Lisa R.
Adopt an attitude of gratitude...
Jan 09, 2012
All anyone has to do to dispel the gloom of January is to do something for someone else. Get out of self. Let go of the self-pity, self-centeredness, self-serving and do something, ANYthing, for someone else.
That, and get grateful. Get to counting those blessings, and you'll soon be overcome with the niggling sense that you'd soon find yourself ashamed of yourself if you ever consider bellyaching again.
Sure, there are struggles, challenges, and frustrations, but the mark of our character is how we deal with those commonalities. Nobody admires, or respects, or even listens to a whiner. But stories of redemption, and success by surmounting travail are motivational and inspirational to all. Most of all, keeping positive keeps us from binging, grazing, sliding, and cheating. Let us never forget from whence we came, but do so without dwelling in the pitiousness of the past.
We are getting healthier everyday. We are rising from the ashes of bitter failures upon failures, and are given a new lease on life. Literally.
Before my surgery, my general practioner told me that I had 10 years left. Max. Probably closer to 7, and those last few years were going to be misery. The neurologist explained to me that my feet would never regain their normal sensation again, and the shooting pains would never go away... the damage was done. He said to prepare myself, that the hands were next. Demeilinization of the nerves from being poisoned by Diabetes II the cause. I'd only been full-blown diabetic for a month, but years of toying with it as a "pre-diabetic", and over-the-top blood sugar counts worked the same as if I'd been fully diabetic that whole time. Stage II hypertension. Cholesterol levels in the 600s. Sleep apnea. Arthritis. Yadda, yadda, yadda.
No matter HOW miserable I am now, it is never as bad as a good day before the surgery. I have been blessed. Gifted. For whatever reason, chosen to be restored to a level of health I have not earned. No. I did not earn, nor do I deserve to have such a gift bestowed upon me, and in that light of reality, I see that I owe much.
I owe it to my husband (15 years my junior) to follow the exercise and eating programs to ensure maximum success for the rest of my life; to give him the healthiest wife for as long as possible to be with him on this Earth. I owe it to my grandchildren, and children, so that I can be there for them with the abundant love, security, and support that only I can bring in the special way a grandmother / mother can. I owe it to my aging parents, so that I may be there for them in their geriatric years after all the sacrifices, and selfless acts of love they've showered me with for so many years. I owe it to my fellow WLS buddies. The successes are shared amongst us all, the failures strike a deeper chord of familiar fear and pain. Heaven knows we've all had enough of that fear and pain. I owe it to my fellow man/woman. My vastly improved health relieves a burden on society and returns me to being a contributing member of society, rather than a leech sucking the trickling lifeblood out of an already depleted system. I owe it to the medical profession, my surgeon, my hospital, and its trained staff who would all take it as their failure upon my own failure. I owe it to the insurance company that invested in my surgery, and restoration to health. With each success, the easier it becomes for others like me to gain the approval they seek for their own surgeries.
Yep. I owe much, and I am grateful for every weird pain. For every slow-healing lesion. For every bout of nausea, vomiting, and gas I grapple with as I learn my new way of eating, and diet. I am even thankful for the other difficulties I have now that I didn't have pre-surgery. For they are the ear mark of my renewed hope for a full life. They, too, shall pass, afterall. The day is coming when I look back over the past from 20 years in the future, and weep at the joy of it all. I'm really, truly, one lucky broad.
0 comments
That, and get grateful. Get to counting those blessings, and you'll soon be overcome with the niggling sense that you'd soon find yourself ashamed of yourself if you ever consider bellyaching again.
Sure, there are struggles, challenges, and frustrations, but the mark of our character is how we deal with those commonalities. Nobody admires, or respects, or even listens to a whiner. But stories of redemption, and success by surmounting travail are motivational and inspirational to all. Most of all, keeping positive keeps us from binging, grazing, sliding, and cheating. Let us never forget from whence we came, but do so without dwelling in the pitiousness of the past.
We are getting healthier everyday. We are rising from the ashes of bitter failures upon failures, and are given a new lease on life. Literally.
Before my surgery, my general practioner told me that I had 10 years left. Max. Probably closer to 7, and those last few years were going to be misery. The neurologist explained to me that my feet would never regain their normal sensation again, and the shooting pains would never go away... the damage was done. He said to prepare myself, that the hands were next. Demeilinization of the nerves from being poisoned by Diabetes II the cause. I'd only been full-blown diabetic for a month, but years of toying with it as a "pre-diabetic", and over-the-top blood sugar counts worked the same as if I'd been fully diabetic that whole time. Stage II hypertension. Cholesterol levels in the 600s. Sleep apnea. Arthritis. Yadda, yadda, yadda.
No matter HOW miserable I am now, it is never as bad as a good day before the surgery. I have been blessed. Gifted. For whatever reason, chosen to be restored to a level of health I have not earned. No. I did not earn, nor do I deserve to have such a gift bestowed upon me, and in that light of reality, I see that I owe much.
