myorberajourney

[myorberajourney]

Day 0 - part 2

*Still* Monday the 4th October

I lay in my bed in recovery with a sore throat from the tubes and camera, sore hand from the cannula, sore tummy from the foreign object and sore back from the horrible hard mattress. Still. I can’t complain. I have a new way of life now. No excuse to not stick to a new way of eating as I physically cannot over eat anymore. I finally have a chance to right my wrongs and prove to everyone that I’m more than just an overweight, lazy failure. The nurse (number I don’t know anymore) standing to my right is talking to me as I drift in an out of consciousness. They said I’d be awake during the procedure and that id remember little. But I remember that “little” even more so now. I remember the throat spray they used as they jammed their camera my down my throat, I remember gagging when said tube came back out again. I remember distinctively telling them that the throat spray “doesn’t fucking taste like banana”. I wasn’t wrong. But now I’m laid in recovery with the stupid oxygen thing up my nose blowing cold air into my brain as I’m trying to relax in my last moment of sedimented bliss.

It’s over now as I’m taken on the bumpy road back down to my quarters where I’ll lie and rest the next

two hours. Oh and by the way.. the pee pot? They pregnancy tested me. Turns out being gay isn’t even a valid contraceptive these days.

————-

I’m hooked up to another round of squeeze the forearm. My favourite activity for making me feel self conscious and fat. The cuff is doing it’s rounds at an alarming rate and a clip is attached to my ear. One single movement and the machine excretes a loud beeping noise that alerts the nurses (1-100) that I’m shuffling and they all come rushing in to check on me. That’s nice. But I’m in pain as I lie there. I’m confused as to weather my tummy pain is due to the placement or due to my previous state of hunger prior to surgery. It also feels gassy and I’m incredibly bloated. So many thoughts going around in my head and I feel stupid to ask. I get the nurse to hand me my phone as I need to text my mum and tell her I’m alive. “Glad you’re ok xx” is what I get. No words of sympathy from the woman.. but then she does tell me this is self inflicted. It still would be nice to get some words of encouragement.

The rounds of arm squeezing are up and after an hour of laying in a vegetable like state, I am instructed to stand up and pee. Another pee? There’s nothing left to expel after you took my last lot and lab tested me. I’m given a jug of water and a glass and told to sip sllooowwwllyyyy. There’s literally no room in my stomach now it’s filled with gas and about 600ml of saline fluid. It hurts to swallow and I feel the acid reflux begin as the liquid bubbles back up to the surface. I’m sat down in an armchair with my iPad propped up in front of me by the nurses. How they unlocked it I have no idea but it’s playing “My Family” and I feel comforted. Another 20 minutes goes by and nurse number 2374784 tells me I’m to be discharged at 6pm and can the wife accommodate. I confirm with wife and await her arrival in 40 minutes. Meanwhile I am struggling to shift the uncomfortable gasses inside of me from the procedure and for someone of whom farts about 40 times a day, the inability to pass gas’s is infuriating. I pace the room whilst gently gathering my belongings and beginning to pack up. In amongst the nurse inconsistency, I notice an older, sweeter woman making her rounds to check on me frequently and recognise that she is the only one to truly care for my well-being and encourages me to talk to her to stop me being lonely. I have decided I like this nurse as she pops her head in to ask if I want my bag packed for me. I thank her and politely decline as I don’t wish to bother her.

C arrives at the main reception to take me home however she is instructed to stay in her car until I am bought down. The kind nurse escorts me and takes my bag from me as we walk the mile long corridor discussing how the day went. The walk was not long enough as I truly appreciated her kindness enough to not wish to walk away. We exit the building and C brings the car to the front. The nurse opens the door for me and pops my bag on the back seat. We wave goodbye and I am driven over potholes and loose chippings all the way home to which I lay in bed unaware of what the night has in store for me.

[myorberajourney]

“When life gives you lemons, you ask for something higher in protein.”

— (via strongblrslinger)

[myorberajourney]

Day 0

Monday the 4th October

So it’s day 0. I’d like to call today day 0 because the real struggle begins tomorrow.

I’m starving. Despite last nights binge, a binger is never full. I’ve awoken too late for a small breakfast. “Wake before 7am and consume a small breakfast” the pre op nurse told me two weeks ago. I pop my anti sickness tablet that I have been given two weeks prior and It’s now 9:25 so I’ve got just over 1.2 hours to get enough liquid in me to provide a substantial amount of pee at the hospital and ensure that my balloon “floats” in my tummy. After all.. I’m allowed nothing after 11am.

My case is at the end of the bed so I pull my dressing gown down from the door and stuff it in along with my Stitch slippers, a pair of knickers, all my electronic devices and my penguin. (A childhood teddy of whom attends every event deemed scary and overwhelming even by fully grown adults). With the case packed, I sit back and watch as wife continues her day as normal, preparing for her sight test at 2pm.

11:40 and it’s take to go. I’m due at the hospital at 12:00 and traffic in my town is obnoxiously slow. But we make it just in time. I’m sat down in reception with a consent form and a pencil in an extremely small chair but in the back of my mind I know that I’m here for the right reasons and soon, no chair will be undefeated by I. Chairs were one of the things most mentioned in my journey leading up to today. For me they are one of the most daunting and potentially embarrassing experiences for a larger girl and we’re faced with chairs in practically every setting we enter into. It’ll be nice to never have to worry about carefully selecting my chair in a waiting room ever again. And with that, I sign the form and hand it over to the receptionist.. of whom I know is secretly judging me. That’s what my paranoia whispers to me anyway.

