Fatigue: Going with it

I’m in the midst of “the hump” as I’ve written previously. This is the weird low energy, even fatigued time that occurs after surgery and before a healed stomach can handle proteins. Confused, the body thinks it’s starving and cycles down to conserve energy.  It’s supposed to be approximately one month post-surgery for the body to figure out what’s happening. I'm beginning my third week post surgery.

I feel like I did when I was pregnant. Really. When pregnant, the body is working so hard it’s the equivalent of climbing a mountain 24/7.  So feeling exhausted is normal, particularly in the first trimester. Now, I am absolutely exhausted 2 or 3 days out of the week and can nap like it’s the end of the world.

My appetite increases gradually, and I’m able to keep more down successfully.  I’ve had good luck with bran cereal, Leslie’s custard (heavenly and nutrient packed), and of course her chicken soup (ditto).  Fails include pastina (too rich) and cream of wheat (despite initial success). There are foods that look and smell divine, yet I dare not eat them because I know what the result will be. However, I’m able to eat more in a sitting. I mean the difference between ¼ cup over a week ago and creeping closer to the 1 ½ cup I’m suppose to consume in one meal. So, I should restrict myself to the prescribed three square meals with no snacks soon.

Here I sit pooped, but not entirely guilt free. Thank heaven I’m not working. Having to get up early and push myself through a day of Corporate clowns would be exceedingly difficult.  I feel extremely fortunate to be in this place and enjoy where I am, while it lasts, knowing it’ll probably be years before I get another chance to rest like this.

So for now … I’m going with it.

The Hump: One Week After Surgery

My start weight on March 1 was 318 lbs.  Today’s weight is 286.4 lbs.  A 32 pound total loss.

Progress is continuous and that makes this tolerable. I know that every day is a tiny bit easier and brings me a bit closer to recovery.  Each day I can handle a bit more sustenance; of course, I’m talking about the difference between a quarter cup of vanilla yogurt and a third of a cup. I tried Trader Joe’s cream of tomato soup, was in extreme gassy discomfort for about five minutes, and then up it came.  The same thing happened with super mashed/pureed sweet potatoes.  Some foods simply do not want to stay down.   Yet I get hungry and am compelled to try new foods.  Also, my nose works just fine! All food smells heavenly, particularly when I’m hungry.

I went to my first post-surgery doctor’s visit today. I am in the midst of what I call THE HUMP. I have very little energy. I wake up feeling okay, good even, get my head around the day, ease into something to eat, then something to drink. Taking a shower and getting dressed makes me tired. But I can bounce back from that. Then, if we have errands or an appointment, I’m good until about 1:00 p.m. By 3:00 p.m., I’m completely wiped out. I mean, tired like I used to get when I was pregnant with Elizabeth.  This is the hump. I am in the middle of recovering from surgery, and I'm taking in very little sustenance.  As my stomach continues to heal, I’ll be able to take in more foods, which will provide more energy and so forth.   The doctor said my body is confused. It's not sure if we're starving so it's reserving energy.  This will work itself out over the next few weeks.

In spite of these inconveniences, and compared to a lifetime of  joint pain and health issues related to morbid obesity, this is the most effective way for me to take the reins of my health. I realize that a women’s right to her body type is indeed her right, but to me it’s science. A younger body is more equipped to handle 150+ extra pounds.  Approaching 50 … not so much.  We are lucky that this process, like so many other things, is readily available in our demographic.  To get this started, all I had to do was call the doctor’s office.


Leslie's weight loss is consistent. I'm so proud of her will power.  And Elizabeth is super aware of what she eats, and continues to push us toward vegetarianism.  She gives me these precious looks of pride, though, and every so often asks with great sincerity, "Are you okay, Nana?" My girls make my heart melt.

I’ve dropped down into my body with an audible plop. I’m more aware of my physical self now than I’ve been since I was a teenager dancing five days a week.  My imagination still wanders to and fro with very little fencing, particularly now that I’m not working. But, I am acutely focused. In fact, I’m focused down to the most intense point for me at this time … a small glass of ice water.

Post-Surgery Preamble

I’m home from surgery already.  I can’t believe how quickly time marches by, but it does. It marches on and on and then you turn and look back to see what you’ve done.  Over six months ago, I was at a New Year’s Eve party thinking over the tiniest possibility of having the gastric sleeve, and now here I am.  I just had one.

But it wasn’t all easy.

As when Leslie had her knee replacement, there are some things they just don’t tell you going into this sort of procedure.  Parts of it were really difficult.

Here are some of the highlights, as I experienced them:

• As usual, it was difficult to find any vein to use for an I.V.  This time the anesthesiologist herself did it. I have veins like my grandmother (RIP), and after taking no liquids for over 6 hours as pre-surgery prep, they were thoroughly and effectively in hiding.
• When I first woke up in recovery, it hurt.  It really hurt.
• The first time I tried to swallow something, anything, even the tiniest sip, I erp’d it back up.  And because my stomach was much, much smaller, fortunately that experience has become much, much easier.
• When I finally could swallow something, I could feel that tiny bit plop into my stomach like a small ball of flame. They call it a belly blast. Luckily, the sensation went away after a day.
• I’m not a fan of morphine. It’s a good medicine, but it gave me really awful dreams about people I love. Gross. I couldn’t wait to get off it.
• I’ve lost almost ten pounds being in the hospital, putting me below 300 pounds for the first time in years. Yay! This is a benchmark for me!
• The nurses in the hospital at Mills Peninsula, with one notable exception (there’s always one), were great.  Given they are in the middle of a strike, I felt like I was in good hands the entire time I was there.
• When I was released, I was ready to go. No sooner.
• Last night, the third night after surgery, I was hungry. Sucking on a piece of watermelon was heaven.
• I’m supposed to drink lots of water and a protein supplement called Isopure. It tastes like a very light juice, and at $11.00 for a six-pack, it’s good stuff. 
• For dinner last night, Leslie made me a heavenly consomme’.  Six teaspoons was all I could handle.
• This morning for breakfast we dined on cream of wheat, and it was divine. I had eight teaspoons this time!
• My total weight loss is twenty seven pounds.

