My Introduction to the community

Hello there. My name is Rain. I just had my VSG surgery this past Thursday. I've been reading around the forums for a few months now, but I never wanted to sign up. Let me really introduce myself now.

So, there I am. I'm 32 years young. 5'9" and 350 lbs. I feel like I'm in pretty good shape considering I know I'm overweight. I've smoked since before my age had two digits and I don't talk out of a speaker like those commercials would have you believe. But I can't be that bad, right? I was a star wrestler at my high school and got a full-ride scholarship to a major university. I played football too, but mostly just to stay in shape for wrestling. I ate 10k calories a day and it didn't matter because I was in the gym six hours a day and rode my bicycle everywhere I wanted to go. After school, I kept eating 10k a day and stopped exercising. But who cares? I'm married now. Not happily, but I don't have any kids to make it worse, so there's that. I've slept with some of the finest women in the world I tell myself. It's true. I had. Dozens of them. It's been a great run, and you know who doesn't get laid. It's the unattractive ones that don't get laid. It's the unattractive ones that can't maintain a relationship. Hell, I've had some great relationships, and some crappy ones, but there are always bad women so you're bound to catch a few, right? I can't be that bad, right?

So, it is May of 2016 and I met a nice young lady at work. Man, she's the bee's knees and the cat's pajamas. Cute. Tiny. Blonde. Parts so perky you'd swear they were fake. Don't judge me. I told you my marriage is crap. She knows it. I knows it. Hell, I've asked for a divorce 3 gosh darned times now and she keeps telling me to wait a few more months then she'll be gone. I can wait. So, I met this girl. Suddenly I'm awestruck. C'mon man! Get a grip! Look at the rock on her finger. She's been locked down just like you'd do if given half a chance, ya schmuck, so you kind of just exist in the same world and every now and again you glance at the sun. Not so much that you can't see nothin' else, but enough that you paint a perfect picture in your head. Turns out, she's married all right, but she's not too happy either. She and I ended up going out a couple times. Amazing little specks of happiness. It's like when you're out camping a million miles from the closest city and you look up at night and you can see all these tiny specks of light that weren't there yesterday when you was on the porch at midnight having the last smoke of the day. Yeah. She's turned out to be the light shining through the darkness.

It's about noon on the 4th of July and I'm in the shower. My own personal Cruella de Vil is in the next room Skyping with her mother. I'm scrubbing away looking at this amazing Rembrandt... this Picasso... this- YES!!!!- This van Gogh! This van Gogh that I've painted up in my own mind of the pretty thing from work. My own personal 'Starry Night'. I think I'll call her Star from now on. I'm just scrubbing away with my silly looking pink loofa with this stupid smile on my face. I know why I'm smiling. It's my head so high that I've passed the clouds and can only see Star. I'm thinking some just happy thoughts. No stress at all. My life is amazing.

Then there's a crack in the paint as I hear the obnoxious babbling from the other room and I start getting light headed. That's strange. I finished that last smoke like 20 minutes ago. I've been in here for 10 minutes just scrubbing. Whoa! Why am I getting really dizzy? I feel like I'm about to faint. Suddenly so focused on myself I can feel every heartbeat, they're quick. I can feel every motion I make, they're not. I notice that the more I try to use my loofa with my left hand the worse it gets. My face and arms are starting to tingle. I'd better get out of the shower because If I go down in here I'm going to die. I turn off the water and step out. I'm wobbly on my feet, but I only need to go 20 feet to be in my bed. I don't even grab the towel as I leave the bathroom. I make it to the room and there's my wife laying on the bed talking. I fall next to her and she barely even notices I'm there. It's cool. I hardly notice she's there. I'm fading out quick and I mumble out that I think I need to go to the doctor. It takes her a minute to grasp the full weight of the statement.

