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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!
Ahhhh — the chance to sleep in and to recover from my valium over dose yesterday and sleep in I did. I woke feeling groggy and ill at 7:30 - complained, moped, drank coffee and nibbled on breakfast before heading back for a nap at 9:30 (a.m.!) It was after 1:00 p.m. when Tom woke me. Still felt yucky but a little more clearer headed. Can see the hematoma like bruising from yesterday’s battles … physical and emotionally exhaustion makes sense, I suppose.
At 3:30 p.m. we headed out to fulfill our plans to take Kris out for our monthly visit with her and her chance for fun and normalcy away from the Psychiatric Center. What I hadn’t anticipated was that an apparent change in her medications (why don’t they ever tell us anything!) had left her agitated; hyper; over-talkative and anxious with a delusion that she is being released in a few days. She was also eager to share this and other personal tidbits to innocent clerks, waitresses (at the pizza joint we took her to) and patrons of said restaurant and K-Mart. Tom said she even all but demanded that a complete stranger help her locate a fanny pack at K-Mart (while I surreptitiously had briefly left him alone with her so I could purchase the required milk of magnesium for my pre-op evening in peace).
In any event, the few hours we spent with her were unusually taxing and any plans I had of telling her about my surgery evaporated within minutes of assessing her deteriorated mental state. Fortunately, her dream plan for next visit is to be taken to a Bisons Baseball game - allowing me to beg off because “I don’t like baseball, so is it okay if Tom takes you alone just this once?” Plus, I’d won four free tickets for a May game - so later we called Pete (who would be happy to join in — i.e., see a free game and help out with Kris). This way, Kris needn’t even know about my surgery until I’m fully recovered and so is she!
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.
I swear I’m developing bipolar disorder (manic depression). I go from exhilarating highs to crashing lows of despair and doubt about everything bypass.
I was thrilled that Dr. C himself called me directly at work and had clearly read my letter and was considering my needs. Slightly funny (when he joked about transferring me to the other Doctor!) he was otherwise thoughtful and recommended I meet with Dr. P while on site today anyway - and that as he (Dr. C) was off this week but would call Dr. P ahead to discuss options. Joy! Trust restored! Hope!
I finished my ½ work day distracted and preoccupied. I then painstakingly made plans to coordinate plans with my student to treat her to dinner (as is my tradition - a vital part of closure and send off, as far as I am concerned) next Thursday - the only time we could get together before my surgery and her 5/1 departure.
At 1:30 p.m. my husband picked me up for my 2:15 consult and then 3:00 “class” at the Center. Not so ommbayahish this time, Dr. P spoke with a tone of resignation and sternness - outlined options that included substituting a subclavian line for a pic as this could be done under general anasthesia and my Vena Cava could also be installed through it. However, just as this was sounding pretty darn good to me, he suggested that there was an increased chance of infection with it, and this procedure best be done days before bariatric surgery (ie:on Thursday) to give my kidneys time to recover to decrease change of renal failure. When my knee jerk reaction was to balk at taking all of Thursday off (this whole process takes most of the day) so close to being off for likely 6 weeks (and missing my final dinner with Stephanie and numerous client sessions -ack!), he sighed wearily and indicated that I was being difficult and putting their backs to the wall. He said it might be possible to do everything the day of surgery- but I must get my blood results ASAP to see if my kidneys could tolerate this. Although both Tom and I listened carefully to everything said, somehow I (we) still left with questions and confusion - especially about which one was being planned and other than praying for success at the hospital with blood drawing tomorrow, what else I should do.
This bothered me throughout the mandatory exercise class and dietary class. The young fit man teaching us about the Center’s gym was funny and pleasant. He also did my final weight - egads - over 300! - I’ve gained 6 more pounds! He was nice enough to acknowledge that last hurrah syndrome that we both knew I was caught up in. What - no lecture! How refreshing. I liked him even better after this. And, when I splatted to the floor yelling (shit!) during a mandatory medicine ball experience, (obviously I possess no balance and no core strength); he (and others) simply laughed.
Next up was an hour class by “L” (the woman who I’ve left 2 unreturned telephone calls to, and whom I dislike based both on this and her somewhat snotty, crisp manner). Other than that it was taught by her and that she was rude when I asked about open versus laproscopic surgery, the information was valuable, although a bit overwhelming. The other annoyance factor was the music piped in overhead during our class combined with the fact that the general wait area is just feet from the café where we were listening. Can’t there be a quieter, dedicated space where overhead music and waiting room conversations don’t distract from such vital information? Plus, my husband and I met a woman who told us that her daughter had the surgery with Dr. C in November 2008 and has already lost 100 pounds (hurray!). However, she insisted that he did it laproscopically on her - causing me to feel confused enough to ask about this in class, only to be told with reprimand that he ONLY does open. Well - someone’s wrong.
