Surgery, Anyone?

  I am down to one sleep and a wake-up before surgery, and doing okay. I was actually more anxious yesterday and the day before; now I just want it to be over. We have spent the weekend being sociable. We went to RI to see Rene's brother Kevin and his wife, Betsy. I went out to breakfast with Peggy, my best friend from childhood, and we've had manyl friends drop by, or call to say good luck. It's all been a bit of a shock after two weeks of solitude, but quite heart warming. I am grateful for my friends.  

I have to be at Yale-New Haven Hospital at 7:30 AM, and surgery is scheduled at 8:30 AM. If you read this before then, send energy, a thought, a prayer, whatever works for you. I am going in surrounding myself, the doctor, anesthesiologist, and the whole room with light. If you read this later, you can still send get-well thoughts, etc. 

 Am I scared? Yes, I am, but I know that I can be afraid and still act- and be- courageous. Warrior Woman for Her Health lives! This will be my mantra to get me into surgery, then I don't have control so I won't have to worry. Afterwards I'll have the strength to cope with whatever. I know this from all my previously surgeries!  

I have asked Rene to post a note here to let you all know how I'm doing. I will probably be in the hospital till Thursday or Friday, and then it'll take me a while to catch up a bit and post, but I'll be back eventually. Have a great week, everyone, and thanks so much for your encouragement and friendship. I value both.  

Blessings, Margo  

Warrior Woman

Rene is home, full of wonderful stories of her trip, the places they went, the things they did, the others on the tour. She is the most amazing traveler, bright-eyed and child-like, interested in everything and everyone, and most people enjoy her presence. Just hearing her stories makes me smile and know why people are drawn to her. As, of course, am I!  

I am working to turn my attention to real preparation for the surgery. The hospitalization after my fall in '03 was a nightmare of unregulated pain, over worked, and at times uncompassionate nurses and aides, and pompous doctors who didn't give a shit. (Except for my PCP, who saved my life because he knew not to make the same assumptions others were.)  

This hospitalization will be different-and at a different hospital. I am girding up my loins(so to speak, and in a variety of ways) to become an Amazon, a Woman Warrior for my own Health. Not the kind of man-hating, battle-axe carrying cartoon Amazon of TV or movies, but a Warrior who is on an individual Journey of development and growth.  

I plan to use the labrys, or battle-axe, to cut away the scars of  years and years of abuse by judgmental, thoughtless, uncaring  doctors and nurses, the stupidity of the whole medical system, and my own willingness to accept this treatment as normal. I will be courageous in accepting the necessary indignities and pain, but I will ask for help, good pain control, caring treatment, whatever I need. If it is not forthcoming, I will ask again more firmly, then move on to demanding. I will use the hospital ombudsman, if necessary.  

I will also be appreciative when I get what I need, and tell people so. I will get up and walk the first time I am asked to, or at least give it a Warrior's try. I will not whine (too publicly) about nausea; after all I am choosing to have this surgery in the first place. And choosing to use The Woman Warrior as an archetype. On the other hand, I am not stepping into the archetype completely.  I'd prefer to emerge from this part of the journey relatively unscathed.  

So I am meditating on what Warrior energy I haveto call on, where it will come from, what it will look like, how it can be helpful.. And still whining and feeling sorry for myself now and then, too. It may be a difficult weekend, but I will muddle my way through, as always. And write a lot, too, I suspect.  

Blessings, Margo      

Cranky and Struggling

  Some people, I have been told, respond to pain by becoming somehow crystal clear with a pellucid concentration that take them out of themselves and into another plain of existence. Not me, I get muddled and cranky and have night sweats and can't sleep and stress eat, and feel sorry for myself. That's what happened last night.    

My pain management Dr took me off percoset, and halved my fentanyl pain patch in preparation for surgery, so I am going through a bit of withdrawal. This process always makes me think of the women at the prison who have to withdraw in a entry cell, with three bunk beds, an open toilet and five other women, most of whom are also withdrawing. Not a good experience, but one some repeat over and over and over. I remind myself that at least I am not going cold turkey off massive doses of heroine or cocaine. It helps a smidgen.    

I am grateful that I had the freedom of the whole house. I came downstairs and played solitaire for a while, made popcorn, found some stale cookies, took them back upstairs, ate them all, and still couldn't sleep. I lasted about 45 minutes with my CPAP, then tore it off and said the hell with it. I tossed and turned and second guessed all my recent decisions, felt terribly lonely and needy, dozed on and off for a bit, then turned my light on and reached for my book. I read from 4:00 AM till 6:OO AM, then got up. Thank heaven fore the escape of reading.   

 I am still hurting and cranky and feeling miserable, and of course, now I am whining as well. I no longer feel clear enough to let the crying jags wash through, and I wanted to clean up a bit around the house before Rene comes home tomorrow.   

