The Real Deal - Week 1

I thought that having had other surgeries would have prepared me for what I was getting myself into.  But honestly, I now think that nothing other than a comparison to a C-section is a real look into what the first week has been.  And I've never had a C-section, but the pain described by the people I've met who've had them pretty accurately describes what my first week has been.

Surgery Day - Wednesday

On surgery day, I was nervous, but also excited (silly me!).  I kissed my husband goodbye before I was knocked out and wheeled to the OR.  When I awoke in the PACU, I felt no pain.  I was surrounded by a flurry of people and all was well.  I was eventually moved to ICU and my husband came by to check in on me.  I was so out of it that it didn't make sense for him to stay.  But eventually, I started to really "come to" and I realized how uncomfortable I was without anything to even rinse my dry mouth with. 

Later in the evening, I asked for something to swab my mouth with and my nurse took that as a sign I must be feeling better, so rather than getting what I asked for, I instead got to stand up out of bed for what felt like an eternity.  Oh, and I never got that swab.  I did get a mouthful out to one of the nurses though when she told me that the "worst of it is over now."  Oh no...I may have been medicated, but I still spat out, "Don't you dare tell me the worst of it is over until you're where I am right now!" 

I ended up texting my husband, who called his mother, who immediately came over with his sister to see me and straighten things out with the nurses and the surgeon.  I am so thankful she was there because she talked to them about my anxiety levels (Ativan!) and that I needed to continue resting and not be aggravated (Trazodone!).  After they left, I slept very very well.

Day One - Thursday

On Day One, I made it out of my bed and around the ICU floor with the Physical Therapist twice.  When I got back to my room, I opted for the recliner rather than the bed.  I had a lot of pain, so I was laying on the PCA (the only pain meds you're given with this hospital is through a self-controlled PCA pump that you can hit every 6 minutes).  I was nice and toasty and fell back in the chair, asleep, when I was roused by what felt like the entire floor jerking me up, making me stand, smacking my back and telling me to breathe.  "Okayyyyyyyyyyyy," I yelled out dramatically, "I'm breathing!!!!!!!!"  

All the while that they're frantic, I'm listening to them discuss How This Could Have Happened; my not breathing and getting my oxygen levels to coma-inducing levels, that is.  Someone blamed the nurse for not plugging the oxygen back into the wall.  Another blamed me for hitting the pain pump so many times, "You effin' told me I could hit the button every six minutes and I wouldn't overdose.  If you don't want me hitting it that often then maybe YOU should change how often I can hit it or what dose it doles out!"  They told me to stop yelling and cursing and well, you don't tell a fire ant to cut it out after you've stepped in their ant pile.  I had a few choice words for the staff and lo and behold, they found me a room ASAP on the post-ICU floor.  Go me!  Self-advocacy is really a bitch, especially when you're medicated because then people don't find you credible.
 

Day Two - Friday

I did much better on Day Two in the main part of the hospital with the nurses that are specially trained to work with my surgeon's patients.  I had much more responsibility for using the Incentive Spirometer (to keep pneumonia at bay) and getting myself up and around to walk the halls.  I was finally allowed to have more than just clear liquids - upgrading to protein shakes and tomato soup felt like a dream - a fairytale land where these things were like liquid gold being poured down your throat every few hours.

A friend showed up unexpectedly to keep me company and it was so nice to finally have someone to talk to during the day and to spill the floor's secrets.  My catheter (whoever says they don't like a Foley is lying, I promise you that) was removed and I had to use the restroom on my own.  I also had to give myself my own sponge bath - not like the ones I was given gratis in ICU.  But I did all of this and they released me to go home.

Day Three - Saturday

On Day Three, I want to die.  I was home, which was nice, but if I just could've died, I would've been happy.  I can hardly walk on my own.  I can't do anything for myself.  I can't rearrange my pillows, go to the bathroom by myself, or even get up and prepare anything for myself.  How do single people do this?

Day Four - Sunday

I still want to die, but maybe I am just overreacting.  My parents sent me flowers delivered by a tiny Asian lady and I swear the flowers are as tall as she is.  I'm not racist, but the meds are really doing a number on my vision.  I am still Team Vicodin's number one player.

We discover (well, first we discover that I don't have any shame) that all of the walking helped reawaken my digestive system.  I won't go into detail, but I will tell you this:  I wish someone other than my mother warned me about this particular bit of nastiness.  If you don't have someone you really, really trust, hire yourself a nurse 'cause honey, you aren't going to be able to clean the back door.  No really, I mean it.  I'm not exaggerating.  Unless you're some weirdo with really long arms and a short torso, you're in danger here.  You know we never fully believe what our mothers say, so it would've been nice to have this little bit of nastiness reinforced elsewhere.  It wasn't and OMG IT WAS TRUE!


I have a crying fit because I'm appalled that I cannot care for myself.  If this is what it's going to be like to get old, I may sign up for the Kevorkian Special.

Day Five - Monday

My friend who visited me in the hospital promised me she'd come over to help me a few days this week and her company really lifts my spirits.  We talk for hours about things not related to weight or the surgery and it completely takes my mind off the fact that I hadn't had any Vicodin today.

As we get ready to take a shower, my husband notices that my dressing has a lot of pooled blood in it.  I discover that it's warm and squishy and I almost pass out.  I have another crying fit and insist he takes me to the ER to get it checked out.  The surgeon calls us on the way in and tells us he's onsite so he'll see me there.  Turns out it was just "leakage" - a  fine word that basically means mix a lot of water with just a little blood and this is what oozes out of your incision.  Apparently, you're supposed to want this to happen so that the blood doesn't pool under the incision.  They get me cleaned up and tell me what to do going forward and send me on my way.  Before we left, I had a motivational chat with the surgeon that set me on the right path.  He also made my day when he told me I could add cottage and ricotta cheeses to my daily routine now.

Day Six - Tuesday

I am back to checking my Crackberry, but finding it actually relaxing to not be so engaged in work right now.  I can't imagine having the pressure to be back in the office quickly after something like this and for once, I finally appreciate all of the urgings of my bosses and co-workers that I really take all the time I need and come back strong.


My friend comes back to visit and this time we take a trip to Walgreens for some essentials and walk a bit around my apartment complex.  I am now able to shower by myself (at first, even standing that long and with assistance was really hard due to nausea).  I can even almost fully dress myself but still need help with the abdominal binder.  When my husband gets home, he wants to cool off in the pool.  I'm in a purple dress, about knee-length and I decide that while I can't go in, it would be nice to sit with my feet in the water.  While I'm there, I meet a woman who had gastric bypass 16 years ago and who gave me a ton of encouragement and advice.


Sometimes, when I feel afraid to tell people what I had done (calling it 'stomach surgery' versus what it really is), it's times like these where I'm glad I chose the brave path.  I am finding much more support and encouragement than I'd expected.  I am no failure and this is not an easy path by any means.