In any case - feeling disgruntled and lacking closure, after class ended “early” - I reapproached apathy girl (who earlier had been holding an infant with no greater enthusiasm or emotion than when she greets patients. In fact, when my husband asked how old the squirming baby was, she blandly answered - “oh, I don’t know its Dr. C’s grandchild”). Her immediate response as I approached the window was “have a seat” (her favorite phrase, I think).
When I explained that I wondered how I would learn when/what Dr. P and Dr. C decided about how to proceed with my situation, she told me to write my questions and they’d get back to me. Okay. Except, as I was finishing it off, a nurse behind the desk indicated that something, something, something, something, something, something - at which point she said I could talk to him further if I wanted.
Yes, please! So Tom and I waited over an hour so a now very resigned and tired Dr. P could sound like “as I already said…” while I felt more confused about things than ever. Bottom line it became more clear that everything rests on the bloodwork I haven’t yet been able to produce (”If I have to I’ll cut off my arm and collect a bucketful!) to ensure “normal” kidney function. It felt as if although on one hand he was steering me to have everything done on 4/28 - when I asked about kidney risk, he clearly answered that although there is a 1% risk of renal failure with gastric bypass and 1% with the other procedures - “1 + 1 don’t equal 2 but 4 or 5″ in this case.
If, my kidney function tests aren’t entirely in the normal range, this won’t even be an option. And our glimmer of hope that I could have the first procedures done on 4/28 and then the bypass days later suddenly became impossible as he remembered that Dr. C will be off for 2 weeks after 4/28.
So - I guess we must all live with more uncertainty about when and how, and all I can do is pray for paydirt with Sister’s Hospital phlebotomists tomorrow. And if not, how I can find Venus, the Quest phlebotomist who has had success with my tiny veins in the past.
Needless to say, I ended the day on a crashing low of uncertainty and anxiety.
Oh, and I remembered on the drive home that my BUN/creatinine ratios in my last 2 blood tests were both elevated. Double shit.
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!)
I was eating breakfast and prepping for work when caller ID showed that the Bariatric Center is calling. Assuming it’s my return telephone call from yesterday about my ill fated bloodwork attempts, I start with “thanks for calling me back!” The lady who I later realize is Apathy Woman never acknowledges that she has no idea what I’m talking about and instead tells me that I need to come in Wednesday, April 8 about 9:00 a.m. for a Vena Cava Consult. When I balk at the time (I must be to work then), ever so blahly she repeats herself. When I attempt to negotiate an alternative, including the fact that I am off all Mondays, she yawningly repeats herself again.
To add insult to injury, I now will need to take at least some of Wednesday off (without pay as I’m per diem) while once again having to foot whatever a consult costs. Plus, I feel vaguely uneasy that this surgeon (Dr. P) may not have talked with Dr. C, and is unaware of the importance (to me) of having the Vena Cava inserted while I am already out. Recently I saw this done on some Discovery Health show and yuck, don’t try this on me under lite sedation! Oh, I hate not trusting people..!
Maybe I can find and schedule for “Venus” this same day and kill off 2 unpleasantries in one lost day?!
What a bummer! I could cry! After anticipating today with great apprehension; drinking as much as I could stand (to ensure proper plumpness of my veins!) and then taking three times the recommended dose of valium, Tom whisked me off to my friends and co-workers, the nurses at Aspire. Well it was supposed to be just one nurse - Jane, who kind heartedly offered to take my blood in that “Venus”, my main squeeze at Quest Blood Labs, remains elusive and I am running out of time to be stuck by someone with a good track record with me In the past, Venus’ manner and competence in drawing my blood when no one else can has called me to travel great distances to find where she is subbing at rather than take changes with strangers at nearby sites.
Well, sweet, kind, sympathetic Jane did try and colleagues Amy and Maureen as well, once Jane had to run off, defeated. After 70 total minutes of attempts; vein patting; arm pumping; procedure talking and angst - we all admitted to defeat. Me with tears, them with apologies and sighs and probably stories to tell. And, to add insult to injury, I needed to then go with Tom and have our taxes finished off (whee - who cares, I’m on valium) and then sleep a depressed and anxious sleep the rest of the day until the valium wore off. My only hope now is that this doesn’t hold my surgery up. Crap!
Please don’t call in sick, Dr. C! Even his health has become one of my worries! And what if he retired before summer?! I wonder how old he is, anyway!
Well — I’ve made out my list of medications for the appointment as asked:
- Paroxetine, 40 mg (Paxil/depression)
- Nabumetone, 500 mg (Relafen/arthritis)
- Metrotoprol, 50 mg. (Toprol/high blood pressure)
- Metformin, 850 mg. 3x a day (diabetes)
- Plus vitamins, calcium + D, cinnamon, fish oil, 81 mg. aspirin, chromium picolinate
And I’m sure I have my new insurance card, so that better not present a problem.