I feel sorry for Rene, arriving jet lagged, but full of stories to share, to a partner who is in pain, whiny and completely self absorbed. Not to mention the messy house and humid, rainy weather! I am going to encourage her to sleep a lot over the weekend. Then-whamo-surgery on Monday and a whole new set of issues to deal with, including hospital, increased pain, and nausea.    

I am also feeling sorry for myself, I can see. And scared. I can live fairly normally on meds, even though they make me fell logy and tired and I won't drive after taking a percoset. On this lowered dose, I can barely function. It is a discouraging recognition. On the other hand, I am up and functioning at least somewhat, and in five sleeps and a wake-up it will be surgery day, and I can at last begin my new life.   

 I also want to add how much I appreciate and value the comments and support I get from my readers. You have been very helpful in making me feel less alone in the universe and more valuable than I sometimes see myself. I thank you for this.  

Blessings, Margo      

Crying Jags, Anyone?

I have been very sad the last few days. This is not depression, but feelings which roll over me in big waves, leaving me a crying, sobbing mess, but feeling oddly better. And nearly anything will set me off.  

Roxy, my Chihuahua, loves it. She lives to lick salty tears off my face. I, however, find it unpleasant to cry while wearing a nasal canula; I feel as if it is blowing snot back up my nose! (sorry, I know it's gross.) If I take the oxygen off too much when I'm crying, though, I get shortness of breath, which is also unpleasant.  

I am mourning a lot of things. One is the way of living which will disappear the morning of July 11th, surgery day. I know too well I am crossing a threshold I cannot retreat back over. I'm looking at a life of the unknown, over which I will have no control, and with which I will have to cope. This is scary. I am choosing to have major surgery that will change my life. Have I mentioned recently that I have trouble with change?  

Now, don't get me wrong. I have researched this surgery to the point of absurdity. I have read dozens and dozens of profile blogs on ObesityHelp.com. I have haunted message boards, gone to the local support group, followed Connie's saga in Thought Salad, and come to the conclusion that while one can be over prepared in some ways, one can never really be prepared for the reality of any big elective surgery like this.  

Don't take this the wrong way, but I am very glad that Rene has is gone . She is very uncomfortable when I cry. She wants to fix things, make them better, and gets frustrated quickly when there is nothing she can do to "cure" me of my tears. So I self-edit when she's around, or go upstairs, or down to the river, or don't cry at all. 

And I have found that, for me, a period of sadness feels healthy now and again. I am free to let the emotions come up from deep inside, collect like dark clouds on the horizon, roll through me like a storm-sometimes quiet, sometimes tumultuous- then pass on, leaving me spent, but cleansed, and free, until the next storm rolls in.  

These storms appear over such little things as marmalade on toast-something I won't be able to eat post-surgery, as well as over big things like Sophie, my neighbor's beloved Rotty-mix dog, being diagnosed with bone cancer, and everything in between. Friends crazy busy? I cry. Weather too humid? I cry. Feeling house bound? I cry. Have to go out? I cry.  

This all sounds very distressing, but I came from a family whose unwritten rule was "never show emotions." It took me years in therapy to let myself feel sad and cry, and tears still seem therapeutic to me(up to a point, of course. If I was crying and couldn't get out of bed, that would be another thing.)  

And yet, despite this I also wish Rene were here to offer a little comfort (before she got mad at me for crying so much!) Human beings are such complex and contrary beings, aren't we? Sometimes I do make myself laugh, despite the tears.  

I have planned some events for the weekend. Dinner out tomorrow with Peggy, a drive and lunch with my daughter Meg on Sunday, and then I better start house cleaning( a very small bit at a time) because Rene comes home on Thursday. By the time she recovers from jet lag, it will be surgery day, and then I will have much more concrete things to cry about-like nausea and pain!  

Meanwhile, I'll try to accept the tears as an odd gift from the universe and enjoy the hard won freedom to feel joy as well as pain.  

Blessings, Margo  

Meditating on the Light

I have been meditating on change a lot lately. Now, lest you think that means I have been sitting on the floor cross-legged, counting my breaths and muttering ohmmmmm, I must admit for the most part my "meditating" is noodling around inside my head and body and letting stray thoughts, ideas, and images rise from somewhere deep inside me.  

This process happens not only when I am sitting quietly in my favorite chair, but also when I am unloading dishwasher, driving my car, dropping off to sleep, just waking up, any odd quiet time. It has been helpful to have Rene gone, because it gives me much more quiet time alone.  

But I digress.  

What I have been thinking on is not the usual light/darkness theme to which I am heir as a chronic depressive, but the dichotomy of light/heavy, Heavy is obviously what I have been my whole life. A large woman, A big person. A fat lady. And for the last 25 or 30 years I have held my head high and worked with what I had to change and grow despite the weight. 

