A Different Kind of Proud....

So today was a frustrating day - got to weigh myself this morning and nothing........no real loss at all.....here comes my first plateau and already I'm feeling discouraged.

All I wanted to do was crawl back into bed and cry, but instead I resisted the urge to get upset and melt down, picked myself up, had my first meal of soft food (tuna casserole - yummo!) and went off to work. At work I talked to a couple of friends about it, and they all said the same thing......step away from the scales, keep doing what you're doing, and realise that this takes time and doesn't happen overnight. Feeling a little bolstered I then went and had a beautiful coffee with my darling Lisa who said the same thing.

But all day this niggling little voice in the back of my head kept trying to put me down all day. ALL day. "This works for other people but you're gonna be the exception....what if there's something medically wrong with you.......what if your just meant to be big and die young.....you're gonna die and all this will be for nothing.....you just wasted 10 grand for NOTHING" and then the excuses for not going to the gym tonight started "what's the point, you haven't lost anyways, why torture yourself, you're not technically even meant to be going to the gym yet, you could just go home and rest, you need a night at home, there's lots of housework to do, your stomach doesn't feel good, you have to go to coles after work so you can't go to the gym tonight (Hey I didn't say it was logical!!!)"

This went on even as I was driving home this afternoon, then I decided to put a stop to it - I told that voice to rack off and that I was going to the gym anyways.

And so I did. And I walked 50 mins, 3.14kms and then came home :) I'm proud of myself that I didn't let that little voice win, especially when it usually does. I'm going to go tomorrow morning too - and I'm going to keep going every weekday. Not because the scales aren't moving, but because I don't want that little voice to get any louder. It's time for that voice to rack off for good.

Being Brave.....

Today, as I was listening to this song, I began to cry......

"Nothing's gonna hurt you the way the words do when they settle 'neath your skin, kept on the inside with no sunlight sometimes the shadow wins, but I wonder what would happen if you say what you wanna say and let the words fall out, honestly, I wanna see you be brave"

"Maybe there's a way out of the cage where you live, maybe one of these days you can let the light in. Show me how big your brave is"

"And since your history of silence wont do you any good, did you think it would? Let your words be anything but empty, why don't you tell them the truth?"

When I heard this song for the first time, I felt like it was written for me. I know first hand what it's like when the words "settle 'neath your skin". I know what that feels like. I've had so many words settle beneath my skin and continue to hurt me over and over and over again. I do feel like I've been locked in a prison, stuck in a cage of fat that has not only become a part of who I am but is my prison warden - keeping me down, keeping me quiet, keeping me invisible. I cried because for the first time, driving home from my dietitian appointment I could see a way out of the cage. I could see a way to let a little light into my life. And I wept for both the life I have had stolen from me, and for the life I am about to gain. 

No one will ever quite know how insanely proud I am of myself that I am tackling this issue in my life. So many people don't, and while I don't mean to toot my own horn I have discovered a bravery in myself that frankly I didn't know I had! That bravery must now extend to a longer term type of strength that will have me push my comfort zone into a more active life, a life that is completely different from the life I used to know. While right now I'm lounging around, sleeping a fair bit and generally convalescing here at home that won't last. Next Monday I'll be half way towards being able to do proper exercise - which means not only joining the gym but going every single day. It's just what I have to do - I no longer have the luxury of tapering off after a while because for the next 12 months I must do what I must do in order to maximize this incredible opportunity I have to change my destiny for the better. 

As for telling the truth, here's some truth. I am no longer a product of my circumstances. I am no longer without a voice, and as time goes by you're gonna hear me more and more. I have only just begun to become who I was always meant to be and I wont quit. 

Review time!

So today was my follow up appointment with the surgeon and we decided that we would pack up the car in the hopes that he might give me the all clear to go home. I was a little nervous knowing that I hadn't been entirely good when it comes to taking the benefibre, drinking enough fluids and taking my multi vitamins like I should. I suitably got a little kick in the butt, not by the staff but mentally by myself because I was reminded at the appointment how serious this whole thing is, and that I am by no means out of the woodwork yet. I have another two weeks before it can be confidently said that I wont have a leak, so I have to be really careful until then. So 27th of October is my "all clear" date :)

The surgeon suggested before I even asked whether we'd like to go home today, I said well yes we were hoping to and he said he was happy with my progress and I was welcome to head home. A quick trip back to the motel to grab our gear and check out and we hit the road, only stopping a couple of times for fuel and a stretch. We took a quick detour to Curlewis to pick up our Gizmo, and then raced home. The reception from both fur babies was SPECTACULAR - Gizmo wagged his bum nearly clean off, and Max hasn't stopped talking and smooching since we got home (about 7 hours ago now!)

