acortez1
Six days out from Surgery (more or less)
Apr 26, 2010
Currently Listening to: Eva Cassidy - Time after Time/Aint no Sunshine (when he's gone)
After all of the "woe is me" drama-queen episodes of my prev post, something has changed. I don't know for sure if it was purely mental, or an actual physical change that occurred in my body last night. I suspect the mental attitude precipitated the physical change... positive thoughts - and all that bull.
Anyway, here's what happened:
I was in a pretty shitty attitude, everything I drank (including my low sodium chicken broth) was just being blasted out the other end after some serious stomach rumblings. Without fail, everything I deposited was immediately withdrawn by the rear. I couldn't build up any credit or nothing!
So in one of my more melancholy moods (which I am somewhat known for) I go to my best friend and tell him what's wrong with me. My best friend happens to be my lovely baby grand piano. Luster ebony finish, bought it brand new from the factory when I graduated high-school. It was my gift for being such a wonderful student (you know, for the most part at least!) I still have my degree in music at least... so it has been my one constant companion for most of my adult life. It doesn't judge me, it just wants me to play with him every so often, so he doesn't get lonely. He's an expensive brat however, with with cleaning him out, and tuning him twice a year, but he is my baby. I pull out some sheet music I've been working on for the past few months (I don't get to practice much any-longer so... yes it takes months to polish something off.) And I play. In my playing I tell him what's wrong with me, my intense pain, and my harrowing ordeal these past few days. And then he tells me, "Don't sweat the little things babe, you're doing better than fine, you're alive! While there is life, there is ALWAYS hope. You're too stressed out, no wonder you're falling victim to delusions and panic attacks... you have been away from me too long." He goes on to say "You remember when we played for hours and hours. When you're mom would get angry, and yell at you to 'stop all that noise!' We played late into the night, you were driven to succeed. Those Mozart's and Beethoven's didn't learn themselves. Remember when you were sure you would NEVER play the Rach, because there were just too many notes... certainly more than any one piece of music should have! Well, you really didn't learn it too well, but you got the gist... you came far babe... you're going far. You won't be a concert pianist, because lets face facts babe, you're a lazy bastard who doesn't like to practice anymore, but you have other wonderful things in your life now. You think you're so smart, but you didn't run to your books, your computer, and now you can't run to food to ease out the wrinkles in your life. You came running to me. You had BETTER recognize where home is. Back to basics baby. Tomorrow we pull out the metronome and we play that Bach 2pt invention you love so much. You're the only nerd who still enjoys the music of J.S. Bach. Even among the nerds in music school, you were always nerdier. But not to worry babe, you know I love the nerds!"
So I get up, and realize for the first time, something has changed. It's like a wave of relaxation ran through my body. I realized instantly that I could hold more liquid now, and I can take in more water perhaps. And no more squirts, not at all through the night! I was impressed. Perhaps I was stressing too hard, and just needed to unclench so to speak. A change has happened, for the better. I think this will alright after all. Perhaps I have not made a terrible mistake at all.
So this morning I go to my living room, turn to my piano and say while drinking some chicken broth... "You better not ever tell anyone we have these conversations. And you need to check your attitude, I aint gonna be too many more of your 'babe's' either. I was weak, but YOU had better recognize who can bust your ass up into firewood. Expose your metal soundboard, for all the world to gaze at your strings held tightly together all wound up. Check yourself before you wreck yourself babe."
So during my time off from work to recover, I plan to spend an hour or two at the piano, to help with my recovery. That cocky-bitch had a point afterall. And the physical effects cannot be disputed. Don't sweat the small things... I'm still alive after all. Let us quote from the Good Book, (oh don't groan like that people!) "For to him that is joined to all the living there is hope: for a living dog is better than a dead lion." ~~Ecclesiastes 9:4
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After all of the "woe is me" drama-queen episodes of my prev post, something has changed. I don't know for sure if it was purely mental, or an actual physical change that occurred in my body last night. I suspect the mental attitude precipitated the physical change... positive thoughts - and all that bull.
Anyway, here's what happened:
I was in a pretty shitty attitude, everything I drank (including my low sodium chicken broth) was just being blasted out the other end after some serious stomach rumblings. Without fail, everything I deposited was immediately withdrawn by the rear. I couldn't build up any credit or nothing!
