Bump in the road

It's a good ting I used to be a long distance runner.  The patience, strength and endurance I gained from that has been a great help through the WLS process. 

Let me start by saying that I know I am extremely lucky.  I work for a company that values my health, and provides me with the Cadillac of health insurances, for an extremely small co-pay.  When all is said and done, I will likely be out of packet less than $200 for the surgery and all the pre-op prep.  And there is a lot of pre-op prep -- 19 separate doctor's appointments: three with the surgeon, one psych, one nutritionist, one full physical with my GP, two appointments with the gastroenterologist, an endoscopy, an appointment with the pulmonologist, a breathing test, a sleep apnea test, a pre-op educational session, pre-admission testing, and four cardiology visits, including two for a nuclear stress test.  It was the latter where the most recent bump in the road arose.

After arriving at the appointment 30 minutes late due to road closures and a lack of detour signs, I waited another 45 minutes to see the cardiologist.  It was Friday, it had been a long week, I was tired and already on edge.  I just wanted this part over with, so I could have my ultrasound, do my preadmission testing, and get on with my surgery and my life.  Silly me for thinking it would be that easy.

After telling me that my heart muscle was very strong (likely due to all those years of running), the cardiologist told me that there was a "shadow" on my stress test that was if concern.  He explained something I already knew, but normal-sized people don't ever have to worry about.  Because of the excess fat I carry, it can be difficult to get clear pictures of internal organs.  That, coupled with the placement of my heart under my breast, which is also on the larger side, the images from the stress test were not clear, and showed a possible blockage in my coronary artery.  To know precisely what the issue is, I need to undergo cardiac catheterization.

During this process, the doctor will snake a thin, hollow tube from my wrist into my coronary artery.  He will inject a contrast dye through the catheter into my arteries, and take x-rays to determine if there are any blockages.  In the best case scenario, there is no blockage, the catheter comes out, and I go home.

If there is a blockage, the first step would be to insert a metal stent to open the artery, and put me on blood thinners for four weeks.  This would require pushing my surgery date back, at least five weeks from the date of the catheterization, to give time for the blood thinners to do their job, and then wean me off them so I don't bleed out during surgery. Of course, if there is a truly severe blockage, then the intervention would likely be more complex, and I would have other things to worry about.

While the doctor seems to think it is most likely that they will find this is just a shadow, and will not require stenting, we won't know until the procedure is actually done.

So now, I am waiting until the scheduler is back in the office on Monday, to see when we can get the procedure scheduled.  Then I need to try to get my pre-admission testing moved up as well, as it needs to be done to clear me for the catheterization.

Did I happen to mention that I work?  Full-time?  And I commute almost an hour each way to work?  And that my doctors, and the hospital, are all about an hour in the opposite direction?  What had been a very carefully orchestrated schedule, designed to minimize the disruption to my work schedule, has been blown to pieces.  I am trying frantically to get this latest procedure scheduled for next week, so that regardless of the outcome, I can be back to work by July 27, as I am running a major fundraising event on July 30.  My sleeve surgery was scheduled specifically so that I would be back to work in time for our October Casino Night -- the second biggest fundraiser on our calendar.  There is a real chance that I may not be able to get this all done before then, in which case I would likely need to start all over again from the beginning, as the pre-op testing cannot be more than 60 days old.

So I spent yesterday in bed, feeling sorry for myself.  I finally decided to do something about the situation I had gotten myself in, and there is a chance it might not happen.  So I am upset and emotional.  I do not want to be social.  I do not want to deal with food, and clothing that doesn't fit and in which I am uncomfortable.  

And I am so darn tired. I find driving absolutely exhausting, and seem to be in the car constantly. 

Bu today I am getting in the shower, shaving my legs, and going shopping.  I am going to get fruit, fish and fresh veggies, and I am going to plow on, in the belief that this will all work out.  Maybe if I believe hard enough, it will come true.

Why Sleeve?

Why am I having the sleeve?  The answer is both quite simple and quite complex. 

The simple answer is that I am morbidly obese, with a BMI of 55, and I ma not ready to die.  There is way too much I still want to do in my life, much of which requires me to be able to walk, which is, if I am being entirely honest, not something I can do right now.

And that starts the more complex answer.  I have become so heavy that my body no longer works the way it used to.  It is very hard for me to walk more than a minute or so without losing my breath and breaking out in a full sweat.  My back hurts, my knees ache, my hips are stiff, and all I am trying to do is get from my car to my office in the morning.  Exercise, which I used to love, fills me with dread.  When I am invited to a professional meeting, social event, trip to the city, or to walk my dog with friends, it is all I can do to not have a full-on panic attack, wondering how close can I park to where I need to be, what will the temperature be (I don't want to walk into a meeting or party a hot mess), or how to explain that I do love my dog, I am not being lazy, but MY BODY HURTS.

It also gets in my way.  Once, riding in a taxi in NYC, I couldn't put the seatbelt on because it didn't fit.  I actually own an airline seatbelt extender, because up until recently I was a frequent traveler.  Going out to eat is a horrific experience -- what if I can't fit into the chair/booth?  What if the chair breaks beneath me? Yes, I have had that happen.

Sometimes when I drop things, I leave them there because I can't bend down. If the book I am looking for at the library is on the bottom shelf, I don't get it.  Same with items at the grocery store.  My stomach gets in the way.  Shoes with shoelaces?  Gave them up ages ago. 

So, I stay home.  I skip social outings unless they are places I know well and can navigate.  I ask colleagues to cover meetings for me if they require too much walking.  Can't remember the last time I went to the city to wander around, something I love doing.  Haven't been to one of my nephew's baseball games since late fall.  I am already wondering how close we can get to my niece's graduation venue.

I haven't ever told anyone this.  I have been embarrassed.  Somehow, it has been better for people to think I am anti-social than to tell them the truth, which is that I am afraid that I won't be able to do what they've invited me to.

I am tired of being afraid.  I am tired of sitting at home.  I am tired of missing out on so many things I love, and avoiding old friends who I haven't seen in decades, because I know they will be horrified by my morbid obesity.

You see, I wasn't always like this.  I was never skinny, but I was normal.  I ran.  I could run forever.  Same with walking.  I've walked entire European cities on my own.  I know what the possibilities are, and I am doing what I need to to return to them.

This blog will document my journey, and explain how it is I got to where I am, and how I hope to get to where I am going.  I am grateful to have you join me.