So now we're home - its just past 1am and I cannot seem to get to sleep. Brad's already in bed and out to it, but for some reason my legs are really restless and I just couldn't settle. So I got up and tidied my office up instead.

I couldn't help but feel a little depressed in finding out that I don't actually start purees til Monday - so I still have a few days of fluids left (boo hiss!) but I have to follow the rules. Tomorrow I'm off shopping and I'm going to stock up on stuff I'll be able to have as of Monday (oooh so excited!) and I think I have a dietician appointment next week also which will help sort out the do's and don'ts so to speak!

I should probably try to sleep again....stupid restless legs!

The Bad and the Ugly...

I would have spent the last couple of hours laying in bed trying to get to sleep. My sweet husband, whose brain never ever seems to get away from him like mine does me is sleeping peacefully in our relatively comfortable motel bed just a few meters away yet sleep alludes me. So, in an attempt to perhaps slow down my brain enough for me to rest, here I am up instead to download my thoughts....

It's been a rough couple of days. Despite promises to the contrary I've been experiencing pretty severe pains in my stomach that prior to surgery I would have assumed were hunger pains. I have read in a couple of different places that this kind of thing is most likely due to acid reflux rather than any kind of real hunger, yet I am still highly concerned for a couple of reasons. Number one: I do NOT want to spend the next 12 months being in pain and feeling perpetually hungry and two: If this pain persists its likely I will not be able to read when I'm full, thus increasing my chances of stretching my new stomach and completely undoing all my good work tenfold. Yet unlike hunger, the feeling gets WORSE when I try to drink anything, making my fluid intake over the last couple of days drop to dangerously low levels. And my spirits right along with it despite my husband's best efforts. 

Poor Brad. At one point during my despair and worries he exasperatedly said "I thought this surgery was going to INCREASE your confidence!!" We've come all this way, at great expense, to improve my chances of losing weight, feeling healthier, happier, and living a fuller life and all I can do is gripe about it. It's really not fair on him at all. I can't seem to find the words to tell him my fears in any intelligible way that he would understand because, lets face it, unless you've been there yourself you cannot possibly know what this is like. He tries, Lord love him, but I feel like I've already burdened him far more than I should have. I cannot ask him to understand something he's never experienced for himself. 

The horrid psychologist I saw just before the surgery who made me feel AWFUL (see previous post for sordid details!) said something interesting to me. She pointed out that my putting on weight was a way of me abusing myself, which in itself is hardly a revelation, but she then went on to say that perhaps me having the surgery was just switching methods to a different form of abuse upon myself...I thought that was a preposterous concept until recently but now I wonder whether me having this surgery was like my own brand of self harm. But then I think to myself, perhaps not getting the surgery would have been more abusive - how can I ignore such a serious problem that will eventually kill me? Is having 80-90% of my stomach cut out my own personal brand of terrorism, or a way to spare myself from my own personal brand of terrorism?

Sometimes I feel like I wouldn't even need to physically visit a psychologist - all I need to do is send her the link to this blog in an email with the message "here's where to start" and let her have at it! Wouldn't she have a field day! I feel like it would be terribly remiss of me, nay a higher form of neglect, for me to not include the bad stuff along with the good. After all, this journey is not success only, and the hard stuff has only really just begun. I'm sure in the future there will be posts of successes, victories, smaller and smaller scale readings, new measurements, new outfits and all manner of good news. But at this stage of this very long journey I am feeling tired, and worn out, and disheartened. It's only been a week and I don't have that "hooray I've been sleeved" feeling at all. Instead I am wondering what the hell I have done to myself and I'm plagued with doubts as to whether this has been worth it at all. 

Of course intellectually I know it is. In my head I am as determined as ever to succeed and I know I have the professional and personal support team behind me to make that happen. I've done everything right, just like I always do. I've put all my ducks in a row, I've crossed my t's and dotted my i's and I've sought the best of the best in terms of advice and research. I was READY for this. So why do I now feel so scared and so bloody unsure of myself. The fact of the matter is, it's done. There's nothing that can change that. 