 (An aside; I just had to stop and laugh for a moment. Behind my back, the women at the prison called me "the Gentle Giant", which I took as a great compliment, considering that they called another counselor, much thinner than I, "that fat bitch". I think I will miss those women for the rest of my life). 

 Now I am going to concentrate on the light in a whole new way. I will grow lighter, I will honor the Light in me, I will celebrate light in ways I do not yet understand. I will know as I struggle through the pain and nausea and fear after surgery that I am following the light in my soul and work it out in my body.  

Don't get me wrong. I will probably never be thin, I am aiming for more life, not outside beauty, but I will take on shining in new and different ways. 

 Blessings, Margo    

Alone at Last... Except for the Dogs, Of Course

Rene is winging her way to Amsterdam as I write, and I am still here in my little red house with the two dogs. I am jealous, although I am very glad for her. I simply could not have made the trip. She is going on a 16 day Sixtieth Anniversary World War II Tour, to the Netherlands, Luxembourg, Germany and France.  

I am jealous, but also jumping for joy! Now, don't get me wrong, I love her dearly, but if she never goes away, how can I miss her? And she never goes away! In eleven years, she has gone away without me twice-once on a nun retreat (12 members of her class in the convent got together several years ago for a weekend) and once to a funeral. I have gone away a lot, comparatively, on trainings and to visit my parents and friends.  

I am almost dizzy with pleasure at having two weeks to myself! I have plans of doing such exciting things as cleaning the refrigerator, hiring someone to dig out the bathroom, play long and hard on the computer, get used to my new CPAP, and take care of the dogs. It doesn't matter! I will live completely on my own timeframe! I will dine when I want and stay up late and probably be missing her dreadfully by next week.  

I probably should explain that she went out of work not long after we met, had four big knee surgeries that were essentially unsuccessful, and was home all the time. I was happy to go to work and come home to her. Then in August of '03, I fell at work and have been out ever since. And in these two years, the house has shrunk quite alarmingly, with two large women and two little dogs filling up every nook and cranny. This week I can stretch out, metaphorically, if not literally, and have the whole place to myself!  

Plus we get to be away from each other as I prepare for surgery. This is a good thing because we have been cranky with each other over the stress, and I like having quiet time to think and meditate and organize myself. She returns four days before surgery, and we will be glad to be together again.   Still, I would love to be flying with her tonight...

Blessings, Margo

Pre-Admission Testing

Rene and I went to New Haven to see my surgeon and to have pre-admissions testing on Friday. Everyone was very thorough, So much so that I thought I'd never get out of there! 

 Don't get me wrong, I am not complaining. I have had surgery where I met the anesthesiologist for two seconds before the surgery("Are you allergic to any medications?" "Sulfa." "Okay, take a deep breath...") and the incredibly pompus surgeon afterwards! Not ideal circumstances. And I'd have felt better if the anonymous anesthesiologist had asked if I'd ever had problems with anesthesia in the past, thank you very much.  

But I digress. I have way too many surgery stories!   I met with Dr, Bell's nurse for an hour, going over what I'll be able to have post-op, then with Dr, B, himself for another hour. It seems as if many patients "fall in love" with their surgeons, and I can see why so many rave about Dr. B. He was very attentive, answered all our questions, spent a long time going over my meds, never showed any signs of hurrying me along, and when I thanked him for this, he said that it's the only way to get all one's questions truly answered. And he really wanted me to be at ease with my decision. I am at ease. Except, of course, when I'm not!  

Then we went to Yale-New Have Hospital, where everyone was friendly, patient and very supportive. Freaky strange. Not my usual hospital experience, to be sure. (But the real test will come later, on the floor, with how over-worked, and therefore cranky, the nurses are. This is my litmus test of hospitals.) Anyway, I spent a lot of time with a Nurse Practitioner who took the longest and best health history of my life, apologizing, but explaining how important these details are to the anesthesiologists. 

 It was all designed to be very reassuring, and I am indeed reassured. Oh, and I'd lost 19 pounds since I had my informational session at the end of April! If you can lose that kind of weight, why don't you just go ahead and diet the weight away, why have surgery? People do ask. I have always been able to lose 40 or 50 pounds. I just always gain it back, and 20 extra, too. After a lifetime of that I am up to severely morbidly obese, so it doesn't seem like an option anymore.  

Of course, now that I've weighed in the trick is not to pig out and gain it all back in the next three weeks-something I could easily do! We did go out with a friend this week to use a gift certificate at a favorite posh restaurant this week, so I could enjoy a full meal there, one last time. It was great to eat whatever I wanted! It would be easy to fall into a pattern of doing that-but I am going to keep this sort of thing to a minimum. Luckily, Rene will be away for a couple of weeks, so I may be less tempted! 

Hmmmm. I can see that I will be semi-obsessed with this process for the next while; I hope you all will hang in with me, even when I get to be boring about it! 

 Blessings, Margo