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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.
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!
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!
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.
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?!
Another “boot strap” day. Work a little — tell Stephanie (my student) Thursday might be in jeopardy but don’t even try (yet) to reschedule with her or any clients. We’ll have to wait and see until (Monday? I hope) for the whens and whats.
Although I try desperately to be hopeful about my afternoon to come; doubt and fear prevail.
I leave work early to arrive home for emotional and physical prep and an equally traumatized Tom and I go to the hospital for my testing. Thank God (for me, not him!) he is off this week; to accompany me on such distasteful appointments.
I am to have a chest X-ray, EKG and blood/urine work-up. I had asked on the phone when I scheduled this what the sequence was likely to be so I could time the taking of my valium with bloodwork - both to maximize calm during this and minimize “stupid” during other procedures.
When we arrived at the pre-surgery desk, I asked (and asked) again — carefully explaining that I tend to peak about 1 ½ - 1 hour in. Although pleasant and attempting to be helpful, I got answers ranging from “take them at 2:15 to 2:30 to 2:45). Opting for 2:45 as the best estimate, at 2:43 I reappeared to see if they were on time/track, especially as I’d just overheard 2 other wait room patients grumbling that they were very late in being taken back. I was reassured that now was the time…only to find myself barely able to answer intake questions at 3:15, and nearly asleep during my EKG.
By the time I was sent floors away to the blood draw place, I think it was after 4:00 p.m. and I had to wait longer for the people in line ahead of me. So - I took 2 more (that made 5!) valium and felt unpleasantly drunkish by the time I was called in. I was immediately delighted by the pleasant, warm and engaging manner of the poor woman who got stuck with me, and in many ways she reminded me of my beloved Venus.
However, the difference ended with her inability to draw anything but eventual tears from me. Right crook, left crook and then (ouch!) between my left hand knuckles, all the while obligingly telling me a story about her upcoming wedding to distract me. She was very sweet and kind (and I hope she went on to have a lovely wedding and Toronto honeymoon, as planned) - but sadly confirmed what I already knew, that I appear to be a veinless wonder.
When she suggested that a male colleague be called in to have a gander at me, I cried harder but either the valium or profound resignation had set in, and I agreed to walk past my husband’s horrified expression in the waiting room and into a neighboring office, for try number 4.
Immediately a screaming baby took my place with poor Venus-like woman, while I felt envious of the uncensored cries of horror that children are allowed to make under the circumstances (tinged with compassion for this unseen little one). In any case, Aaron (I think — but who was up for introductions) came in with a West Indies accent although he barely spoke — no nonsense, no stories, and no exchanges. Although I asked him to promise not to try unless he was sure to succeed, I couldn’t tell if he agreed, because before I knew what hit me he seemingly struck gold, as I heard (and felt) tube after tube being inserted.
He did it! I told him that if I weren’t a married woman I’d kiss him on the lips - (meant to reward, not punish! I’ll have to think up a better one next time!) and gleefully (and somewhat drunkenly) announced the success to Venus like lady on the way out. The sound of infant wails continued to follow us as we left - with me relieved that for now, they weren’t to be joined by 47 year old ones!
After this, my chest x-ray was anticlimactic and dinner out (while groggy and starving) with Dennis and Zoe was heavenly. Thank God for now, I can still eat as a reward. I do wonder what will ever replace the luxuriant feeling of a grand restaurant meal, lingered over, with good friends and decadence.
Tax day and hubby’s birthday! Since we’d already gotten our meager tax money back and blew it at the casino last weekend, the only thing to celebrate today is Tom!
It’s a normal day in most regards (although I am painfully aware that of the four of us who gather for dinner, I am the only one who worked today). Tom’s childhood friend Corky and his girlfriend Phyllis — a pleasant and engaging couple, join us at one of our favorite restaurants. Danny’s is known for its ”Four Soup and Salad Bar” — all-you-can-slurp-and-eat, and I’m starving enough to try three varieties of soup and eat salad and a full meal besides. I am (once again) aware of leaving others in the dust, and when our conversation strays to my upcoming surgery I am sure it is obvious to all just how desperately I need this to provide any modicum of self control. Still, I can’t help wondering how badly, if at all, I’ll miss such days of excess afterwards. People seem to indicate that you feel satisfied and fulfilled and that mourning for lost habits and food items isn’t really an issue. I guess I’ll have to see for myself.
Compounding this recurring “worry” is increased anxiety at tomorrow’s class and Friday’s hospital pre-operative work-up.
I made the mistake of researching the pic line and pray that Dr. C. calls me back about alternatives as I am now too wigged out to imagine tolerating this while conscious. I sent him a fax outlining my fears and concerns, and desperately hope that he will be willing to address these with me.