So in one of my more melancholy moods (which I am somewhat known for) I go to my best friend and tell him what's wrong with me. My best friend happens to be my lovely baby grand piano. Luster ebony finish, bought it brand new from the factory when I graduated high-school. It was my gift for being such a wonderful student (you know, for the most part at least!) I still have my degree in music at least... so it has been my one constant companion for most of my adult life. It doesn't judge me, it just wants me to play with him every so often, so he doesn't get lonely. He's an expensive brat however, with with cleaning him out, and tuning him twice a year, but he is my baby. I pull out some sheet music I've been working on for the past few months (I don't get to practice much any-longer so... yes it takes months to polish something off.) And I play. In my playing I tell him what's wrong with me, my intense pain, and my harrowing ordeal these past few days. And then he tells me, "Don't sweat the little things babe, you're doing better than fine, you're alive! While there is life, there is ALWAYS hope. You're too stressed out, no wonder you're falling victim to delusions and panic attacks... you have been away from me too long." He goes on to say "You remember when we played for hours and hours. When you're mom would get angry, and yell at you to 'stop all that noise!' We played late into the night, you were driven to succeed. Those Mozart's and Beethoven's didn't learn themselves. Remember when you were sure you would NEVER play the Rach, because there were just too many notes... certainly more than any one piece of music should have! Well, you really didn't learn it too well, but you got the gist... you came far babe... you're going far. You won't be a concert pianist, because lets face facts babe, you're a lazy bastard who doesn't like to practice anymore, but you have other wonderful things in your life now. You think you're so smart, but you didn't run to your books, your computer, and now you can't run to food to ease out the wrinkles in your life. You came running to me. You had BETTER recognize where home is. Back to basics baby. Tomorrow we pull out the metronome and we play that Bach 2pt invention you love so much. You're the only nerd who still enjoys the music of J.S. Bach. Even among the nerds in music school, you were always nerdier. But not to worry babe, you know I love the nerds!"
So I get up, and realize for the first time, something has changed. It's like a wave of relaxation ran through my body. I realized instantly that I could hold more liquid now, and I can take in more water perhaps. And no more squirts, not at all through the night! I was impressed. Perhaps I was stressing too hard, and just needed to unclench so to speak. A change has happened, for the better. I think this will alright after all. Perhaps I have not made a terrible mistake at all.
So this morning I go to my living room, turn to my piano and say while drinking some chicken broth... "You better not ever tell anyone we have these conversations. And you need to check your attitude, I aint gonna be too many more of your 'babe's' either. I was weak, but YOU had better recognize who can bust your ass up into firewood. Expose your metal soundboard, for all the world to gaze at your strings held tightly together all wound up. Check yourself before you wreck yourself babe."
So during my time off from work to recover, I plan to spend an hour or two at the piano, to help with my recovery. That cocky-bitch had a point afterall. And the physical effects cannot be disputed. Don't sweat the small things... I'm still alive after all. Let us quote from the Good Book, (oh don't groan like that people!) "For to him that is joined to all the living there is hope: for a living dog is better than a dead lion." ~~Ecclesiastes 9:4
I had the "Roux-En-Y" Gastric bypass
Apr 25, 2010
It was on Wednesday 4/21/10 @ aprox 9AM Central.
I woke up later in Wednesday evening feeling very proud of myself, as if I had accomplished something wonderful. Of course I was full of morphine at the time, which may explain my wonderful feelings and thoughts.
Thursday, Friday were awful. Pain, and lots of uncomfortable gas disturbances were seriously affecting my mood. The hospital lovingly gave me a little "bear" to hug. It's shaped like a star (but it's a bear) and it's mostly so that if you cough, or some other major abdominal problem rears it's ugly head, you can protect the wound, and not blow a staple or anything.
Thursday they also wheeled me down to the X-Ray room where they could make sure I was not "leaking". They made me swallow a copious amount of bitter liquid and took pics of my insides all the while to make sure there was no leakage out of my little pouch. It's worth bearing in mind that I had NOTHING to drink all of Wednesday, and on Thursday I was on just ice chips. The hospital very thoughtfully had a tall glass of water and ice waiting for me when I returned to my room. I drank thirstily, and honestly, I should NOT have done that. I had the hiccups for 20 minutes, and spitting up water. My lips were gone, they had dried out at some point, and I was a little worse for the wear to be honest.
Friday night, I had the mother of all panic attacks! It was terrible, I have never suffered from these before, and I suspect it was a combo of medication that sent me into a spiral. I was SOOOOOO very thirsty, and all I could keep down was an Oz per hour, according to the info I got. I was not sleeping well in the hospital, and after 3 days of not so great sleep (if any at all really) I got something for a headache that was building up. In bed that night, I was frantically calling my mother on my cell phone to save me! I was NOT reacting well to the meds, I was having a full on panic attack. I thought I was going to die. The nurses come into the room, reassure me that things are fine... the heart rate is normal... everything checks out great, and I'm just very very exhausted, I need rest. My mother makes an appearance at the hospital a few hours later, and I feel like a child. I remember telling her that she has to take me out of here... they are going to kill me! She talked me down, told me they would take me home in the morning, but I should rest for now. I was so happy to see her, I felt so very lost at that time, I was crying. Who knew I was so mentally unstable!? The truth comes out in time of great stress and conflict. I felt the walls beginning to cave in on me, at one point, I felt like i was in a box... and I was attached to the box through the Cpap I use at night... all contained nicely in a box. In reality, I was in a hospital bed, nothing but an IV in my arm to hold me down, and my mind working overtime to concoct, by far, the strangest scenario I have ever encountered in my life.