See; like most people, I don't like the doctor. They always charge so much for some stupid stuff. Like, really? You're gonna charge me how much to tell me I'm overweight and I need to quit smoking? My unhealthy lifestyle is gonna give my diabetes and high blood pressure? Doesn't take a rocket scientist or 10 years of Med School to see that, Doc.

It finally clicks in her head. She tells her mother goodbye and jumps out of bed. "OMG! Are you okay? What happened? Are you serious? Okay, let's go now!"

I don't like doctors and I haven't been to one in a couple years so we go to an Urgent Care place. They run all kinds of stuff. Lab work. BP. EKG. B-I-N-G-O. I dunno. They did it all. I was the only patient there and I was there almost 2 hours. That tells you something. Well they told me it's what happens when there is a sudden change in temperature. That it can do bad things to the body. I didn't have a heart attack. I do not believe them. They say I need to lose some weight because I am at a BMI of 52. That's morbidly obese. Yuck! They tell me I have an appointment downtown to get some X-Rays of my torso tomorrow just to be sure.

Zoom forward a time. It's now September. My wife has moved out of the state. I've moved in with Star. I've officially got sleep apnea. It's bad too. I'm borderline diabetic. One more point on my fasting test and I'd have been labelled for life. My doc has me on fish oil pills to help control my cholesterol because I don't want to take any actual meds yet. I'm just kinda high, not really high, ya know? My doctor mentions to me that I might be a good candidate for bariatric surgery and she says my insurance is pretty much the best thing this side of the Atlantic so it'd be relatively cheap.

"Yeah. Relative to what, Doc? Buying a Ferrari?"

Turns out, just a couple hundred bucks. Hell, I can manage a couple hundred bucks, right? I mull the idea over a couple weeks. There's some kind of seminar coming up that I should attend. I go to the hospital for this seminar and there's just two people besides Star and me. Two nice young ladies. It takes about an hour for this seminar and there is so much paperwork that they gave me a folder. Yeah, that's what I said. Star and I read this stuff over and talk about it. There's another seminar in a couple weeks we can go to too. It's related, but different. Turns out it is also mandatory if I do decide I want to get surgery. We go to that one too. Another folder of paper. Don't they ever run out of this stuff?

I keep seeing my doctor every month. My insurance says I need to be on a medically supervised diet for three months. Three MONTHS?!?! I can do three months. Heck. I read some people gotta do all kinds of stuff and diet for like 6 months or more. I got this. I've lost like 25 lbs. since the 4th. I cut soda out. I stopped smoking last month. My girl and I have a couple dogs that need walking. I can keep this up. Maybe I can get surgery some time in like December. That would be cool.

Now it's the middle December. I haven't met anyone but my own doctor. I heard I need to have some head quack evaluate my mental health. I need to lose 5% of my total body mass during my 'medically supervised diet.' Sweet. That's like 18 lbs. from when I first went to the doctor. I got this. Except for that hiccup when I went home to see family and friends and ended up gaining 10 lbs. But hey, I can still get there. I finally get ahold of the local Weight Management office at the hospital. Turns out my 5% starts after I meet the nutritionist and staff there. I ask if any time I already put in would help, and they told me, "No. You missed the appointment in October so it basically started over, and since your last appointment was over a month ago, well just start it today." I got scheduled for the psychological evaluation for Dec 26th.

That lady was not fun. She made me feel like an idiot and called me depressed and wanted to talk about anger issues and all kinds of stuff. On January 3rd, I meet the nutritionist and the other staff to start my actual tracked diet. Well, now I weigh 326. I've pretty much plateaued on my weight loss. I am feeling helpless.

I come back in every month. February 6th saw weight loss. March 1st saw weight gain. No. This cannot be a thing. I need to get this squared away before summer time and my job won't let me get the time off I would need for surgery. I decide to make the trips weekly so I can have some accountability. End of March I weighed 312 pounds.

