post-surgery

The thing about being 'under' is that you don't know that you are until you wake up. It's weird.

So there I was, having this conversation with the anesthesiologist, and five seconds later I'm moaning, "Owww . . . owweeee . . ." and wanting someone to stop the pain so I can go back to sleep. Even before I could open my eyes I was saying, "ow ow ow Ow Ow OW OW OWWWEEEEEE!" I felt like a baby, and I'm pretty sure I also sounded like one. I was being forced to take sips of Gatorade and periodically I would get relief from the pain. "What is that?" I asked the voices I heard talking around and about me." "Fentanyl," came the answer. "Oh, good," I said, "That's my favorite."

I was dizzy, thirsty, nauseated, and exhausted. Eventually I was put into my own loose-fitting clothing, and then into a wheelchair and essentially poured into a car to take me back to my hotel. I was vaguely aware that I had a band velcroed around my abdomen. I spent the rest of that day taking in liquids and trying to rest and also stay on top of my medicine. I felt phantom belly pain (I don't know what else to call it) and sent a few drunk tweets and text messages (ie, to my friend Sue who wished me to feel better and I replied, "Thank"). I remember trying to watch 30 Rock that evening, but having to turn it off because laughing was severely painful. A nurse from the surgeon's office came to check on me that night, and again the next morning. I opted to stay an extra day/night in the hotel after hearing that a few of my children had acquired H1N1 (anyone remember that?).

When I got home I took my place in my bedroom, in a recliner, next to the window. I was propped up with pillows and blankets, and had my cell phone at my side to, you know, call my house phone downstairs. I had a schedule for my medications and napped a LOT. 2 days post-surgery I decided to try to take a shower, so I took my brace off . . . and this was a mistake. I moved around too much and ended up vomiting. That's right, 2 days after major abdominal surgery, I vomited. So gross and clenchy.

When Jen arrived, she went to the store to buy a wireless thingey, set up a network in my home, and handed over her laptop and some movies, including Clue. What more could a friend want?

The next six weeks were, essentially, spent in my chair. I'd listen to the radio and watch movies and Arrested Development. I drank gatorade and water and ate soup and crackers and pudding. I watched the landscape out my window turn cold as snow flurries blew in. I heard my children downstairs, sometimes laughing and playing, and sometimes crying and fighting. It was frustrating for me to have other people taking care of my children. I admit that I pushed myself more than I should have; that is, I hobbled down the stairs with my cane, bent over like an old woman, to try to take care of things when I should have been resting and relaxing my body, letting it heal. But a mother's gotta do, right? I was blessed to have visitors, and some friends brought in meals, which is the way to ease a mother's mind.

Slowly, gradually, I re-joined life. Although with my 'do-rag and cane I looked terrible -- even worse than I thought: I later heard that people speculated that I had been horribly afflicted with H1N1, and other interesting postulations.

Before I knew it, I was at my six week post-surgery check up. I went back to the gym immediately and had to be patient with myself. It took me a while to get used to not wearing my brace; when I took it off it felt like my body was falling apart. And I preferred to sleep in my chair rather than flat out on my bed. Each day, my swelling would increase throughout the day, and it took me quite a while to stand up straight. I was completely numb; in some areas, I still am.

My six month post-surgery appointment was this past April. Everything looks to be as it should, other than my belly button, which is almost completely closed (this will be fixed this fall) and is off-center (I'm the only one who can see that). At the time I was going through it, this was all such a big deal in my head, like having the surgery was part of my identity and made me a part of a club or something -- not in an elitist way, just as a definition. Yet, now? I barely even think about it, that is until I see my scar. Or when someone says to me (like at church last week), "You're looking skinny!" I thank them and quickly brush it off because while I work really hard (and I'm not anything close to skinny), I also did this huge thing to help me along.

The surgery has helped me tremendously. I knocked 30 minutes off of my triathlon time. I've gone down at least 2 pants sizes. There are some days when I don't feel any different than I did a year ago, at which point I look at my before pictures and recognize that my waist is significantly smaller. I feel more like myself.

If I continue to lose weight, it's because I count calories, something I never, NEVER thought I would do because 1, I love to eat and 2, math's hard. It's something that has been trial & error (and error and error and error) but it's been worth learning how to do. I'm still learning.

Thank you, as always, for reading. Don't forget to come back for my other posts.

What questions do you have?