Altered States

I finally broke down and decided to get back on an anti-depressant. Between my physical garbage going on and my depression, persistent state of being blue on top of still grieving for my dad, there's not much else I can handle to be honest.

A week ago I had an appt w/my internist to discuss five different things. I know I've got problems when there's so many I have to write them down on a 3x5 card to ensure I mention all of them.

I knew instinctively the office visit was going to be an *ahem* "issue," when I showed up and they had me fill out all my forms (as if I were a new patient; including every last Rx I'm currently on), and doing so on an electronic pad with an electronic stylus. ONE MOTHERFUCKING LETTER AT A TIME.

Nearly 10 minutes later, I finished, the doctor isn't in yet, and I'm there on my lunch hour. FML.

So I wait another 10-15 minutes only to be told the doctor I scheduled the appointment with won't be in until 2 p.m. (the appointment was scheduled for 1:15). I WAS EFFING LIVID. "What kind of operation are you running here? Why would someone schedule an appointment KNOWING FULL WELL the doctor won't be in for another 45 minutes? I'm here on my lunch hour. How unprofessional! Someone should have given a call so I could reschedule and not waste my lunch hour waiting!"

This of course was made worse by the fact that it took me getting emotional and yelling for them to suggest I see Dr. G., of whom I have also seen (as he did my endoscopy in 2008). Now why the fuck did they make me wait a half hour before even suggesting this?

So they usher me into an exam room, and the whomever-she-is came in to take my pressure and temp. Of course I'm furious. She then asks me, "Are you on any medications?" I immediately crossed my arms over my chest and said, "Yessssss!" "What are they?" I then lost my shit and started yelling, "Didn't I JUST fill out all that information on that useless form? Isn't all this shit in my chart? This whole thing was a mistake coming here. I have problems every time I schedule an appointment." She got huffy, I don't care. I hope I made her cry. Lord knows I was on the verge of it myself, and no one was giving a shit.

So the doctor comes in and immediately is on the defense because the walls are paper thin and everyone in the office could hear me yelling. And no, I don't regret it, and neither am I embarrassed by it.

I told him why I was there:

1. To get back on anti-depressants (no shit!);
2. To get seasickness patch Rx;
3. To get something to treat this sinus infection I now have;
4. To discuss getting on track with appointments to document everything to get insurance to qualify me for bariatric surgery.

I could swear there was a fifth item on that list, but it escapes me now.

So he started to disarm me by asking me about the cruise we're taking (hence the seasickness patches), and as I was telling him point by point, I was on the verge of laughing and crying at the same time. A sense of relief and just reflecting on how unnecessary all that stress was. How it all could have been avoided had anyone given a shit and not just been in paper-pushing drone mode at the front desk.

Turns out, he went to medical school with my surgeon. And realizing this, I then realized how fortuitous it was that I was seeing Dr. G., that he knew "my guy," and that he's the best, giving me one more reason to think I picked the "right guy" to do the surgery.

My eyes are dilated from the Celexa now, and I need a nap, and I still have 8 hours of work ahead of me.

Hoping no one harshes my mellow.

My Day Off

Off for President's Day. Thank goodness. Woke up with a head full of goo, which now makes me wonder and worry if I can take Mucinex D (or any other 12 hour time release cold remedy) post-op?

I Hate Know-it-Alls

To the dumb shit on the "Have your innards been rearranged" group on Ravelry: No, dumbshit, acesulfame K is NOT the same thing as aspartame. I hate your disingenuous replies to everyone. Not every post demands your reply.

The Initial Consult

I’m now plunged a bit further into a slump given that all this time with my researching the gastric bypass I had been whining about “only 4 ounces” being the capacity of my stomach pouch post-op, only to find out today from the nutritionist that my post-op pouch will ONLY BE ONE EFFING OUNCE CAPACITY.

Let that marinate for a bit.

One ounce roughly equates to 5 teaspoons. How the hell can you even quench your thirst 5 teaspoons at a time? I’d sooner give up food than to give up drinking; and SHIT! If you’re ingesting it 5 teaspoons at a clip, that’s probably at a slower rate than you’re perspiring or urinating it away.

I’m devastated by this. Shocked actually.

