glucose monitors are antiquated. You’d think with all our money they’d have more modern equipment. What time is it? - I can’t see without my glasses. Oh God, it’s still only …..!
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I wake (yes, I slept!) amazingly calm and focused. Thirsty, hungry, dying for a cup of coffee (why do they place the Café Aroma stand en route to everywhere you must head in the hospital?)!
I feel rather like a lamb to slaughter — not the exhilaration of a new beginning or whatever other euphemisms some people cite at times like this. Quiet dread, calm with jagged edges … as ready as I could ever be, I guess.
In addition to my beloved husband, his sister and brother-in-law wait with me and then with each other, when they are no longer welcome. My girlfriend Janet comes after leaving work at noon, as does Tom’s childhood friend, Corky.
As expected, I cry as the IV is inserted and feel pukey as I always do with needles. I have to ask for the poor technician to distract me on one side while stuck in the hand on the other - but at least it provides a modicum of comfort to very alone, childlike and blind (without my glasses) me as I enter the final preoperative step.
I do remember blurry awakenings - people talking to and about me - strangers noting my vitals; that I was okay and one who talked directly to me, that surgery was over and I had done well. Before this I felt as if in a dream - ie. a slightly nauseating, hazy sensation that I had slept through something very important but couldn’t recall what.
But apparently I got an “A” anyway!
Later, I learned that there was trouble inserting my breathing tube which explained the very sore throat, raspiness; extra hour plus that I was supposedly in surgery and my need to vacation in the ICU my first night out.
Mostly I recall pain; dings and dongs of the nursing station; being woken constantly by nameless, faceless nurse-type people for various samples of assorted bodily fluids; and did I mention pain? Not horrible - maybe not even as bad as I’d thought it’d be - but perhaps that’s also because I was so wholly focused on other matters of complete misery and torment. Like being totally helpless; bloody and smelling; as nurses with various personalities come and go and I am constantly poked and prodded while unable to speak due to excrutiatingly dry mouth/sore throat.
And individual insults to my sense of peace and “safety” continued - an arterial blood gas draw that did involve a deep needle stick and hurt like shit; constant fingertip sticks that bled more profusely as coumadin was increased, and certain staff who shouldn’t be working in a helping profession, tested me in several ways.
Although I do admit I’m a wimp and would probably fold like a pancake if left to fend for myself or deal with pioneer or expedition realities. This was as close as I’d come voluntarily and by far, the hardest of my four hospitalizations to date (gall bladder removal; umbilical hernia repair; encephalitis).
But - I did it for the greater good and someday (certainly not now); I’m sure I’ll be glad about it!
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It feels very odd going to work for what I know will be the last time in 1 ½ months. I wearily trudge through all my final chores, including making up packages of information for all my colleagues assuming responsibilities for my clients; change my answering machine message to reflect my absence and direct callers elsewhere and follow-up on reporting concerns about emotional abuse towards a client by family. Also, I see my student off over pastry (before my 12:00 food curfew as explained in my pre-operative paperwork) and meet with Kevin, my supervisor, to ensure he is aware of whatever he should know in my absence.
When he asks if I am nervous, I tell him that I feel more edgy about my inability to do things and take care of business during what I fear will be a long convalescence and at least 4 days away from home. Social worker that he is, Kevin proposes that I am likely focusing on worries I may have some control over rather than those I am impotent in the face of. Makes sense, I guess. And then he gave me a strong, comforting hug and vote of confidence – both very appreciated at such a time.
I left behind a thank you card for all my wonderful colleagues and friends to “find” through the weeks, complete with wedding photo of me from 2001 as a size 16, with the words “Back to the Future” on it.
Through the evening and after grocery shopping for mostly liquids and organic, pureed, mushy stuff, I practically fall into the lounge chair for a night of TV and phone calls from my friends and Tom’s long-distance family.
Despite a graphic telephone call from my friend about her painful second day, I am surprisingly calm. Maybe it’s the exhaustion and resignation speaking, but right now I don’t seem to care who does what to me, as long as I don’t have to be the responsible, working party.
Other than this, I feel hungry and clear liquids aren’t cutting it for me. No food since noonish and surgery not scheduled until 12:30 p.m. tomorrow (though I must report at 9:30 a.m.) is a recipe for practicing this not eating much thing, I guess.
Oh what I’d give for one last buffet right now! I’m sure this is a horrible attitude and a subliminal sign of my not really begin totally on board here - but I can only hope that if truly honest, others would say they felt similarly the night before. We are emotional eaters after all, aren’t we?!
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Again, so very, very tired and weary — yet so much to do.
Trudge painfully and wearily through the beautiful spring day and even the idea of making the necessary trip for groceries is too much for me, and put off to tomorrow. Now that I was unable to be successfully exfoliated, I must purchase some over the counter product that hopefully will keep my 5 o’clock shadow at bay during my hospital stay so the sight of my unkempt, mussed up plus stubbly self isn’t too much for other’s who feel compelled to visit, to bear. I must also buy soft foods like yogurt, protein drinks, etc., as instructed in my dietary manuals.
