I'm back...and banded!

Well, I got home from the hospital last night. Here is my recounting of my banding procedure. Please note that I was doped up the majority of the time, so my glasses may be a little rose colored...

I was nervous about having my procedure done at St. Joseph's in St. Paul, because when you walk through it, it is definitely an older smaller hospital. And there is always stuff overflowing into the hallways. You know, stuff like boxes of hospital supplies, floor cleaners, extra wheel chairs. And the decor is really outdated and the signs are all ratty. Now, I did see the signs everywhere that say they are in the process of the 79 million dollar renovation, so I kept telling me that this is the storm before the calm!!

It took a bit of time to get into Surgical Admitting, and they were anxious to get me up there. They actually called the ER to see where I was and why I wasn't up in SA yet. That lit a fire under them, although in their defense it was obvious that they were a bit understaffed Wednesday morning.

Once I got to Surgical Admitting, this is where I had to say goodbye to Josh for a while. I knew it wasn't the last time we would see each other, because the Bariatric Center gives you this awesome folder and in it is a section about "what to expect the day of your surgery". So I wasn't teary at all and Josh just kind of looked at me like a puppy and did his husbandly duty and went to the waiting area (which has been remodeled and is very nice apparently).

The SA nurse I had, Kathy, was WONDERFUL. She was very friendly and her Nurse friend Janet was a stitch, and was helping us fastrack through somethings because I was a wee bit late to arriving to them. I had to give one last urine test, to ensure I wasn't pregnant. HAHAHA! The odds would have REALLY been against me if I was, given that I had a tubal almost 8 years ago AND had my period that day. But, pee I did and pregnant I was not. WHEW.

So on with the gowns, the sexy slippers, the hot looking cap and on my way to my cart I went. Except I had to pee. Again. Okay, now in my defense I was instructed to take all my medications that I normally do, and one is a diuretic which makes me pee like every 45 minutes for about 4-5 hours in the morning. Life with one kidney, a small bladder and daily diuretics.

The last step before going back to the gurney was getting weighed...GULP! I was a bit nervous because I had done less than stellar on my liquid diet this time. The first time I had done brilliantly, but I think I did worse this time because I was convinced that the rug was going to be pulled out from underneath me again, so why bother. Now it says all over the place that you CANNOT gain weight prior to surgery or they don't do the procedure. And I was sweating it big time! I had done a massive low cal, liquid thing near the end, but my scale at home said I was only ONE POUND less than what I last was recorded at the Clinic. So I'm cursing every cheat that I did - damn that fried chicken. And the big, juicy cheeseburger. And the white pizza. Damn me, and fuckity fuck fuck if I can't have this surgery because I dicked around with my diet too much. Plus I have MY PERIOD. Bloat city, people!!

So I step up on the big scale and hold my breath as the little digital reader spins and turns to indiciate it is thinking about how bad I've done. It makes a beeping noise and blinks once...and the number is...143! WHEW! Four pounds less than the last time I had been weighed...WOO HOO!

They lay me on the cart and I have to be strapped into this compression leggings that have air moving through them to keep my legs from swelling and clots at bay. Another nurse comes out to give me my IV, and apparently since I have gained weight, my veins are tricky to reach. This I hear from almost every lab tech for the last several years, so I'm ready to hear it from her. Surprise...she is having a tough time finding a good place to put the IV. I show her the top 3 places I usually get an IV and she selects my least favorite - my top of inside right wrist, right by where my thumb connects to my wrist. But she hits on the first try and I'm ready to go.

And then I have to pee again. So I get out of my compression boots, have to wheel my IV cart with me...lots of fun, I tell you. The guy in the gurney next to me has obviously received his sleepy juice shot, because he is SNORING horribly. Josh would tell you that that is one of the sounds I really cannot tolerate. It was awful, andI was doing my best not to become irritable.

They get Josh to sit with me for a bit. I could tell he was a bit nervous but still being really supportive. They had given me a shot to relax so I was overwhelmed with emotion for him. All I could do is touch his gorgeous goatee and tell him I loved him. And I reminded him to read my medical directive so he knew what to do in case of an emergency or sad decision making. He chuckled at my responses - like "take everything you need because I'm SO OKAY with that". Hey, I grew up in the 80's and like gag me.

So Dr. Schwartz comes out and talks to me and Josh, and I meet my anethesiologist and nurses, too. They all seem really nice. It starts to sink in that this is it, I'm finally going to get this done and my life is going to change - starting today. Oddly, I never panicked, but the gravity of my decisions were certainly right in my face. BUT...I truly think this is a good decision for me. And I still do.

So I say goodbye to Josh I get wheeled in, and within a few minutes I'm in LALA land. I wake up in the recovery room, and I feel pretty good. My first question is whether I was banded or they ended up doing the bypass and they say "BAND" and I'm thrilled. Being a veteran at this game, I know that I have to perk up and demonstrate that I'm alert enough to go to my room to get out of recovery. The older gent accross from me in there is hacking up a lung - enough to get a lot of people's attention, including the anethesiologist. The gentleman keeps saying that that is normal for him, and I keep hoping that Josh and I never sound like that when we age.

They deem me worthy to go to my room and I'm actually feeling pretty good - except that I get a bit motion sick on the ride up. Like carsickness. And I get carsick really easily, so that isn't surprising. But I'm trying not to get too nauseated, because the last thing I want to do is heave and disrupt my surgery on my stomach!

I see Josh and my mother in law in the hall and I wave to them, with my feet. JoAnn laughs and notes to Josh that I am really alert and she can't believe how good I look. I know she has been really worried about my decision to have this done, and she has a friend that had something similar but much different done a while back, so she was convinced I was going to have the same problems. Or she was really worried that I would.

They get me into the bed, and I actually do look really good for just having major surgrey. I did my hair that morning and my makeup and most of it held up. I just think that doing those little things helps you, the people that see you and it contributes to my mind over matter belief on recovery. You can choose to be a bad patient, and I have always chosen to not be.

I'm getting tired...so I'm going to lay down and rest. But I'll post more about my recovery later today. Ciao!