Centennial Post (aka What I Can't Live Without)

To commemorate my centennial achievement (100 lbs lost/6 months out - I am right on the cusp), I will list the things that I have relied upon the most during this journey.

Consider this my teary, dramatic Oscars "thank you" speech, except that I'm not wearing a designer dress.

In no particular order, here are The Things I Couldn't Live Without:

Wendy's Chili - Wendy's provides a mainstay for me. Their small chili (with cheese) is the perfect concoction of finely ground meat, kidney beans, vegetables, spice, and broth. There are alot of things that don't agree with tiny new tummies, but Wendy's chili has never failed me.

Taco Bell - Taco Bell was the location of my first post-surgical dining out experience. That first small order of pintos and cheese was like ambrosia after weeks of liquid nutrition. Still a favorite for me 6 months later.

G2 - Gatorade's older and slightly less-sweet sister. Perfect choice for hydration without risking a sugar buzz/swoon.

Tostitos Corn Chips - I keep these handy. I especially like the little Scoops!


Aldi Party (Chex) Mix - A little handful of this keeps me going. I tend to pick out the little bagel bits.

Aldi Diet Fudgesicles - Oh my God . . . these are like crack.


Lipton Tea - When the weather was colder, I couldn't STAND cold drinks, but I had to drink something all day (doctor's orders). Lipton hot tea was a lifesaver this past winter.


Centrum Silver Chewable vitamins - Much better than Flintstones, in my opinion, and higher vitamin levels, too.








EAS Protein Powder - mixes easily with just about anything, and gets you to that daily protein goal.


Freshens Smoothies - Their low carb mango strawberry (extra protein powder) makes my tummy sing!

Starbucks - This is my going out place, since I don't really go out to restaurants anymore. Their London Fog tea, and their Skinny Vanilla lattes are winners.

McDonalds - Actually, their skinny vanilla lattes rival Starbucks, and they are cheaper. I can't claim to have used these all throughout my post-op time, because they just came out. Plus, there's no way to sit and relax at a McDonalds, but if I'm in a hurry, hitting the drivethru for a coffee works great!

Goodwill/America's Thrift, etc.: These places have allowed me to work my way through 3 complete wardrobe/closet turnovers in the last 6 months. I would have needed a trust fund to buy that many clothes at the mall.

Happy 75th Anniversary!

Whee! 75 pounds gone! I've been having a little celebration around here.

I bought myself a neat ring and a pair of Baby Phat jeans (size 16, natch). They were even brand new - not from a thrift store or anything!

I didn't feel the need to commemorate or celebrate the 25 lb loss, or even the 50 lb loss. I thought it was a fluke.

Hell, it's only been this past week that I was able to force myself to clean out my closet of all of my favorite clothes. I felt sure I'd need/wear them all again, even though they were in the largest sizes that I wore before the surgery.

I'm still getting used to all this. Standing in the closet looking at all the empty hangers was just about as wierd as getting catcalled at the gas station the other day by a truckload of migrant workers.

Don't get too excited, though. They always like the big ones.

Hey Paw! What's fer supper?

Fried chicken, green beans with fatback, and hot cornbread with sweet tea! Sallll-ute!

Yeah, not quite.

More than any other question, the question of "What do/can you eat?" crops up when the subject of my gastric bypass surgery is on the table.

The answer is: not much.

I'm about to celebrate my 5 month surgery anniversary, and unlike other folks I have spoken with, my diet has not advanced very much past what I was eating just a few weeks post surgery.
I keep reading that re-establishing eating is hit or miss, and what you can't tolerate today you might be able to tolerate tomorrow. I am the poster child of that particular little nugget of wisdom.

These days, after many MANY experiments, I pretty much survive on Wendy's small cups of chili, cooked beans, hot tea, coffee, mini ricecakes, and diet fudgesicles.

I have a very VERY long list of foods that just don't work. For instance, I cannot tolerate meat of any sort (with the one exception of ground beef in well-cooked chili.) My old loves, rice and grits, cornbread and, well, ANY bread are a thing of the past.

Strangely, I CAN tolerate corn chips and cheese dip, which seems like the LAST thing that would agree with me. Ditto for mixed nuts, and I have been known to have a few peanut M&Ms with no complications.

The big takeaway from all of my post-surgical appointments is to eat enough protein to meet the daily requirements.

That seemed easy when I first heard it, and it's anything BUT easy.

Goin' to Carolina . . .

