So I went through with Roux-en Y Gastric Bypass
surgery. Guys. This ish is hard. I’ve never had surgery
before, much less spent any time in the hospital.
Prior to surgery I needed to go through 6 months of being
monitored by a PCP or other doctor to document my weight and attempt at weight
loss. This was required by my insurance,
Blue Cross Blue Shield.
In October 2013 I found out that I have sleep apnea, and the
doctor’s recommendation was to lose weight.
He referred me to the related weight loss clinic to go through a 6 month
supervised weight loss plan. I made an
appointment but did some further research.
I found out that they specialized in weight loss surgery (WLS), and
since it was close to benefits enrollment time at work, I also had just found
out that my insurance covered surgery. I
decided to go to an informational class to see what it was all about. In the meantime, I researched the web up and
down and read numerous blogs by people who had gone through WLS. It was rather depressing when I found out that
I was heavy enough just to qualify for surgery.
To qualify one needed to have a BMI of 42 and over, or a BMI of 35 with
comorbidity such as diabetes…or sleep apnea.
So I was covered in both categories.
After Hubs and I attended the informational class I made an
appointment immediately. I had to wait
another month so I just did more research online. Once I finally had my appointment, it wasn’t
so much as a discussion on whether I was going to have surgery, but here we are
starting the process. Appointment #1 of
6. I was guessing I would have surgery
sometime in Summer 2014.
The clinic itself had some requirements for me to qualify
for surgery. I had to lose 5 lbs. I thought that would be easy. It wasn’t.
My dietician also had me work on about 3 goals per month to start
establishing the habits I would need after surgery. I had a laundry list of things I had to start
doing/not doing before surgery. I
thought it was a long list. After
tackling a few per month, it didn’t seem so bad. The months passed quickly. Once I finally started to exercise the weight
started to move downward. Not
quickly. But enough. My dietician approved me to meet with the
surgeon at my 6th appointment.
My surgeon is cool.
Full of energy and a talker. He’s
the one that lead the information session, and I knew right away I wanted him
as my surgeon. I get along best with
warm and fuzzy people, and he definitely had warm and fuzzies. When I met with him he went over the risks of
surgery and made sure I was choosing the right one for me. Knowing that I had never stayed at a hospital
or had surgery before, he took the time to let me know that the hospital
experience is a very different one. He
was very caring and very passionate about what he does. He wouldn’t give me a numeric goal because he
said he just wants me to be healthy. If
I had a certain number to reach I might end up feeling weak and gaunt. Not to mention, I think, the pressure that
comes along with a specific number. I
loved, loved my team.
I should also mention that I had to visit with a
psychologist and take an MMPI test. This
was to be sure I was mentally stable enough to go through surgery. The psychologist gave me his blessing to have
surgery, on the condition that I seek help when I need it since I have had some
issues in the past with depression and anxiety.
I promised I would and went on my merry way.
I finally came to the point when my file would be sent to
insurance to be approved for surgery.
They estimated this would take two weeks. It took four days. I got the call from the clinic and scheduled
my surgery date right away. My date was
exactly two weeks away from that call.
Thursday June 5th, 2014.
Commence stomach butterflies.
I immediately ran over to my lead at work to tell her, and I
was giddy and practically skipping all over the office the rest of the
day. I was just so happy and
excited. I told all the important people
and my mom scheduled a flight to come take care of me.
I took two days off work prior to my surgery date to prep my
house for myself being indisposed for several weeks, as well as clean for
company coming. My mom flew in the next
day, the day before my surgery. I was on
clear liquids only that day and let me tell you, I get hangry. It was not fun. I also realized I wouldn’t be eating anything
at all until the day after surgery.
Boo. I had to drink a bottle of
magnesium citrate that night to make sure my intestines were nice and empty to
give my surgeon lots of room to work.
Well, it didn’t really work. I felt
quite ill but I can’t say it emptied my intestines at all. I went to bed late after a nice anti-septic
shower and prepared for a very early morning.
I woke up before everyone else so I could take another
anti-septic shower and make sure I had everything I needed in my hospital
bag. We were to be at the hospital by
5:30am. Gross.
Once we got to the hospital I was still feeling just
fine. Not scared at all. I thought for sure by this point I would be
terrified, but I wasn’t. I was taken
back to pre-op and my family was left in a waiting room. I changed into my operating outfit and warm
fuzzy purple socks with paw prints on them.
This is where the fun started.