The irony in all this is that prior to my procedure, my stomach was the center of my life. It still is, but in a totally different way.

What a Day (More Adventures in Weight Loss Surgery)

My weight loss surgery, the gastric sleeve, is less than one week away. Today, my family and I attended pre-op appointments at the hospital from 11:00 a.m. to 4:00 p.m. I met with the head nurse in the Anesthesia Department, and the Lab took more of my blood. We attended a meeting about my surgery’s process and recovery, learned a lot more about what I can and can’t eat at what time in my recovery specifically, and had another hour with a nutritionist.

The surgical process is really cool. It’s laparoscopic, so my abdominal cavity will be expanded with carbon dioxide (the kind we breathe out), to provide the doctor with a clear working area that’s seen through a tiny camera. Then, all the work is done through tubes. In the end, I should have only five tiny incisions. The worst part of all this is that I have to be at the hospital at 6:00 a.m. because I’m first on the table. Gross. I’m no morning person. There’s a video describing the procedure at the bottom of this post.  It's from a different hospital, but it’s instructional without being graphic.

I was very happy to hear that people come from all over the world to get this procedure from my doctor. He’s an expert in his field, which made me feel good. It’s ironic. I picked him because he was closest to our house, and because I know one of his patients.  He's one of the best in the world.

The day was long and when it was over, it brought my commitment closer to home. I found myself needing time alone to “chew” over it all, so I took the dogs to the dog park to get some time to myself. Leslie was home with her foot elevated. She really pushed it too far (read more here). Elizabeth got very concerned about everything and was upset in an indirect manner, which is typical for kids. So to unwind, we spent the evening cloistered in the living room with our dogs. Leslie made a super dinner, and we watched and capped on ridiculous reality teevee shows. Later on, when Elizabeth got the clicker, she and Leslie watched “The Family Guy” which is always good for a laugh. Our daughter made Leslie a convert.

What a day.

File this Under Random Occurrence

Thanks to what I would call a “completely random occurrence”, we've had a crazy couple of days.  Last Tuesday, we were at the dog park in San Mateo when Leslie felt a mild prick on her left foot. Nothing as startling as a bee sting, but it was a feeling she remembered.  By 11:00 p.m. that night, her left foot was on fire and incredibly painful.

We went to the emergency room at Mills Peninsula in Millbrae the next day because Leslie’s pain wasn’t going away, and we’ve had good experiences there.  Unfortunately, due to the nursing strike, it was more like a three ring circus.  The wait wasn’t long, but the nurses and attendants seemed disconnected. Nobody knew what was going on.  They were all convinced Leslie sprained her ankle and kept asking her what she did to it as though she were a 90 year old.  Their patronization was infuriating.  They should’ve canned the small talk completely. A stiff and un-emotional red-headed nurse announced she was going to put Leslie’s foot in a wrap, and considering Leslie couldn’t bear even a sock, that didn’t seem right. Turns out the nurse got Leslie confused with another patient.  The ER doctor had no answers for us despite having the foot x-rayed, and I think the not knowing was more concerning than anything else.  So, after two different nurses tried to give Leslie the same pills, we left the emergency room shaking our heads, with a prescription for pain medicine, and instructions to see a doctor in the next day or so.

And that we did.

Friday afternoon we went to see an orthopedic doctor, who reviewed Leslie’s x-ray prior to the appointment.  Despite having a lousy bedside manner (here we go again), he was very detailed oriented.  He diagnosed Leslie as having cellulitis, trauma to the cells, caused by antibiotic resistant bacteria that crawled into her foot after whatever bug bit her.  Leslie had been taking Augmentin for a recent round of bronchitis, and it’s a good thing she was. Who knows what that bacteria would’ve done to her foot had nothing retarded its progress. 

We left the doctor’s office with prescriptions for two separate antibiotics, instructions to go to the emergency room at Seton should Leslie’s condition worsen, and an appointment for Monday.

Apparently, a bacteria like this, referred to as an MSSA, is not resistant to certain drugs.  If it was, it would be the worst kind of infection, called an MRSA and Leslie would probably be in the hospital already hooked up to IV antibiotics and fluids.  An MSSA is bacteria found in the community. There is a long list of how and where a person can get it, but as far as we’re concerned, it’s something people with pets can get, and it gets into the body through broken skin.  I’m convinced Leslie picked it up at the dog park in San Mateo when we were there on Tuesday.

Leslie is still in a lot of pain, particularly at night. And she has to keep the foot elevated over her heart or it swells quickly, and that hurts even more.  No one in the house is sleeping well because it seems to hurt more at night.  And as you might know, taking a lot of antibiotics reeks havoc with the stomach and other sensitive parts of the human body.  I think more than anything, Leslie is tired of sitting around.  She wants to go the market and do other domestic things, the stuff you don’t appreciate until you can’t do it.   

I’m being Florence Nightingale, taking care of Leslie, cooking for everybody, doing laundry, and tidying up.  There are a million other things I wanted to do before my surgery, but they’ve taken a back burner.  I’m worried about my the timing of my surgery, too. It’s just a little over a week away, and Leslie’s healing process can take up to 10 days.

This will be a close one.