Because I like surprises, I tend to leave my iTunes on shuffle. It's like receiving little presents all day long, because you never know what's going to be served up.

First thing this morning, James Taylor's "Going To Carolina In My Mind" cued up, and I immediately thought of Russell, like I always do when I hear that tune.

Russ really loved going to the mountains, especially the Great Smoky Mtns. Russ loved life. He loved his wife, and his son and his family. He was a happy person, one of those people that just seemed to enjoy his life which, as it turns out, was shorter than anyone would have ever guessed.
Actually, I've been thinking alot about Russ lately. He was on my mind as I stepped through the processes to have my surgery. He was on my mind when I was in the hospital, wondering what the outcome would be, and he was a fairly constant presence when things weren't going well and it seemed a little touch and go.

It's been more than 5 years since he died, and I still marvel at his strength as he faced death. He was the age I am now, with a child the same age as my daughter now, and he faced the end with dignity and calmness and even a sense of humor.

I can remember when he first got sick. We assumed it would pass, like you always do. I remember it took all of us a long time to accept that he really had ALS and he was dying, and each of us did that in our own time.

Dark and silent late last night
I think I might have heard the highway calling
Geese in flight and dogs that bite
Signs that might be omens say I'm going, going
I'm goin' to Carolina in my mind

I watched as his abilities deteriorated, and as he lost the ability to walk or stand or speak or move, he spent more and more time in his bed or motorized chair; it had buttons on the headrest to go forward and turn. He retained the ability to blink his eyes, partially move one foot, and he could still "speak", although it was more like lip-reading. Outside of the limited facial movements, he was completely paralyzed, but was still 100% lucid and aware. That was the most heartbreaking to me.

But damn if he wasn't brave and cheerful. It was an amazing thing to watch him joke with us and see him raise his eyebrows at his wife. His life had flipped on a dime, his future was blown to bits and fragments, his finances were a wreck, and he was dying a slow agonizing death, but he still found pleasure, despite all of that.

Not only was he brave and cheerful, Russ spent his last days helping others. He endured studies, tests, anything that might help doctors. He used a laptop throughout his illness to communicate. Even in the late stages, when he had lost all ability to move anything more than one toe on his left foot, he had a rollerball mouse attached to the footboard of his bed and used the laptop to "chat" with visitors that weren't able to read his lips. He was the most motivated person I knew, and he seemed to have endless hope and enthusiasm.

There ain't no doubt in no one's mind
That love's the finest thing around
Whisper something soft and kind
And hey babe the sky's on fire, I'm dyin'
Ain't I goin' to Carolina in my mind . . .

He had ALS for far, far longer than most patients, which could be considered a blessing or a curse. I remember sitting by his bedside at the hosptital when we were asked to come visit, watching him as he slowly, slowly used the rollerball to type me a message.

this might be it for me

It was just he and I there. Everyone else was outside the hospital room, sobbing, and it was just he and I in that room, chatting about his death.

"Are you ready?" I asked, looking him in the eye. He blinked once - that meant yes. Then he blinked twice - no.

more

"You want more time." Blink

"Is there anything that you want to do, anyone that you still want to see?" Blink blink

"Just more time, right?" Blink

In the end, he chose the day and the time that his life would end, he allowed his family and friends to gather and say their goodbyes to him as he was heavily sedated to block the pain and his ability to fight against having his ventilator turned off so he could slip away:

With a holy host of others standing around me
Still I'm on the dark side of the moon
And it seems like it goes on like this forever
You must forgive me if I'm
Gone to Carolina in my mind . . . .

I've been thinking alot about what he would do if he could see me today. What he would say to me about having a chance at a new life, at regaining my health, at starting over and doing things differently.

Actually, I already know what he would say. He wouldn't cast blame, and he wouldn't scold for the opportunities lost. He'd celebrate the now, and probably make some plans for a weekend trip to the Smokies.

I want to live well in his memory, and enjoy what I can, in his honor. I'm going to try.

The first 20 . . . or 28

I'll have my 2 week followup with the surgeon this Wednesday. I've been faithfully keeping my little log book, slowly walking the neighborhood, and eating my eensy teensy meals.

It's hard to know where to start counting the losses. Do I reference my weight when I started the presurgery diet? The day of surgery? I guess that's up to me, but since the day of surgery, I've lost 20 lbs. and since the beginning of the presurgery diet, I've lost 28.

I feel the most difference in my hands, oddly enough.