And, my list of questions:
- What is the area sutured with (inside and out)?
- Why “open” instead of laproscopic?
- Expectations; guidelines for recovery.
- How long is the average hospital stay?
Many issues are covered in the literature I’ve been given or information off the net, but I need to hear him say it.
Someone on a TV show about Bariatric Surgery recently said what an odd construct this surgery is. She noted that one must “risk their life to save their life” - and I see all too clearly now what this means.
What a sobering experience today’s surgical consult was!
First of all, I was underwhelmed by the bland, bored demeanor of the little young woman behind the desk that greets and processes you. Although I had called yesterday to say that I’d like to come early to tour the facility (gym, etc) and they suggested one hour and would provide me a packet of paperwork to review prior to my meeting with the Dr. - she knew nothing of this as evidenced by her monotonic “sit down, you’ll be called soon.” When I explained, she shrugged and said “okay.” I had to explain that I didn’t know what I should do or where I should head having never been there before. She then apathetically pointed me to the left, with no explanation or help.. So much for my introduction to the place I’d looked forward to visiting and touring.
Left to my own devices, I wandered an empty gym and empty snack type bar set up like a little café with a menu of health shakes and other bariatric surgery friendly concoctions. Sweet! I also read every flyer, brochure and poster I could find, before settling into the overly small wait area to go through my packet.
That’s when the creeping, skin crawling, apprehension and then “gak” set in. What serous stuff this surgery is! What strict and complex “instructions” and necessary - (pre and post-operative) information this packet held! And on the cover sheet with my name on it, a list of steps to yet be taken/appointments to attend, prior to my MAY surgery. May !! Here I’d been gearing up for likely June or maybe even July. Although, Ms. apathy explained that May is just an approximate/guess at this time, even if a little premature, it’s a sobering combination of yippee and “gak!” news.
One of my first thoughts was that now the eating with increasing frenzy will have to end early. I’d better step it up and use the really good Entertainment Book Coupons at least, ASAP. Really!
Not - oh good, one less month to wreak havoc on myself. Or - what about work or I have a lot to do to get my ducks in a row. Sure - these thoughts and more came later (in stereo!) but honestly, anticipating grief over the loss of overindulgence remains right up there!
Anyway - continuing on with my journey - next I was called by a voice I couldn’t see, as the door is around the corner from the wait area. I hurriedly grabbed my coat and purse to follow voice lady, only to find her barely visible as she ran down corridors and turned corners, not even checking to see if I was in pursuit.
C’mon lady -we’re fat here, slow it down! It reminded me of those times in busy restaurants when a waitress calls your table and then disappears into the crowd and you get stuck behind, leaving you unsure just which waitress to follow (even my analogies are food oriented!)
Anyway - Marathon lady finally stopped at a hallway scale, barked orders for me to take my shoes off and step up. Where’s the warmth I read about on the internet? The caring team approach?!
Oblivious to my windedness from the tour de Bariatric Center, she then told me to take a seat on the little chair I had just hastily dumped my coat and purse on (”excuse me - Is there somewhere else I can put these?” Shrug.), She proceeded to then take my blood pressure and pulse. She whipped out the world’s largest cuff (reminding me that I’m not at Club Med) and shock - my blood pressure and heart rate are gasp - elevated! 136/82 BP - not horrible, but do you think maybe related to my 300 pound jog to the bowels of the Center in hot pursuit of Marathon Lady? Sigh.
Next, Mrs. Efficient, but with glimmers of personality and humor nurse, briskly asks a questionnaire full of medical questions, reminding me that in addition to High Blood Pressure, Sleep Apnea and Diabetes, I also have PCOS and Adrenal Hyperplasia. I briefly tell her about these. She was humorously complimentary that she is impressed by a woman who knows here C-PAP Level (”18″), though clearly invested in the same degree of efficiency as everyone else. She left, reminding me to disrobe except underwear and bra and put on thin (paper) gown with the (paper) pad to cover up further if need be. How refreshing that for once the gown was bigger than me - but how REFRESHING that the room was like 20 degrees and I was wearing paper and sitting on a slab of paper covered plastic.
Mercifully, Dr. C. came soon- smiled and said he recognized my face (really?!) from my 10 year ago surgery with him - and was a ray of personality, warmth and humor not yet seen by others.
Unfortunately - the news he told me made my lip quiver and my eyes well up, and caused me to make Quasimodo faces at him as he shared excruciating detail about my need for a vena cava filter due to my supposed elevated risk for a blood clot. He said that he had done research and presented a lecture on the triad of increased BMI (mine’s in the 50’s); sleep apnea and fatty liver (oh year, I have this too), and the greater likelihood of lower body clots due to this. As a result the filter plus two times daily shots of heparin must be given for three weeks in my abdomen to decrease the risk! Aacchkk!