As usual, I've fooled myself into believing that by getting everything just so my emotions will catch up. But the bad and the ugly part of life is sometimes you just have to fake it til you make it. And so, tomorrow I'll get up, put on my bravest smile, ring the clinic to discuss my concerns, and try again.....

Week One Recap

Ok, so I’ve been REALLY slack blogging about the actual surgery and immediate aftermath, so here is a full recap of what’s been happening over the last 6 days:

Sunday

Sunday morning dawned early for us, as I had to be up early to head to Sydney and I had a TONNE of things left to do before we left. We madly tried to pack up everything, Max threw up three times (including twice BEHIND the couch) and finally we got on the road. It was a pretty uneventful trip, which ended in us parking a mile away from where we should have been – but we finally found where we were meant to go, got the key for our accommodation and got settled in. Poor Brad was a little horrified to learn that the unit we have is a shared unit, so there was other people living there, but I still say we were lucky to get the place we got – it’s really nice and fully self contained which means we can do our washing etc.

Sunday night also meant that I was finally going to treat myself to some real food – Brad cooked chicken tenders which tasted AMAZZZINNNGGGG and then later that night I had salmon and veggies. It was so great to finally eat protein again! Going to sleep was a bit hard on Sunday night but I eventually got there.

Monday

My alarm went off on Monday at 5am and I got up. I thought I would have an optifast, but I didn’t really feel like it so instead I got stuck into some water which I was allowed to have up til about 8:30am. I parked myself in one of the living rooms in our flat with a book, the TV and a heater and that’s where I stayed all morning, just relaxing and trying not to think about what was about to happen to me! I had my last sip of water at around 8:20am and then we headed over to the hospital at around 10am. I was admitted and taken up to the day surgery area and told to wait there, but we didn’t have to wait too long before my name was called and I was taken into a small room where I was asked a bunch of questions. I was told there was another girl to go in for surgery ahead of me, and that I might be waiting a little while. Brad was allowed to be with me the whole time which was REALLY helpful to me, and I didn’t once panic or get really nervous about it despite the circumstances.

When they came for me to go into surgery Brad said goodbye and for the first time I got a little teary. They wheeled me into the anaesthetic bay and had some difficulties getting a line into me (surprise surprise) but did get one to take eventually after a few goes. By that stage I was beginning to panic a bit, so they gave me something to settle my nerves and I was wheeled into the operating room. They had this amazing blow up mattress thing underneath me that hovered me over to the operating table, and despite being told I probably wouldn’t remember it I do remember being angled up towards my feet and told to slide down to the bottom of the bed so my feet were flat on the foot of the bed. I don’t remember a thing after that.

Waking up in recovery really hurt – my shoulder was KILLING me, the gas pain was so bad. I also had a mask over my face which I found claustrophobic, and I kept trying to take it off but they said I couldn’t just yet. Because everything had been so well explained before hand I knew what was I in for, so there was no real surprises to me except the pain. I was soon taken to my room and introduced to the nursing staff, then realised that my husband was there too J I was so pleased to see him!!!

That evening the nursing staff offered for me to get changed into my own clothes and I told them I’d like to go for a walk. I think they were surprised I’d be up and about so soon, but I’d had it drilled into me to get up and walk as soon as possible, so I began lapping the ward and continued to do so every time I was awake and alert. It gave me something to focus on, some measure of control, and something practical I could do to decrease the pain. I think the nurses were very impressed J

The next day or so is a bit of a blur – lots of ice (everytime a nurse turned up I’d ask for more ice because it kept melting on me!) and everytime I pressed my little button off I’d go for a snooze…I felt bad because Brad would sit with me most of the day and every time the machine would beep he and I would both know I’d be out for the count, but he stayed anyways. Having him as a constant prescence through this whole experience has been the most incredible thing I feel like I’ve been able to share this journey with him, and that’s made me feel even closer to him than I ever have before. We’ve done it together, and he’s been such an amazing pillar of strength.