And — food for Tom while I’m away and to help him too make better choices!
I do manage to “pack” (an odd construct when it’s for the hospital; not the Bahamas) and “clean” and do 5 loads of laundry, and organize the garage; set up the porch, set the DVR (for Tuesday through Saturday); read the Sunday paper; organize paperwork, etc.
Did I mention that I am so tired?
Oh, and I crave and must eat a whopper for dinner. A whopper?! That’s my food of choice for my “last supper” (doesn’t sound like much of a religious experience to me either!). Odd since I usually don’t care for fast food and typically would have preferred some fabulous buffet or hearty Greek plate.
I think the take home whopper (poor Tom!) is part manifestation of my exhaustion and resignation — I barely care to make eating an experience any more, and the ritual of a “nice” dinner is just too tiresome today.
And I didn’t even order fries with it!
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Okay - today was to be an enormously busy day on purpose to avoid the fussing, fretting and wonton anxiety that I knew would occur if left to my own devices.
The only problem is the degree of emotional and physical exhaustion I feel, so that when today arrived, all I really wanted to do was, well, nothing!
Instead, we start the day with a church rummage sale — where I buy, amongst other crap, a silver bell to ding-a-ling for Tom post surgery. Ha, ha!
Then, it’s off to facial excavation — as I’d left 2 days of stubble in preparation for this. As a dark haired woman with PCOS and Adrenal Hyperplasia and of Mediterranean descent, 2 days = Sadam Hussein for me, and any longer and I’d have to quit my job for shame about it. I was therefore shocked when Mrs. Exfoliation said she could only do my (bushy bushy) brows because my chin, mustache and side burn hair weren’t long enough! And I’ve already walked around like this (now heedlessly) for 2 days, for this!? She told me I’d have to go at least 7 (so I could look like my bearded husband?!) before there was enough to wax — ripped my eyebrows off, and sent me on my way.
Drat! Now I had to run home to frantically tweeze, shave and otherwise dehair my face before our afternoon plans, much to my husbands chagrin. I often wonder how he feels being married not just to a fat lady, but a hairy, crazy fat lady!!
Then, off we went to the Orthodox Christian Church in Lewiston that my grandfather used to be the priest of many years ago. My cousin Kenny and his wife Ann had invited us, and we’d invited friends to, this auction; bazaar; dinner event as a fundraiser for the parish.
We all enjoyed a lovely (albeit expensive) evening; caught up, laughed and otherwise kept my mind off my any minute now surgery.
Until Ann pointed out a very slender woman working the ticket table in the distance, stating that “she had the surgery last year.” Wow!
Long story short we all met up after the formalities subsided, and talked until they began turning lights out on us. She showed us (Tom; Barb and her daughter who also struggles with her weight) a picture of her 270 pounds (before); and had no shame pirouetting and raising up her shirt to show us after - including her now nearly disappeared scar and leftover ripples of flab she plans to have removed. She exuded excitement that my doctor was hers; spoke highly of his competence and manner; thought poorly of at least some of his support staff; but overall is pleased. How could she not be!
She referred often to having “made peace with food” - and although she said, I’m still not quite sure what this really means. Clearly, I have not.
Also disconcerting to me was the extreme pain she had for a few days post-operative (although she was quick to explain that she also had to have her infected stony, gallbladder out at the same time); and the barfing up of “solid” food she did that kept her on liquids for longer than the usual few weeks.
After intently listening and sharing questions with my friends and husband, I felt most insecure that I wouldn’t get it all right - especially the protein and fluid requirements and as she warned, I’d end up shriveled, bald and dead from malnutrition and stupidity.
It all seems so complicated! Exhausting yet intriguing. Worrisome yet exciting. I’m ready, but I’m not. Period.
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I hurt so much I find myself parking closer and closer to the entrance door to work — even if this means taking maintenances’ spot or one of the visitor’s only spots. Usually I am militant about others who park in places like handicapped, but today again I am just shy of doing so myself.
I limp through another very painful and stressful work day, resigning myself that I won’t be done before today is out and definitely need to come in on Monday to finish up. Right now the thought of disorder and chaos in my work and personal life is more distasteful then the surgery itself. I already so wish to be back home post operatively and be able to fuss with and about household tasks and other matters that my skin is crawling from anxiety.
At 6:00 I finally reach my end point and meet with up my supervisor Kevin to walk out together. Only to find we have been locked in by the cleaning lady and after several attempts to trigger the electronic system to no avail, must exit 47 miles away out the main entrance and then half way around the world to where our cars are parked.
I’m sure glad I parked close!
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Thank God, I got my period! Crap, I got my period! No wonder I felt so yucky yesterday.
How I’ve worried that it would come like the minute I lay down on the operating table — adding cramps and (more) blood to an already unpleasant equation. Yuk!