My assumption had been that “don’t most people who get gastric bariatric have all these things…I mean, why wouldn’t your liver be fat if the rest of you is too?” His immediate retort was - “9% !” You’re kidding?! So I’m in the lucky 1/11th of fat people who might be clotty and need be sent home with instructions for heparin administration AND have a pre-surgery surgery to install a vent!
Well - I wasn’t born with Arab blood for nothing. Bartering and negotiation are (also) in my blood. I told him about last years colonoscopy and my successful quest to find probably the only doctor willing to both do the procedure without an IV (no anesthesia) and locate a site that would tolerate this risk. It went swimmingly despite my oral valium wearing off long before they finally got to me, and I told Dr. C. all about it to help him understand how great my needle phobia is and how much I value doctors who are willing to consider this/other options.
After considerable discussion and compromise, ending when he said “I’m not willing to compromise anymore and put you at risk (and increase his low mortality and incident statistic(s).)
So now, here’s the plan. Rather than days before, the Vena Cava filter will be installed (in my leg/abdominal) artery while I am already under and during the main surgery. Phew - I don’t care what anyone wants to do to me once I’m under! However, I will need to have a “trap” placed in my arm days before that will act as an IV line (okay, good, I won’t need to suffer repeated sticks, I think?) and perhaps keep it in for weeks past surgery so I can have repeated blood draws to check my oral Coumadin levels regularly - a concession he was willing, but not overly thrilled to make. He said that he preferred the heparin (shots) and I still would have to have these while hospitalized - but would allow for Coumadin to replace this at home.
I forgot to ask when and how the trap then comes out. Yuck!
In any case, it was all I could do to refrain from running, screaming out of the door in my paper gown - as reality of every kind suddenly sank in. Let’s see - grosser than I imagined; riskier than I’d thought; more efficient but less “cuddly” staff than I’d hoped; need to prep and plan in more complex way than I’d considered. So what did I really think I was up for -club med?!
Later, at home, I whined my way through several telephone calls to close girlfriends, seeking reassurance, support and sympathy. Thank God for mortified friends! Perversely there is something reassuring in sharing the goriest of details with someone who truly appreciates the magnitude of yuck and doesn’t just try and placate it away.
My one bizarre telephone call was to Pete - best male friend, previous landlord and cohabitant for 20 years, and supposed-to-be sensitive gay man. Strangely, when I asked if we could set a date for him to come over so I could share some important news (I hadn’t yet told him anything) - maybe the cryptic nature of my request sounded alarming or suspicious, because his response was: “Why, what are you setting me up for?!”
So great, now when he does come over he’ll be anticipating an Intervention or blind date or something.
I guess that’s what happens when you don’t want to share sensitive information on the phone.
Hallelujah — tomorrow is finally my surgical consult! I called the office yesterday to ask if I came early if I could tour the facility (gym; nutrition department, etc.) and was heartened by the welcoming response. I feel ready to leave now! She said that I will also be given a full packet of information to read that includes a time line of requirements (bloodwork, dietary consult, etc., I guess) between tomorrow and bariatric surgery day. I love that they sound organized and planful, like I am. Just the same, anxiety about everything continues to make my skin crawl, and I doubt much of anything can ameliorate all aspects of it. There’s enough to cover every step and stage for before, during and after surgery! So many what-ifs that even if I had 24-hour access to past patients and unlimited opportunity to ask everything my heart desired, I think I’d still wonder, worry, fret, ponder….
I must admit that Tom’s stance is not helping my process, although I realize he has his own share of thoughts and worries. Lately I find him increasingly sarcastic (like today he actually “joked” that he planned to eat all kinds of favorite foods in front of me afterwards!) and superficial if I bring any aspect of weight loss up. He also never initiates this subject and still looks at me in a way that reinforces my suspicion that he thinks I may not really go through with it. Although I have never waivered in my intention and have said nothing to indicate doubt, all along Tom has said either to me or to others in my presence things that indicate that he either believes or secretly hopes that I will “change my mind once I see the needle or once she sees what she’s in for”. I’ve tried to discuss all aspects of this process with him especially out of fear that such a radical change may grow a wedge between us. Let’s face it; our marriage has thrived on the presence of a third partner called “addiction”, and the bonding of man-woman and cannoli. I worry as much about what he will eat and how, for his sake, as I do about my diet. We eat out nearly daily - is he really ready as he says he is to alter this, especially in my early days on Ensure and Jell-O? What will HE eat; where; how and with who if not me? Don’t other people wonder this, or is food so much bigger a focus here and between us, than with others??
If the psychologist wasn’t such a dork it would have been nice to have run such questions by him.
Maybe therapy will become necessary in time…?
Especially after tomorrow’s appointment!
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April 20th, 2009 | 
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