I owe it to my husband (15 years my junior) to follow the exercise and eating programs to ensure maximum success for the rest of my life; to give him the healthiest wife for as long as possible to be with him on this Earth. I owe it to my grandchildren, and children, so that I can be there for them with the abundant love, security, and support that only I can bring in the special way a grandmother / mother can. I owe it to my aging parents, so that I may be there for them in their geriatric years after all the sacrifices, and selfless acts of love they've showered me with for so many years. I owe it to my fellow WLS buddies. The successes are shared amongst us all, the failures strike a deeper chord of familiar fear and pain. Heaven knows we've all had enough of that fear and pain. I owe it to my fellow man/woman. My vastly improved health relieves a burden on society and returns me to being a contributing member of society, rather than a leech sucking the trickling lifeblood out of an already depleted system. I owe it to the medical profession, my surgeon, my hospital, and its trained staff who would all take it as their failure upon my own failure. I owe it to the insurance company that invested in my surgery, and restoration to health. With each success, the easier it becomes for others like me to gain the approval they seek for their own surgeries.
Yep. I owe much, and I am grateful for every weird pain. For every slow-healing lesion. For every bout of nausea, vomiting, and gas I grapple with as I learn my new way of eating, and diet. I am even thankful for the other difficulties I have now that I didn't have pre-surgery. For they are the ear mark of my renewed hope for a full life. They, too, shall pass, afterall. The day is coming when I look back over the past from 20 years in the future, and weep at the joy of it all. I'm really, truly, one lucky broad.
Yay! You made it!
Jan 06, 2012
Welcome to the Wasatch Front / Northern Utah WLS online support group at OH (www.obesityhelp.com)
Jump right in, the temperature's fine! You can start adding content of all kinds, and make yourself right at home. This place is what we make of it. Decorate it with questions, stories, photos, brags, and snags. All of it will turn these blank white walls into a home of diversity, texture, and color. I look forward to learning from everyone, and hope that together we can help to make this journey of Weight Loss Surgery, and it's subsequent lifestyle changes, one of the best things that ever happened to us.
0 comments
Jump right in, the temperature's fine! You can start adding content of all kinds, and make yourself right at home. This place is what we make of it. Decorate it with questions, stories, photos, brags, and snags. All of it will turn these blank white walls into a home of diversity, texture, and color. I look forward to learning from everyone, and hope that together we can help to make this journey of Weight Loss Surgery, and it's subsequent lifestyle changes, one of the best things that ever happened to us.
Day 1-4
Dec 12, 2011
The day of surgery was pretty much a blur in a morphine induced haze.
It's been no bed of roses, that's for sure. On day two, I had what's called a Vagal episode, which clenched down my neck muscles, and airway. I happened to be on the commode, trying to figure out how to get my rearranged innards to work so I could empty my bladder. Unbeknownst to me, I shouldn't have strained like I did. Such a thing after surgery can trigger the Vagal episode. I had just begun to eliminate a tiny bit when suddenly, I was wracked in a voracious, bone-gripping cold that had me shivering uncontrollably. When Stephen came in to the hospital's tiny lavatory with the requested blankets, my breathing shut off. Two nurses, a respiratory therapist, and Stephen managed to get me back on to the edge of the bed, sans underwear and backdoor flapping in the wind. I didn't care. At that moment, only air mattered to me.
As Stephen kept my eyes locked with his, he watched my lips turn blue, and yawp noiselessly at him in fear. A few seconds later, for whatever reason, the death grip on my throat released, and air flow resumed. Some thought that maybe I'd had a panic attack, but the respiratory therapist, and my surgeon, concurred with each other on it being a Vagal episode. Whatever it was, it scared the hell out of all of us.
I was then ordered to go for a CAT scan; my surgeon wanted to rule out that I may have a clot in the chest or a PE. The contrast they injected into my second IV had the expected effect of flooding warmth throughout my entire vascular system. So ended the shivering. Next was the fever. Over the next few hours, it climbed to 101.4. At the nurse's insistence, I went for a walk around the floor. When I went past the nurses's station, I had a flushed face, running rivulets of sweat that dripped off my chin, jaws, and nose. My fever broke, and the episode was finally over.
On day 3, discharge day, my surgeon told me to get out of there at 11:30 am. It took until after 5 to finally manage it. I had awakened at 4 am and hadn't slept during the day because Evil hubbinsman had already packed off my CPAP to the car in preparation for our trip home. While waiting for the nurse to get my discharge instructions from the surgeon written up, she came in to give me my heparin shot for the road. I was fitfully dozing, which means my breathing was going through apnea episodes. My blood Oxygen level was 73%, the release was cancelled. I took the oxygen off, left on the meter, and my percentage rose to 99-100%. I spent the next hour and a half trying to stay awake enough to keep my O2 level high so that the nurse would be satisfied that I WASN'T dying. By the time we got in the car, I fell asleep, but managed, somehow, to get in to the house.