Tuesday

Tuesday was a bit of a blur, but I do remember Dr Taylor coming to visit finally sporting some VERY graphic photographs proving that INDEED the surgery was done, and indeed I had been sleeved. His proof was a particularly disturbing image showing the part of the stomach he cut away laying on a stainless steel slab with his fist next to it for sizing purposes - lovely! LOL I was relieved that it really did happen and that my liver was small and soft enough for it to happen safely, and even though I'd tested myself every couple of days and I had not cheated on my pre op diet I was still a little nervous about making sure that it really DID happen. 

Wednesday-Thursday

As the days wore on I realised I was pretty keen to get out of the hospital. There was a big question mark hanging over us as to whether I’d leave Wednesday evening (an early mark) or whether I’d wait til Thursday. The push button machine was taken away Wednesday lunch time, but I’d stopped using it the day before and had only pushed it a couple of times even then. I struggled to drink the fluids given to me Wednesday lunch time, and then Wednesday evening my cannula (faithful though it had been up til then) finally gave way. Thankfully I was able to drink a whole cup of apple juice in time for the nurses to agree to not put in another one (PHEW) which meant that I had a whole night of sleep without being tethered to anything J J Because I didn’t have the machines anymore I was left alone for 5 hours and got a serious stretch of sleep, and when I woke up I went for a walk straight away and had a shower and got packing – I was dying to get out of the hospital!!! Brad came for me at 9am and I was practically ready to go, I’d been given my instructions and medications and was ready to head off. I found out I’d have to give myself shots every day to prevent blood clots (owch!) and was taught how to do it (I’m so brave!!!) to which surprisingly I DIDN’T freak out but rather just calmly accepted (God is so good!).

The only time I got upset was when I was brought my liquid breakfast – I looked at all the liquid and I freaked out because I knew how difficult it was for me and I felt completely overwhelmed – amazing what a bit of juice tea and broth can do for a body when you’ve had this surgery! The nurses calmed me down, assuring me that while it does seem like a lot all at once, the most important thing to do was to just keep sipping on something, and not look at the big picture. I was assured that it WOULD get better, despite how things were feeling right now, and that in time I’d be able to tolerate more and more.

After I calmed down we dropped into the pharmacy for the rest of my meds and came straight to the unit, it felt SO good to be out of the hospital J it was my first step towards getting back to my life and it felt SO good J Brad immediately became my fluid nazi (in the nicest possible way) encouraging me to continue sipping on the sustagen popper I’d been given at breakfast as well as later on juice, optifast and even going to the supermarket down the road and getting me frosty fruits (OMG so good!). Swallowing was still hard, with pain coming up in my chest after most sips of drink. It was a big learning curve figuring out how much was too much and how little was too little. It also dawned on me just how long I had to go, and how tough the smallest amounts of liquids had become for me.

Friday

Friday dawned with me really not knowing what to do with myself – apart from wandering down to the hospital to pay for my accommodation I really didn’t have anything to do, so we spent the day lazing around, having a nap watching tv and the odd movie. We’ll be very ready for some action by the time next week rolls around and we’re closer to the beach that’s for sure! I was able to have some more liquids actually making it over the 1ltre mark which was encouraging! I also for the first time experienced what I think was hunger pains! Incredible! I could definitely feel an improvement in the way I was able to consume liquids, and I snuck a peak at my booklet given to me by the clinic to have a look at the next stage (which would start next Thursday) and began thinking about things I could puree! J Hooray!

So, that’s the recap of the week. It’s been the toughest thing I’ve ever done, but so far I’m just concentrating on healing and resting at this point. The real work begins when I am able to consume real food again but I’m confident that because I’ve come this far I wont quit and I’ll keep the next 9-12 months always in the forefront of my mind – this is the time I have to make a concerted effort, there’s no going back now. I have to keep my stomach as small as possible for as long as possible, and I must make good choices NOW to set myself up for the rest of my life. I’m going to get every single lost kilo I can out of this, because this is a one time deal – I’ll never be doing this again!!! I have to keep the end goal in mind – it’s about health and wellbeing and losing the damn weight!

It’s now Saturday morning, another perfect day in Sydney all wrapped up in our comfortable little unit like a cocoon. Brad will be heading down to the shops later to pick up some more food for himself, but other than that there’s no much we have in the way of plans. I will likely go for a short walk today just to stretch my legs and get things moving, and I’ll be trying to bump up the liquids as much as I can. Here’s to week two!