Operation

I found this neat blog, Sunday Scribblings, where writers can join in on the prompt of the week. This weeks' topic: Operation.

Here goes:

On May 27th, I found myself in a familiar place: on a gurney, in the hospital, waiting for surgery. It was my second surgery for the year and one of 9 or 10 during my lifetime. My earliest surgeries were small-scale events and common procedures--two on my eyes and one to place ear tubes and to remove my adenoids. My next surgery was at age 23 and I had a laparoscopic gall bladder removal. No big deal to me (after all, I was in my early 20s) and I was back to my old routine within days.

July 27, 2000 brought about the biggest surgery I had ever and indeed have undertaken so far--a roux en y gastric bypass (distal, for those of you who know and/or care what that means). That surgery changed my life.

I entered the hospital a bundle of nerves. Shaking, crying, the whole bit. I was terrified. I had done my research. One in 100 gastric bypass patients could be expected to have complications that were life-threatening and many more would have post-surgical complications that, while not life-threatening, would require more surgery or medical intervention of some kind.

Still, I decided to take that risk. I had to. I was dying.

Every time my precious toddler wanted to play or run, I found myself unable to join in. At 430 pounds, I could hardly function at all, much less take care of my son. I wasn't able to find clothes in the stores and had gotten so large that most mail-order places had very little that would fit. I was 68-70 inches around the waist and wore a size 30W jean. That's a 60 in men's sizing. I looked like a freak and I hated it.

The surgery went well and within 3 months, I was down 100 pounds. Over time, I would go on to lose 90 additional pounds and my weight settled around 240, which is much more pleasing to carry on my 5' 9" frame.

Moving ahead three years,  I weigh in at 242 and have massive amounts of skin from the weight loss. I have started dating again and I find myself really wanting to get rid of this "belly skin" in order to look more normal. I undergo a "panniculectomy" and hernia repair and wake up to find that I  am thrilled to be able to wear pants again and to walk like a normal person.

The hernia repair was done with a Kugel Mesh and has been the topic of many an ambulance-chasing attorneys' informercials. Long story short: May 27th found me in the hospital again awaiting an open-incisional surgery.

This time I was much more nervous. I have new life now. I have friends that I love and a husband and a family that needs me. My son is entering adolescence and my daughter is soon to be a preschooler. There is so much to lose should this surgery not go as planned.

I try to be brave. I try to have faith. I try not to panic.

I fail.
Miserably.

My surgeon walks in to find me splotchy-faced and red-nosed from crying my eyes out. I can hardly speak when he asks me how I am doing. I tell him that I am scared and he looks me in the eye and affirms my fears while reminding me that this is just another day at the office for him. He tells me not to worry and though it doesn't take away all my fears, his reassurance works wonders.

Within moments, I am wheeled out the door and on to my destiny.

Obviously, the surgery went well and today it's just a distant memory for me, but it only takes a moment's reflection for me to be transported back to those fearful moments when I left my life in the hands of someone else.

It's a scary thing.