The pain level was the highest I'd experienced since the nurse wouldn't allow me to have any pain medications while in process of discharge. Trouble was, by the time we got home, our pharmacy was closed (6 pm on Sunday night). We just found out that Walgreen's is open 24/7.... something that would have been nice to know then. :p
Ah, well. It didn't matter much. I got snuggled into my recliner with blankets piled on, and passed the hell out for an hour and a half. Upon waking, I had some warm broth, painfully made my way upstairs and passed out in my bed again. The Tylenol I took did little to ensure a good night's sleep, and pain is such a RUDE awakening, but as of 11 am today, percocet is my new best friend. I also really find the sites where the JP drains were are really annoying with the continued seeping, but that's tapering off slowly.
So, today I've had three naps today, and switched up to my semi-liquid diet. I had my 4 ounces of cream soup for lunch, chicken gnocchi from Olive garden (sans gnocchies and chicken chunks). I also managed to get in my 10 inhalations p/hr on my spirometer today, and walked my mile on the treadmill as ordered by the surgeon.
Yep, today is a good day.
2 comments
It's been no bed of roses, that's for sure. On day two, I had what's called a Vagal episode, which clenched down my neck muscles, and airway. I happened to be on the commode, trying to figure out how to get my rearranged innards to work so I could empty my bladder. Unbeknownst to me, I shouldn't have strained like I did. Such a thing after surgery can trigger the Vagal episode. I had just begun to eliminate a tiny bit when suddenly, I was wracked in a voracious, bone-gripping cold that had me shivering uncontrollably. When Stephen came in to the hospital's tiny lavatory with the requested blankets, my breathing shut off. Two nurses, a respiratory therapist, and Stephen managed to get me back on to the edge of the bed, sans underwear and backdoor flapping in the wind. I didn't care. At that moment, only air mattered to me.
As Stephen kept my eyes locked with his, he watched my lips turn blue, and yawp noiselessly at him in fear. A few seconds later, for whatever reason, the death grip on my throat released, and air flow resumed. Some thought that maybe I'd had a panic attack, but the respiratory therapist, and my surgeon, concurred with each other on it being a Vagal episode. Whatever it was, it scared the hell out of all of us.
I was then ordered to go for a CAT scan; my surgeon wanted to rule out that I may have a clot in the chest or a PE. The contrast they injected into my second IV had the expected effect of flooding warmth throughout my entire vascular system. So ended the shivering. Next was the fever. Over the next few hours, it climbed to 101.4. At the nurse's insistence, I went for a walk around the floor. When I went past the nurses's station, I had a flushed face, running rivulets of sweat that dripped off my chin, jaws, and nose. My fever broke, and the episode was finally over.
On day 3, discharge day, my surgeon told me to get out of there at 11:30 am. It took until after 5 to finally manage it. I had awakened at 4 am and hadn't slept during the day because Evil hubbinsman had already packed off my CPAP to the car in preparation for our trip home. While waiting for the nurse to get my discharge instructions from the surgeon written up, she came in to give me my heparin shot for the road. I was fitfully dozing, which means my breathing was going through apnea episodes. My blood Oxygen level was 73%, the release was cancelled. I took the oxygen off, left on the meter, and my percentage rose to 99-100%. I spent the next hour and a half trying to stay awake enough to keep my O2 level high so that the nurse would be satisfied that I WASN'T dying. By the time we got in the car, I fell asleep, but managed, somehow, to get in to the house.
The pain level was the highest I'd experienced since the nurse wouldn't allow me to have any pain medications while in process of discharge. Trouble was, by the time we got home, our pharmacy was closed (6 pm on Sunday night). We just found out that Walgreen's is open 24/7.... something that would have been nice to know then. :p
Ah, well. It didn't matter much. I got snuggled into my recliner with blankets piled on, and passed the hell out for an hour and a half. Upon waking, I had some warm broth, painfully made my way upstairs and passed out in my bed again. The Tylenol I took did little to ensure a good night's sleep, and pain is such a RUDE awakening, but as of 11 am today, percocet is my new best friend. I also really find the sites where the JP drains were are really annoying with the continued seeping, but that's tapering off slowly.
So, today I've had three naps today, and switched up to my semi-liquid diet. I had my 4 ounces of cream soup for lunch, chicken gnocchi from Olive garden (sans gnocchies and chicken chunks). I also managed to get in my 10 inhalations p/hr on my spirometer today, and walked my mile on the treadmill as ordered by the surgeon.
Yep, today is a good day.
About Me
UT
Location
44.3
BMI
Surgery
12/09/2011
Surgery Date
Nov 19, 2011
Member Since
