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Another healing, relaxing day before a likely onslaught starts back up tomorrow. Attended our metal detecting club’s installation dinner, chinese auction and socialization. Ate lots, won lots, talked and laughed lots. Ahhhh…. Just what the doctor ordered. 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!  April 18th, 2009 |  Categories: Final Days Before, Medical Testing, Pre-Surgery, Telling Others |  Leave a comment 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. April 17th, 2009 | Categories: Final Days Before, Jitters, Medical Testing, Pre-Surgery | Leave a comment 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. April 16th, 2009 | Categories: Eating, Exercise (Pre-Surgery), Final Days Before, Medical Testing, Pre-Surgery | Leave a comment 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. I got a nice card today from my Rochester friend noting friendship and support and caring. She’s already off to Europe by now and clearly thought to send this on the heels of our recent “talk” (if “mmmpfffs” count as talk) — indicating to me a recognition that I was likely talking to her hormones and not her last Friday, just as I’d suspected. In other news, I’ve begun to tell clients of my plans. I have decided to be as candid as called for - and tell the reason for my surgery only if I am asked. I work exclusively with developmentally disabled adults of varying intellectual capacities, and some reactions have been especially poignant. One woman listened carefully, paused, and said “Why don’t you just go on a diet?” Oh, out of the mouth of babes. Another: “So, will you be skinny when you come back?” (I wish!). And another: “I’m heavy too — they won’t make me have an operation for this, will they?!” (took a lot of reassuring). I’ve decided that I like it better when people don’t ask. I’m so food-focused … I love (hate), LOVE (hate, hate, hate), gotta have, my favorites. I nearly feel in a panic about the idea of “giving up” my beloved favorites (though I’m told these are not correct words as I will be able to eat anything, again, someday). For me, this is fried foods, breads, pastas, pizza, cheeses, and potatoes. I’m not so much about sweets — I have a French fry tooth instead. Will I really feel satisfied with smaller quantities, healthier substitutes, and better choices? Will a healthier, more productive body and lifestyle thrill me enough to compensate for the addictive quality of a good fried clam? These are just some of the thoughts that haunt me. * “I So Hungy” is something funny that Homer Simpson, one of my heroes, once said. Yecch — I had an upsetting telephone call with a good friend from Rochester, who clearly would have fared better waiting until another day to return a message I left her some time ago. I had been somewhat anxious about sharing the news of my surgery with her all along, and had decided to wait until it was “soup” before doing so — not realizing that if I waited any longer she’d be off to her long planned trip to England and I’d be post-operative. So … I unfortunately left her a rather cryptic yet “urgent” message to call me -which she chose to do with clearly a lot on her plate and apparently raging PMS. She prefaced our talk with “I can only talk a few minutes” and that she had a lot to do and was in some sort of hormonal snit. Not exactly the warm, inviting, opening I had hoped to share such important information . My mind raced as to whether to “bother” her at all - and decided there was no backing out now, especially after the way I’d worded myself on her answering machine days earlier. Oh crap, what to do! When it became apparent that I had few choices and fewer minutes, I gave the most abbreviated version of my decision, plans and dates - which was met with some “uh huhs”; “okays” and mostly nothing much at all. In all fairness, this is not typical of this good and loyal friend of many years — although occasionally strong beliefs prior to this have cause us to “agree to disagree”. We agreed further that talk best be saved to another day (hallelujah!) and I harbored no ill feelings - although I must admit this was the most awkward and off putting of all my conversations with anyone about my decision. Just as with Janet, I know that we’ll revisit this talk if, and as necessary and friendship will prevail, regardless. Life’s too short and we’re all too old now for anything less. 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! |
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