Saturday evening, I have a chat w/the Dr's colleague who did his rounds that day, and he said I'm doing very well. I have had several bowel movement (more like diarrhea if you ask me!) and I am on a liquid diet, and my drain thingy isn't even filling up anymore. He saw no reason why I should continue to be in the hospital under my hyper-anxious state, and sent me home. Of course I was embarrassed by how childish I acted last night. I still have no real clue what triggered my panic attack, I apologized to the staff, and the nurses, for being such a baby. I'm 34 damn!
I spent Saturday evening at my home. My mother practically insisted I stay at her home for the next few weeks, but I convinced her that I needed the normality of "my things" around me, to recenter my life. I feel like EVERYTHING has changed. Not that things didn't need to change, things were out of control there for a long while with my constant food binges. But I slept reasonably well. When they say this is major surgery, it IS MAJOR surgery. I did ask my mom to fill some scripts for me at the drug store, which she hapilly did, and I am ever so grateful for. She already watches over my father who is in much more need of her constant supervision, I won't add to her drama. I'll be fine I told her, and will call her first thing in the morning, and last thing before I go to bed, and go her house everyday (like all of 3-4 miles away from me!) as long as she isn't cooking! She tends to cook for an army, no wonder we are big people!
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I woke up later in Wednesday evening feeling very proud of myself, as if I had accomplished something wonderful. Of course I was full of morphine at the time, which may explain my wonderful feelings and thoughts.
Thursday, Friday were awful. Pain, and lots of uncomfortable gas disturbances were seriously affecting my mood. The hospital lovingly gave me a little "bear" to hug. It's shaped like a star (but it's a bear) and it's mostly so that if you cough, or some other major abdominal problem rears it's ugly head, you can protect the wound, and not blow a staple or anything.
Thursday they also wheeled me down to the X-Ray room where they could make sure I was not "leaking". They made me swallow a copious amount of bitter liquid and took pics of my insides all the while to make sure there was no leakage out of my little pouch. It's worth bearing in mind that I had NOTHING to drink all of Wednesday, and on Thursday I was on just ice chips. The hospital very thoughtfully had a tall glass of water and ice waiting for me when I returned to my room. I drank thirstily, and honestly, I should NOT have done that. I had the hiccups for 20 minutes, and spitting up water. My lips were gone, they had dried out at some point, and I was a little worse for the wear to be honest.
Friday night, I had the mother of all panic attacks! It was terrible, I have never suffered from these before, and I suspect it was a combo of medication that sent me into a spiral. I was SOOOOOO very thirsty, and all I could keep down was an Oz per hour, according to the info I got. I was not sleeping well in the hospital, and after 3 days of not so great sleep (if any at all really) I got something for a headache that was building up. In bed that night, I was frantically calling my mother on my cell phone to save me! I was NOT reacting well to the meds, I was having a full on panic attack. I thought I was going to die. The nurses come into the room, reassure me that things are fine... the heart rate is normal... everything checks out great, and I'm just very very exhausted, I need rest. My mother makes an appearance at the hospital a few hours later, and I feel like a child. I remember telling her that she has to take me out of here... they are going to kill me! She talked me down, told me they would take me home in the morning, but I should rest for now. I was so happy to see her, I felt so very lost at that time, I was crying. Who knew I was so mentally unstable!? The truth comes out in time of great stress and conflict. I felt the walls beginning to cave in on me, at one point, I felt like i was in a box... and I was attached to the box through the Cpap I use at night... all contained nicely in a box. In reality, I was in a hospital bed, nothing but an IV in my arm to hold me down, and my mind working overtime to concoct, by far, the strangest scenario I have ever encountered in my life.
Saturday evening, I have a chat w/the Dr's colleague who did his rounds that day, and he said I'm doing very well. I have had several bowel movement (more like diarrhea if you ask me!) and I am on a liquid diet, and my drain thingy isn't even filling up anymore. He saw no reason why I should continue to be in the hospital under my hyper-anxious state, and sent me home. Of course I was embarrassed by how childish I acted last night. I still have no real clue what triggered my panic attack, I apologized to the staff, and the nurses, for being such a baby. I'm 34 damn!
I spent Saturday evening at my home. My mother practically insisted I stay at her home for the next few weeks, but I convinced her that I needed the normality of "my things" around me, to recenter my life. I feel like EVERYTHING has changed. Not that things didn't need to change, things were out of control there for a long while with my constant food binges. But I slept reasonably well. When they say this is major surgery, it IS MAJOR surgery. I did ask my mom to fill some scripts for me at the drug store, which she hapilly did, and I am ever so grateful for. She already watches over my father who is in much more need of her constant supervision, I won't add to her drama. I'll be fine I told her, and will call her first thing in the morning, and last thing before I go to bed, and go her house everyday (like all of 3-4 miles away from me!) as long as she isn't cooking! She tends to cook for an army, no wonder we are big people!