1. AM. SO. CLOSE.

I keep coming back weekly. April 3rd weighed in at 310.8. NO! it's literally half a pound away. April 10th, I weigh in at 308.8. I did it. I DID IT! I made weight! I can finally get approved for the surgery. I'm at a BMI of 46. That's a 6-point drop since it all started. I don't know if that's good or bad, but I feel a lot better.

I had to schedule a whole slew of tests before I could meet the surgeon, but I am scheduled to meet him in early May. I keep going in weekly to weigh in. 306. 304. 304.

Star can't get the time off work so I have to meet him alone. Without my support group. I am nervous. I don't really like the guy. Or his nurse. He says he's gonna get the stuff sent to dictation and in a couple days it will be sent out to my insurance for approval. I weighed 302.

I keep with the weigh-ins. 301. 298.

Wait. What? 298?!?!?!?!??!?!??!?!?!?!??! I can see my own....... feet again. My weight doesn't start with a 3 for the first time since, well, I don't know when. But I don't care either. It starts with a 2 damn it! My weight starts with a 2!

I call the surgeon's office 16 days after my meeting with him to check on the status of my insurance authorization. Everything I have read anywhere says that my particular insurance responds fast. Within a couple days, fast. It's that snooty nurse. Man, I really don't like her.

"Hi, I'm calling about my insurance authorizations."

"Hi. We just got back the dictation yesterday."

"What?! Yesterday? I was told it would take a day or 2."

"That's none of your business and you shouldn't be telling...."

I cannot exactly recall what all was said. But I know I was hot. Red hot. I quite possibly said some stupid stuff.

I don't even know if I want to go through this whack office with this about-to-get-murdered nurse and this all-too-casual surgeon. I could just move to a real city and start all over. Maybe they would even accept my 5% and 3 months stuff. So, I just have to get approval. I put in for a transfer with my job. I figure that I'll do which ever one comes up first.

A couple weeks pass and I get a call saying my surgery has been approved. The date isn't finalized, but somewhere June 12-14th. Okay. I schedule an appointment with my nutritionist to get my 10-day pre-op diet figured out. The appointment is on June 1st. Just in time to start the diet. June 1st rolls around and I still don't know the exact date of the surgery so I call the evil nurse beast. I apparently have another appointment with them om the 6th. I mention the diet needing to start and she tells me that the date will need to be the 14th.

Cool. Now I have a date. June 14th. I start my diet on June 4th. Wow. It's been 11 months. I better have one last amazing cheeseburger on the 3rd, man, because it will be a lifetime till I get another bite of cheeseburger. The 3rd comes around and I get stuck at work late. And I gotta come back early in the morning. Screw it. I'll just have a protein shake then crash. So that's what I did. I never got my last cheeseburger.

My next surgeon appointment I was able to take Star with me. it was good for my mentality. I think good for her's too. I weigh in at 295. Good. I got the time off work. Star got a few days off so she can hang out with me the days following surgery.

I'm not exactly superstitious or paranoid, but I'm not looking at anything surgery related. Nothing. No stories. No pictures. No nothing at all. I'm just drinking my stupid liquid diet nonsense and regretting life. Really hating life. Why can't I just take a normal sh--, uh, bathroom break? It's been this death smell liquid apocalypse and I have to clean the bowl ever visit. Was I really so full of filth and toxins that it was coming out so bad? Crazy talk.

Now I wake up and it's the 14th of June. I spend the morning packing my overnight bag and my CPAP. I can't have any food or drink after midnight so I am stupid thirsty. Star and I go to the surgery center. We arrive at 11am because that's what they told us to do. Surgeon is running late so it won't be starting at 1230 like previously planned. Please don't become superstitious. Please don't become superstitious.

I get called back and I give Star a kiss. Man, I really do love this woman. Really great support person right there. I go back and ask to weigh in. 129.4 Kilos. WTF? Why is it kilos? Okay. I can do this. 129.4 time 2.2...... Carry the 1. 284 something? "Is that about 284?" The very nice nurse lady pulls out a chart and looks it over for a moment and says it is.

