The First Meal

Day Seven post-0p is lovingly referred to as "Egg Day." That's because you get to eat an egg. Well, you get to eat one to two tablespoons of a scrambled egg. And after a solid week of chicken broth, protein shakes, water and jello, an egg seems like caviar (if you like that sort of thing).

I fantasized about my egg for days. I told everyone I knew I got to eat an egg on Monday. Yeah, I got plenty of strange looks. But I didn't care. Salvation was at hand!

I had been studying my nutrition handbook and I determined that Egg Beaters has more protein than a regular egg, and since I have to have between 60-70 grams of protein a day, I opted for the EB's. I measured out two tablespoons, sprayed a little butter flavored cooking spray in the pan, added a tiny pinch of salt and tried to keep from drooling.

It wasn't that great. My disappointment was immense. I got a little nauseated after a couple of bites and had to lie down (not an uncommon experience, I'm told). But, after 15 minutes or so I got up and managed to eat about half of it. Even though it was not the transcendent experience I had imagined, I soldiered through it and the next day got to eat another egg (a real one this time and SO much better) AND a couple tablespoons of cottage cheese.

Since then, it's been an interesting journey of trial and error. So far my favorite meal is refried beans with a little onion and mozzarella cheese. Each week I add more foods; next week I get to add peanut butter! On thinly sliced apples . . . better than pumpkin pie!

Side note: Have you ever stopped to count the number of food commercials on television? It's ridiculous. No wonder this country has unprecedented obesity.

Next time on The Egg and Eye . . . The Grieving Process

Home At Last

I arrived home on Wednesday and I think I just went straight to bed. The terms "hospital" and "rest" are really contradictory in nature. Every two hours someone was in to take my temperature, pulse and blood pressure. In between, I had these little foot socks that squeezed my feet every three seconds (to minimize blood clots), so I really never got any sleep the first night and only a few minutes here and there the second night. So I was ready for some good shuteye.

We had equipped the guest room to be my recovery base. Fan, cd player, pillows, blankets . . . everything I needed to make my stay comfortable. The first night I had to beep Ron with our phone intercom system at least three times to help me get in and out of bed. I won't lie to you . . . it was rough. We eventually figured out that I needed to be on the other side of the bed because it hurt less when I rolled over on my left side.

For the first three nights I would wake up in the middle of the night with an excruciating headache. I finally realized that my pillow was the culprit. I'm used to lying on my side when I sleep, so being on my back the whole time was wreaking havoc on my neck. Just a lot of trial and error. What hurts. What doesn't. I am now eight days post-op and haven't had to get Ron out of bed for the last three nights. And I've moved back upstairs into our bed. Little victories, but great strides. Onward and upward I go!

Next time on the Egg and Eye . . . The First Meal

I DID IT!

Sorry, but Cooking Great Meals will have to wait a few more posts. I HAD MY SURGERY! November 3, 2008. I don't even know where to begin. One week out and I have to say I'd do it all again in a heartbeat. Ok, I'd do MOST of it again in the heartbeat.

Because I want this blog to be as informative as possible, the posts might get a little long and perhaps a bit too detail oriented. I'll try to keep the focus on things that will help other people in their journey, but come on . . . a blog is all about self-expression, so I'm sure a lot of ME will slip in.

The surgery itself was a breeze, probably because I slept through it. I think it took about an hour. At this point, I have to give kudos to Shawnee Mission Medical Center and their excellent team. From the minute I set foot in the doors to the second I left, EVERYONE was extremely gracious, proficient and efficient. All bariatric patients are housed on the same floor and all the nurses and clinical assistants have specifically requested and trained to work with overweight folks. My surgeon, Dr. Stanley Hoehn, and his PA, Tim Stallard are both incredible. Dr. Hoehn, although he's very young, has done three or four hundred of these procedures and looks alot like a younger version of Kevin McKidd (Vorenus in HBO's "Rome," also the main guy from "Journeyman" and most recently seen on Grey's Anatomy as Christina's new "love interest."). Tim was very patient with me as I grilled him on what it takes to be a PA (I'm convinced my son should be in that profession) and, as Dr. Hoehn's right hand man, is very knowledgeable and present during every surgery.

After surgery I vaguely remember being in recovery. I think I asked my nurse if she'd already voted (it was, after all, the day before the BIG election). Don't remember what she said. After what just seemed like just a few minutes I was taken to a PRIVATE ROOM! A HUGE luxury. My parents, husband and daughter came in to see me and hung out a little while. I don't remember too much about that first day, but I do remember vividly getting up for the first time. Didn't go so well. Ron (my husband) said every last drop of color left my face and I was VERY lightheaded and pretty much just sat right back down - but in a chair, not the bed, which I think was good for me. Made me attempt to be a little more lucid. Later on that night I did get up and took a spin around the wing with my clinical assistant, Sheril. She asked me every other minute how my head was.

I had laparascopic surgery - five little (none more than an inch and a quarter long) incisions all over my belly. As I would later find out, the one on the lower left is the worst - that's where they stick most of the instruments and where most of the work occurs. If I didn't have that incision - seriously, I'd really not know I had surgery. The others don't hurt a bit.

I also had a Jackson Pratt drain (it collects fluids from inside your tummy) and this little ball thing that was full of topical anesthesia and inserted close to the Mother Hole. And, of course, an I.V. Oh, and the dang catheter. A royal pain - not in the arse - but a little farther north.

All of those things made moving a little tricky, but the morphine drip allowed me to forget those annoyances for the most part. However, one wrong move a little to far in the wrong direction and I felt like I was being stabbed REALLY HARD!

I had to stay an extra night because I wasn't putting off enough urine. They finally gave me a little tiny dose of Lasik and the floodgates opened. And finally the catheter came out. Then they had to make sure I could produce urine on my own. "Gee," I thought. "I've been peeing my whole life - I should be really good at this." Not so much. It took a few hours for me to get the fluids going and by then it was well after 7pm so I threw in the towel. That's when the fun REALLY began.

This was election night. Right about the time Barack Obama was realizing he'd be the next president and no doubt thinking, "Holy crap! What have I done?" I was having my own holy crap experience and thinking "What have I done?" Raging diarrhea. Every half hour. Ron had gone home, so I had to get out of bed myself, drag that infernal I.V. pole to the bathroom and try to position my bum so that the pee would go in the catcher and the poo would go into the toilet. All while doped up on morphine. If I'd waited for the nurses to come in, I would have had more than FOUR accidents. That's right. One. Two. Three. Four. Two of them I tried to handle myself. The last time I had rung the nurse bell because my I.V. was beeping. Seconds before HE (yes, a male nurse - adding insult to injury) walked in the dam exploded. I apologized again and again and he just patted my arm and said "You'll get past this. You'll get past this." As he and the clinical assistant cleaned me and changed me like a baby, I was profoundly grateful that this kind man had somehow managed to give me back both dignity and hope in a very undignified and seemingly hopeless situation. Shane, I will NEVER forget your wonderful caring and generous spirit.

Next time on The Egg and Eye . . . Home at Last!