My pre-op nurse was a complete dope and seemed like it was
her first day on the job. Okay,
whatever. After playing 80 questions
with her and repeating my name 20 times, she attempted sticking an IV in my
hand. Apparently my veins were
boycotting IV’s that day. I had never
had an IV before. After her successful
attempt at wounding me, she pulled in another nurse who proceeded to poke me
another several times. This is when I
started to get stressed. My surgeon came
in to check on me and I teared up seeing a face I knew I could trust. Eventually the anesthesiologist had to give
me the IV himself, using an ultrasound machine.
I think I was stuck at least 12 times in their attempts. My hand was swollen after one of their failed
attempts, and I had at least 4 or 5 sticks on the inside of my arm on one
side. IV’s are not my friend.
Now I had to try to pee.
I thought I had to go earlier and they wanted to take a sample, but
being off any liquids since midnight I didn’t have anything to squeeze
out. They needed me to try again because
they needed to see a negative pregnancy test before they could do surgery on
me. I finally was able to squeeze out
two drops (one actually made it into the cup!) and was cleared to go to the
OR. My family came to see me off very
quickly and I vaguely remember feeling emotional at this point due to the IV
trauma.
My OR team came and put my “party hat” on and wheeled me to
the ice chamber OR. The OR I had
was at the end of a hall and close to frosted glass doors that looked like “the
light”. The student anesthesiologist was
incredibly friendly, young and pretty. I
already felt like I was in more capable hands.
They blew up the air mattress I was apparently lying on and I went on a
fun slide onto the operating table. They
were securing my arms in place and I was looking around at all the lights and
wondering why it was so damn cold in there.
And I mean cold. Really, really
cold. I asked my student friend and she
said it was surgeon’s preference.
Apparently my surgeon was extremely warm blooded or something. The anesthesiologist came in with his Star
Wars head cover and started chatting with me while they put me to sleep.
This is where my clear memory ends. My memories from the first week are
fuzzy. I woke up in recovery and was
able to see my family. I was wheeled to
my room, which was the nicest room I could ask for. I was at the end on the corner, so I had two
big windows and no roommate. Room
#327. I remember being in pain but
apparently I didn’t rank it high enough (I’ve never been good at the 1-10 pain
scale) so the nurse said they wanted to wait to see if the pain killers they
were giving me would kick in. Two hours
later, they did. I was given a fun
button right in my hand that I got to press every 30 minutes to deliver more
heaven pain killers. I was allowed
to eat ice chips which I never knew the glory of until that day. Ice chips are wonderful. My family had the sense to put my phone on Do
Not Disturb mode so I could receive calls and texts but it wouldn’t make noise
or vibrate. They updated the necessary
people to let them know I was alive after being cut open and sewn back
together, then they left me to sleep.
I slept a lot. When I
was awake I was falling asleep. I had
some people want to visit me, but I was in pretty rough shape. I asked my family to let them know I wasn’t
up for visitors that day. My successes
for the day was going to the bathroom on my own and taking a few very slow and
painful walks. I have to say I’m so glad
I shaved my legs before surgery.
The next day I was wheeled to the X-Ray area to make sure
the new plumbing worked properly. I
drank some funky liquid in tiny tiny sips as they watched it move through my
innards. I was free from leaks and
approved to start eating. By eating I
mean clear liquids. My first meal
consisted of broth and a small glass of cranberry juice. They were both delicious. There was jello on my tray as well but I fell
asleep long before I reached the jello.
Yes I fell asleep while eating.
This was not the first time I fell asleep while doing something in the
hospital.
I felt much better this day so I sent messages out letting
friends and family know I was up for visitors.
I got lots of flowers and a few visitors and I felt so loved and happy
that I’m cared about so much. I still
slept a lot and ate my fill of ice chips.
My third day in the hospital was harder. I felt worse when I was supposed to be
feeling better and getting released that day.
I don’t remember much of this day except feeling awful, in pain, and
sleeping. I almost had to stay another
night but I was released at about 8pm.
My pug monster was ecstatic
to see me. After a quick greeting I was
able to take a shower. It felt so
good. Difficult, but good. I couldn’t bend at the waist at all. Lord help me if I dropped something. I practically lived in our recliner for a
week. I slept in it for the first two
days. In fact I slept most of the first
week. Pug took it upon herself to live
on my lap to “protect” me. My mom
brought me food and made sure I was taking all my meds. I had one complete meltdown. It’s been hard, I can’t deny that. So there is the tale of my first week.
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