On the other hand, I ache so badly already without my anti-inflammatory medications and with cramps to boot — ouch! I feel like I have a headache from head to toe - and the stress at work is enormous today as I try to wind down in good graces. Distraught clients; enraged parents; overdue paperwork hold me up from my 5:00 dinner plans with Stephanie (my student) - but thank God she is patient and resilient enough to allow me the extra time I need to regain my composure and sanity through supervision, before I take her out.
At 6:00 we head to Danny’s restaurant- me unhungry (!) and with a splitting headache but determined to honor the ritual of treating outgoing interns and enjoying our final time together. She is bubbly and sweet and pleasant, as always, and eventually I warm up and settle in and manage to gather enough appetite to enjoy three bowls of soup from their salad/soup bar — including their famous chicken wing soup.
I couldn’t be more stressed, exhausted and overwrought when I finally get home after 8:00 — and my poor husband is then the sounding board for my long and stressful day while anxiety is also growing as 4/28 grows nearer.
I am soo tired though that part of me welcomes the rest and break — at least I don’t have to perform the surgery. How hard can just lying there be?
I must be exhausted!
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God I’m miserable today. I feel like crap, head to toe; have little energy; and can barely hobble around (I’m still parking closer and more “illegally” at work each day!) I’ve been taken off all my arthritis and anti-inflammatory medications and I can’t even pop an aspirin.
How can I possibly feel any worse after surgery?!
Oh, why do I ask such loaded questions?
And crap, I’m not even hardly up to enjoying my “last” meals that my head has been screaming at me to savor while I still can. I’m even burning out on the whole eating thing … I guess this is good, but worry I’ll regret that I didn’t manage one last indulgence of this or that, here or there, when its “all over.”
God, please, do others think and feel like this? I feel so not on board somehow.
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I find myself still upset from yesterday’s unnecessary trials and tribulations, and have to make a conscious effort to recenter myself. Especially as these are my “final” days of work and it is important I stay focused, catch up, and prepare carefully for my long absence. I also need to be most emotionally present for the clients I feel I am abandoning, and I take pains to ensure healthy transitions from me to my colleagues or whatever is the chosen plan. There feels to be so much to do here and at home, I feel overwhelmed and most sluggish just when I need to push. I believe so much emotional energy has been drained dealing with so many factors (some necessary, some not) that I am so wearied by the process of getting here , that the surgery itself will likely be anti-climactic. Hey – maybe, like with childbirth, that’s the plan?!
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I am writing this as it’s unfolding, for both accuracy’s sake and to vent feelings of rage and despair about how poorly I feel treated – this time by “D” at the Center.
Early this morning I faxed (see below) there, seeing as how well this appeared to work last week in reaching Dr. C — especially given the near-impossibility of reaching live people no matter what extension I push.
After 2/3 of a day without a word and following an anxious telephone call with my supervisor with both of us wondering if I needed to take a day off this week, I decided to follow up with a telephone call.
I left a message for the person the machine said handles blood work results and was told that “calls are returned within seven days” (!)
After arriving home early from work with increased anxiety about what would be in store for my work and personal life and still not wanting to wait another day to know — I called “D” who the machine said handles telephone calls from people already scheduled for surgery.
My initial delight at a human voice faded when I tried to preface the purpose of my telephone call by asking if she’d seen my fax, as this outlined what I needed to know. She very curtly said that “we don’t take questions by fax” — to which I meekly replied that I had done so last week with good results and was unaware of this. She then even more snottily rushed me along, saying that my primary would review my results with me. When I protested that this appointment wasn’t until Wednesday, plus Dr. P specifically said it was he that needed to take special consideration of my kidney values - she said she’s have him call me when he got in — OK?! No … could she perhaps just let me know if there was an elevation in my levels (as this was said to be the deal breaker) or fax them to me? All too relieved she curtly said she’d transfer me to someone else who’d do that. No no - wait - not the point! When I again tried to explain that I simply wanted a verdict about whether I’d have to set aside a second date (i.e., Thursday) this week because Dr. P said any elevation would make it too dangerous to do all the procedures in one day, she said: “I don’t recall him having said that!” and “I don’t know anything about your bloodwork to know.” Sigh. Then could you please ask him (that’s the point). Now she said she’ll page him and ask and have him get back to me. Today? Could she repeat herself any more rudely (”I SAID, he or I will call you right back, okay!”)
No, you didn’t! In tears of frustration and feeling a profound distrust for and disgust with the system I find myself stuck with; while waiting to hear back, I fantasize about taking my business elsewhere; speaking my mind (after surgery!) and/or seeing to it that my journal is published.
Alas, in all fairness, “D” did call back minutes after, stating that “Dr. P was in receipt of your blood work, has reviewed it, and you are in fact all set to have everything done the day of your gastric bypass surgery.
Now, was that so hard?!
My only remaining question was — what time should I report to the hospital - for which she said Sister’s Hospital would call me Friday or Monday to let me know. I can live with that! Geessh!
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April 29th, 2009 | 
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