I’m taken on a long walk as I’m escorted to my room by a lovely member of staff. Clearly she’s only admin as she possesses no medical equipment apart from her surgical face covering and her pocket watch. She’s dressed in a skirt suit and cravat with my consent form and room number clipped to her clipboard that she’s tightly clutching. We barely speak so after what seems like a lifetime, she shows me to room 35 where she demonstrates where the en-suite is and how to access the WiFi.

“Make yourself comfortable and the nurse will see to you in a sec” - she says as she back out of the room. It’s quiet and smells surgical. I have a nose into the bathroom and thank the lord that I’m staying here as a day case only. I turn the tv on, change into my slippers and await further instruction.

Nurse number 1 enters. She confirms my name, date of birth and postcode. She attempts small talk as she “notices” I live locally. “At least you’ve not had far to come” she laughs. I laugh too, but really I find it annoying and sarcastic. - it’s the hanger -.

Nurse number 2 enters about 5 minutes after. We complete the above repertoire in less than 20 seconds and then she attempts to put the blood pressure sleeve on my fat upper arm. With no avail, we settle with the forearm. And with that, she leaves the rooms with me attached to the mains. I guess this is pre op obs.

Nurse number 3 pops her head in and hands me a pot in which to piss in. Unbeknown the reason, I oblige and confirm my intention to conform through gritted teeth as the arm sleeve tightens around my skin.

Nurse 2 reappears and removes the sleeve. I then manoeuvre to the bathroom in which I attempt to pee. I place the pot on the cistern, wash my hands and proceed to my assigned quarters.

Nurses 4-9 come and go, handing me this and that. I get a pair of surgical socks and white knickers that I hand straight back as I remind them that I am size 26 woman and these “one size fits all” little knickers will not fit myself, a Bariatric Surgery patient in the slightest. We agree my size xxxl cotton briefs will suffice. And with that, on goes the hospital gown! Arms first.. no wait, is it a robe or a tie up nightie? Surely for a minor surgery like mine they won’t require me to wear a full hospital gown? I’m confused. I stand there in my non regulation knickers and Google how to tie a hospital gown. Still no clue, I poke my head out into the corridor and ask a male nurse. He giggles and demonstrates in the corridor whilst I hide my body behind the door.

1:30 and it’s time. Nurse 10 & 7 stand at the end of my bed again announcing their signage of paperwork and completion of confirmation as they strap a plastic tag to my wrist. I’ve described the process as “Pigeon tagging” and I like my depiction of the matter. The nurses however are not as amused as they carry on discussing me as I sit on the edge of the metal bed with my bare back experiencing every moment of cold air against the open door. I ask if I’m to walk to surgery like this as I feel exposed and rather cold. I am told no, we do not expect you to walk the corridors like that but we also only have a “one size fits all” white dressing gown to give you. This coincidentally does not fit me and they reluctantly agree to let me wear my own for the long walk back down the halls. I am walked to surgery in my trusty gown and red hospital socks where I am met with my surgeon, a nurse and about 6-9 student attendees of whom stand back and watch me struggle as I climb onto the operation bed. A blanket is placed over my legs and I am laid down with wires attached to my chests and a cannula inserted into my hand. The team try their best to distract me as they ask “what I’d be doing if I weren’t here right now” but I struggle to conform whilst I look the support nurse in the eye with fear as the sedation enters me and sends me into a giddy state of subconsciousness.

[myorberajourney]

Day -1

Sunday the 3rd October.

All that I’m seeing is Mean Girl quotes and memes. You know where that African girl Cady get asked what the date is by her crush Aron Samuels. I love that film so much.

So it’s day -1. The day before my Orbera Balloon placement. I feel overwhelmed, scared and hungry as I wake up with my breakfast binge already laid out in my head. My wife and I trek to Weatherpoons for a “last meal” (well, my last FULL meal). She opts for 4 slices of toast because she’s poorly with the “phantom COVID” that’s circulating. I choose a hearty plate of 4 bacon rashers, 2 sausages, 2 hash browns, 2 fried eggs, 4 slices of toast, a pint of orange and a hot chocolate. I look at my order on my phone and hate myself for being such a pig but nothing I try and tell myself will encourage my hunger and willingness to binge to subside. Instead I honour it in the knowledge that in 24 hours I will begin to lose weight and regain control of my heating habits. I choose to do a little shopping before we head to the car and stop into Primark for some T-shirts and bits. I find a lovely grey coat. Size 20 but it’s oversized. I know this because I can never fit into a size 20 true to size.. never mind Primarks excuse for a size 20.

We’re off to see my niece in law. It was her birthday last Saturday but we work a lot and find it hard to find time to see family. I’m drinking a lot to prepare for tomorrow but I still lie and tell my family that it’s because I’m dehydrated and need to up my liquid intake. I’m sipping on sports drinks and taking all the tea I can get. Although it’s gargling around my stomach as I know I’m nervous for the next day. On the way home, the wife and I decide that dinner must remain small but still satisfying. We manage to nip into Tesco 13 minutes before closing time and grab a ready meal lasagne and some garlic bread. I also manage to grab a full pot of Ben and Jerrys Phish Food and a bottle of full fat Coke Cherry.

So much for eating small.

We head to bed, her asleep in seconds. Myself, drifts off about 3 am.