Holy Cow! I weigh 284? Oh man. I WEIGH 284! that's so damned cool. I guess that's why my clothes been fitting like garbage though.

Star comes back and hangs with me until the surgeon comes. Just holding hands and watching static filled weather reports. We get about a half hour together before we get interrupted. It's a good half hour.

I get taken back to the room. I'm in some super sticky (rubber stuff on the bottom) socks and a robe. Thankfully my butt is fully contained. I get to the surgery room and there are about 5 little women all masked and running around the room finalizing everything before surgery. I get told to place my back to the table. The nurse reaches around me to untie my robe. She also introduces me to the young woman standing opposite the operating table with her head level with my now exposed backside. My normally brazen self now feeling kind of prudish. I lie down and say some silly quips to take my own edge off. I'm a funny guy. Everyone loves a funny guy. Out of nowhere and without warning I start feeling the anesthesia creeping up my left arm. I have enough experience to be polite and say, "Goodbye ladies," before I am whisked away to the land of Never-Was and not thinking about Never-Dids. This time does not actually exist. You aren't sleeping through this process. You are just not conscious. At all.

Now I'm waking back up. I am uncomfortable and in pain obviously caused by Satan herself. My shoulders are throbbing. My stomach the least of my concerns. Star is complaining about something. This or that. Maybe it isn't complaints. Dead.

Now I'm awake again and I shift to find a more comfortable spot. Something about my CPAP. Dead.

I hear the unknown voice say something about Star knowing how to put my CPAP together. "She doesn't." Dead.

I feel around for my mask and head gear. Somehow slam them together and it actually worked. Dead.

My headgear is being put on, I'll help with the magnetic clips on my jaw. Dead.

After what I can only assume was an hour or so, I came to. Enough to talk and be aware of how miserable I am. I learn that my shoulder pain in normal and is a thing that happens when the gas added to my stomach tries to leave my body. It apparently gets stuck, and causes pain in the shoulders. Why the shoulders? it doesn't make sense to me. I spend the next couple hours trying, unsuccessfully, to sleep and get hydrated. I can feel how full I am with small sips. This is lunacy. It was basically nothing. That cannot be an actual thing. The whole night goes on like this. Talk with Star. Horrible pain. Call nurse. Less pain. Sleep. Walk. After about 8 hours of this and I am offered a popsicle. Heck yeah, I want a popsicle. That would do wonders for my throat.

Let me tell you what. Kemps brand sugar free popsicles are the popsicles you absolutely want to stock your freezer with. Over my liquid diet I had several types and they were all garbage in comparison. Great flavor and they survived lots of desperate licking and sucking. They aren't like the Walmart popsicles. Basically "Diet Shaved Ice on a Stick". No. None of that. These had real flavor. Real. Good. Flavor. I still need to order these.

I was released to go home at about noon on the 15th. Before surgery, Star had enough sense to make me drag a spare bed into the living room so I could take naps and lie down there. I'm really glad we did that.

Well, today is the 19th. The last couple days haven't really contained much in the way of quality sleep. I get outside and go for walks. I try to move my arms around to help this gas escape. I eat loads of popsicles. I sip water all day. My doctor sent me home with a couple prescriptions. Anti-Nausea. Pain reliever. Muscle relaxer. You know. Standard stuff. As of today, I am feeling better. Not great, but better.

As of this very instant, my scale say I weigh 273.4. I don't exactly know what my goal weight is, because I don't have one. I'm a big framed guy and those skinny guy numbers don't make sense to me. Those crazy BMI charts say I should be between 160 and 180. I don't know. I can't even imagine that number as my weight. The last time I saw my scale say 180 I was just starting 6th grade. I don't need to imagine a number. I don't need to imagine a look. One day a number will be on the scale and the mirror will show a look I like. This is a journey and I am nowhere near finished yet.

Now the real work begins.