The actual meeting with the surgeon went well enough and he’s not as folks had described (some said he wasn’t really warm and fuzzy). He seemed interested in my case, we talked over each other at points, and I think I let him know that I have been doing my homework on the topic and it’s not a decision I’ve made casually.

Additionally he discussed another procedure called a banded bypass, and he took out some of the polypropylene banding material, and my husband laughed when I said, “Wait a minute… is that knitted?” He would have given me the sample to take home, but it was the only piece he had on hand.

In all the YouTube Vlogs I've seen thus far on the topic of WLS, I have yet to see one where someone shows in REAL TIME how long it takes to drink their shake or how long it takes to drink water of any varying unit of measurement. Too many folks I guess armed with good intentions (or egoism, too) are putting themselves in front of a camera and you can tell how uncomfortable they are or how shy they are because they're not really talking loud enough for you to hear them, and some just have too much whining about whatever it is. I'm trying thru process of elimination to find someone's "journey" which is more of a balance of experience PLUS expectation.

Will go to my PCP to follow up with him, and well... start the HURRY UP AND WAIT process. It'll be agony.

Perhaps I'm a bit OCD

I don't do anything without doing as much research and meditation on the topic beforehand. Why bother attempting anything if I'm going to fail? Not researching or meditating upon something, to me, is a formula for failure.

This could explain the condition of my den, which is always in some level of disarray. The room just is lacking the necessary organizing tools for me to get everything the way I need, so why bother?

Both my den could be a metaphor for my life and my health; and my life and my health are a metaphor for my den, as both are in chaos.

And I suppose the same could be said about my health or life in general. Only as it pertains to my health, no matter how little I eat, it has the inverse reaction, that of agitating a hungry lion. When I eat very little, my hunger just grows beyond where I can manage it. So why bother attempting to do anything to change it, when it so clearly has a life force of its own?

Bottom line is and always has been, I am tired of attempting to slay this beast by myself, with my bare hands. I'm 41 and I am tired. Physically and emotionally. I don't have it in me to fight this fight anymore, and I am surrendering to it. I'm acknowledging my shortcomings and limitations. I just can't do this anymore.

From middle school until present day, I've tried all manner of things to fight this beast: Cambridge Diet, Ayds Diet Chews, Dexatrim (back in the day when it had "the good stuff" in it). Then along came anorexia and bulemia and obsessive exercise, and for a while, I thought the monster was dead. It was merely in hibernation, to awaken a few years later with a mighty vengeance, hand-in-hand with Satan's handmaiden, PCOS.

At some point in the late 1980s, I was involved with someone who had "feeder" tendencies, who fattened me up gladly with the most delicious tortellini Alfredo and Caesar salads ever crafted by a human. That entire relationship was a haze of Parmesan cheese flavored infatuation and drowsiness, allowing the sedentary lifestyle take root.

The late 1990s saw me thru three car accidents, one of which I suffered "soft tissue damage," no broken bones, but exacerbated a congenital defect in my spine (diminished disc space, "hip dysplasia," etc.,) and gave me a herniation in my neck. Everyday is spent in pain to one degree or another. Some days just getting up out of my chair at work to walk a few feet is too painful for words. Gone are the days of high impact aerobics and running mile upon mile.

Then along came Slim Fast and Weight Watchers, both with marginal result. Two years of Atkins helped me lose close to 30-40 lbs, but fears of gout and just an overall disgust of eating such a protein intensive diet got to me. I am an omnivore! Slowly, nearly every Atkins-lost pound found its way back home.

Then Xenical and the "sudden onset liquified indignity." Then topamax, with its promised to not only help my migraines but also dump off a shit-ton of weight. Migraines were kept in check, not one pound of weight came off, and in the end it made me more depressed and hostile and paranoid.

I can't take amphetamines to help me lose weight due to my blood pressure, though high it is being managed with medication.

I recognize that if I lose a lot of weight, it'll ease my joint pain and lead to the very real possibility of being more active than I am.

At the moment, I'm viewing surgery as "surgically induced anorexia" and "surgically mutilating" my stomach into submission. I can do this. I can "comply." I just don't want to think about or be ruled by food and my connections associated with it anymore.