When I asked the nurses at my job if they could fathom alternatives to give me a reference point to present to him, most were busy minimizing my phobia, (”oh, you’ll be fine” or “it doesn’t hurt much”) to be helpful. This became a free for all with secretaries and the record keeper chiming in - I so wish phobias weren’t misunderstood as silly or about pain. I tried to explain that fear of heights, elevators or spiders isn’t about pain - but apparently none of my colleagues have phobias as this seemed to fall on deaf ears. So … I largely took a gander on my own in what I wrote to Dr. C. and now sit with fingers crossed that there may be alternatives or a blow with a frying pan pre-op to render me unconsciousness so I won’t care what is done to me.
One day closer; that much more anxious. I could hardly sleep last night — overwrought from a challenging work day informing patient after patient of my plans and developing systems and ideas with co-workers and boss(es) to ensure their well being in my absence. Most will be referred to colleagues to counsel while I’m off, but some are opting to take a break and wait for my return. I worry about them all and feel guilty for the inconvenience and disruption I am causing them and my already overworked co-workers who must carry the extra burden while I’m out. There is so much to do before I go out, I will probably welcome the surgery and its aftermath just for the break and “rest” it affords me!
Well, this morning I also had my Vena Cava consult with Dr. P at the Center. What a breath of fresh air from some stuffy others at this site. He bounded in the room with cherubic smile, firm handshake, and funny stories, and it would be impossible not to like or feel comfortable with him.
At one point as I expressed anxiety about certain aspects related to the “gross” factor of what he was telling me, he abruptly asked me to drop the paperwork I had a death grip on, and hold my hands out to him. Obediently, I complied, thinking he was going to search for a juicy vein to prove some point about my needle phobia or something, but …
No — he took my hands in his and actually said (in his cute, Asian accent) ‘ — “Let us sing!”
Hey — at this point in time I don’t care if one of my surgeons is a bigger goofball than me — it’s just what the doctor ordered (no pun intended) and, to me, more curative than facts at this point in the game!
Just the same, the Vena Cava Filter thing sounds icky, but hey, if it decreases the chance of blood clots as well as he says, bring it on (as long as I’m under!)
Suddenly life has sped up to warp speed. At about 4:00 p.m. yesterday, “D” from the Center called to say that the only thing holding me back from getting surgery scheduled was the outstanding debt owed on my 3/19 consult. I explained that although we got a statement recently and that the allowed amount we owed was $225.00, it was clear that “this is not a bill”. Without really acknowledging my need to explain that we weren’t being slackers, she asked that nonetheless we pay ASAP so she could get on with the task of scheduling the surgery. Needless to say; I whipped out my visa and paid on the phone, and questioned how 4/24 moved up to NOW! With no fanfare she explained that things were moving quickly (if I hadn’t called our insurance Friday, I wouldn’t even know yet that I had been approved)!
In any event, while I waited breathlessly on the other end, she flipped pages to apparently consult a calendar of surgery options - then said April 28th. April 28th?! I had never considered the possibility of surgery so soon! My immediate reaction was “No!” - and when I did gasp and ask if there was anything a little past this date instead, she responded that Dr. C. had to (something like) testify at some hearing the next day for work blah blah and the next soonest scheduled date would be mid May.
As I had been caught at home while doing agency paperwork and had my appointment book from my job with me, my heart immediately sunk at being given such a difficult choice - if I chose 4/28, I would miss the last three days of my student’s placement and not get to send her off “wrapped in a bow”. On the other hand, waiting weeks past this knowing I could have gone sooner would likely be insufferable to me.
She agreed to give me a little time to think/consult with my bosses, etc. and call her in the morning.
I think I was on the phone non-stop from this time (4:15) to bed-time, reaching both bosses, my student, many friends and my brother and cousins with the news.
I yearned for someone to tell me what to do and although no one would go this far, the general consensus was to choose what was best for me — NOT my job, student, or otherwise.
And, I guess, this is what I did — so April 28th it is!
Shit — I’ve got a lot to do!
Boy am I dreaming a lot of bizarre things lately that are no doubt related to crevices of anxiety about surgery. It feels like it’s hard to find true respite from omnipresent thoughts and feelings about before, during and after surgery.
You name it; I think or worry about it. How long will it take to recover? How much will it hurt? How gross will it be? How will Tom fare during and after? When will I be able to resume somewhat normal life again? What will it be like without food as the focus of my life? How much will I (and Tom) miss our old ways (together). Just what will I eat? Will my friends shun me because I’m not as food fun? Will I really lose lots of weight? What will that be like? Will I be all flubby and scarred? How will my medications be titrated if my pre-surgery conditions improve? How will my clients fare without me? My co-workers, the agency?
I’m getting very weary….
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April 25th, 2009 | 
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