The recuperation has been uneventful, for the most part. I've had a few instances of fatigue and a few stabs of side pain, but nothing that a short nap didn't cure, so I feel lucky.

I've grown pretty fond of my little cups of oatmeal and grits. Taking baby bites is interesting. I've justified it in my mind by picturing my stomach as a newborn (which it is, I guess).

The most interesting part is . . . whatever make the hunger sensation happen is evidently gone. It's miraculous, really. Last night, I was surrounded by Chinese food, and it didn't phase me.

That in itself is a miracle.

I haven't really taken any pictures; I'm not sure why. I guess I don't see much difference yet, and taking pictures seems like something you do to mark real change. I might be sorry later that I didn't take more pictures, but for whatever reason, I don't feel like having any made.

The skinny . . . .

(heh) well, not ME.

Not yet, anyway.

BUT, I did promise to come back and give an accounting of the whole surgery thing, so for those of you that are squeamish or easily bored, this will be an easy skip for you. Come back in a week or so, and this posting will likely be off the main page, and we can all pretend it was never here.

For the diehards, here's how it went down:

Wednesday, September 10
We check into the surgical waiting area. The kids are along (they insisted), GameBoys and video player in tow. I feel surprisingly calm. The Boy had asked me on the way in if I was scared, and I was able to say with total honesty I wasn't. I had a sense of peace. I was ready.

Fast forward to 10:30 am or so. I am enduring the third attempt to have an IV placed in my hand (hard to see veins in my chub, I guess). An angelic, very experienced nurse finally placed it quickly and before I knew it, soothing drugs were coursing through my veins. From there, I glided into the operating room. I was still coherent enough to crack to the surgeon that the LAST time I was wheeled into the operating room in this hospital, I woke up with a 10 lb bouncing baby boy, and would that be my fate this time? Even drugged, it was nice to hear some chuckles. As soon as I was laying flat, a mask was placed over my face . . . .

. . . . and my eyes opened to a dark post-op care room. I woke up and was able to make out several beeping machines, several nurses, and several gurneys. I remember being VERY dry and thirsty, but not much else. I must have dozed off, because the next thing I knew I was in a regular room, with Hub and the kids and my sister around me, chatting about . . . something.

The big push after that kind of surgery is to wake up and GET up. Walking around happens very quickly, and wards off a host of problems, and I knew going in that I would be asked to get up. I remember sitting up, being surprised at the lack of any pain, and walking the halls, but it was all very dreamy. It was much later that evening before I was really aware of much of anything. Nurses seemed to glide in and out, taking my temperature, taking blood, measuring, monitoring . . .

The next day, the halls were busy with walking patients and visiting families. I didn't feel quite as strong as I had the previous day, but I managed to get up a few times, each time with a wash of nausea that wouldn't go away. The nurses brought drinks, tempted me with popsicles, but nothing appealed. As the afternoon progressed into the evening, that initial nausea worsened, and things started to deteriorate pretty quickly. I vaguely remember being in the bathroom, and holding a large basin in front of my face, while sitting gingerly on the toilet.

Blood was pouring out of both ends.

I will say this: Throwing up (what appeared to me to be) a gallon of blood is shocking, but I felt SO MUCH better afterward. The relief was soon overtaken by the faint notion in my head that something probably wasn't right, and that was confirmed by the flurry of nurses that came in and out to see me and my predicament.

Let me say this . . . my surgeon was wonderful. He was there. He was there when things were going well, and he was there when things WEREN'T going well. He took the time to explain to me that in my particular case, I had bled profusely during the procedure, that basically everything that was touched bled. Certainly a bad side effect of my diabetes, but also a side effect of being a fair skinned person, evidently. Even though things weren't going as well as expected, I never felt that I was in real danger.

The blood transfusions began that day, and I had 4 in all. Amazing how much better you feel after that.

Once that issue was resolved, I started to make gains. I could walk the halls. I could eat popsicles and take my medication. I could shower.

I could come home.

I've been home for 4 days now, and I've felt good each day. I'm following the doctor's instructions to the letter, and watching the scale with slack-jawed amazement (from my intial visit with the doc to today, 24 lbs are off my frame.)

Even though we had a few rough spots, I'm still glad I did it.

Finally home . . .

Well, I had my first full day at home yesterday. I was in the hospital longer than I'd planned to be, and longer than the doctor had planned for me to be.

Some complications, but all seems to be well now.

When I am less tired, I'll fill in the details.