Through Thick and Thin #16 (March 15, 2003)
The Agony & The Ecstasy
The irony would have been both exquisite and laughable if I didn't hurt so much. Last Tuesday evening, even as I shared with several newcomers to our WLS support group the reasons why I'm so grateful that I had this surgery, my nausea conspired with my hunger pangs to shorten my sharing. I felt terrible. I hadn't been able to keep down anything except for water and broth in the prior 72 hours, and I was starting to experience the light-headed and weakened altered state I remembered from prior (voluntary) food fasts. And the situation got much worse before it got very much better. Here's the story of my Agony and Ecstasy...
It had been almost five months since my VBG and my very limited, bland and boring eating plan was serving me well. I was rapidly approaching my 100 pound weight loss milestone, and feeling so good otherwise, that I wasn't particularly disturbed or bothered by the fact that my food choices remained so severely circumscribed by my tiny and sensitive new tummy. Yogurt for breakfast, tea with fiber additives during the morning, Real Meals protein shakes for lunch and mid-afternoon, a small bland dinner and then a few graham crackers mid-evening.
Cream of something soups were always ok, and other than that my dinners usually consisted of tuna salad, chicken salad, salmon, hamburger helper, potatoes and/or peas and that was about it. Other foods led to discomfort, nausea and vomiting. I knew that other WLS patients were able to enjoy a much wider diversity of foods, but my rapid weight loss and the myriad of other health and fitness benefits kept me satisfied and in a state of grateful acceptance, limitations and all. Besides, everybody's different. At least that was the story I kept telling myself.
So I wasn't unduly concerned last Saturday when my second post-op attempt to enjoy a small portion of eggs scrambled with cheese started me on a painful cycle of vomiting that was to continue for five days. On Sunday, I tried mineral oil and gravity (walking) — which had been suggested by Edie, my doctor's quick response nurse during my “blocked” experience a few weeks before. By Monday morning, I was on the phone with her again, starting to feel a bit desperate. I didn't have a fever so I knew it wasn't the flu or an infection. Edie suggested that I start from scratch again (clear liquids) and give it another day or two. By Thursday I was scared. With no change, I was still unable to keep food down, and my stomach was in spasm from all of the upheavals. I was able to get an appointment with a doctor three hours away in Seattle (a recommendation from my VBG doctor, who was out of town) for a consult and, if necessary, a “scoping” of my esophagus, stomach pouch and stoma. I wavered between believing that there was no problem (I was making this all up), and believing that I must have done something terribly wrong (always quick to default into blame and shame).
After my Thursday morning consult, the doctor decided that something was wrong and scheduled the endoscopy for late afternoon. When I weighed myself at the hospital, I found that I had lost ten pounds during my ordeal, bringing me within three pounds of my 100 pound weight loss. By this time, however, I was feeling too much pain and fear to celebrate. This was NOT the way I wanted to lose my weight.
After giving me a potent gargle to numb my throat before they dropped the wire containing a TV camera down my esophagus and into my stomach pouch, the doctor gave me an anesthetic (like the one I had during my last colonoscopy) and the next thing I knew the nurse was wheeling me into the recovery room where Kari and I met with the doctor. The news was initially chilling, and then thrilling.
It turns out that I have been experiencing a fairly severe case of acid reflux since my surgery, and that the excess of acidic digestive juices had caused ulcers (wounds) within the lining of my reduced stomach pouch. A daily dose of a medication would heal the ulcers and prevent their future development. The acid reflux had apparently also complicated my efforts to eat and keep down a variety of other foods, and the doctor offered me hope that, once healed and medicated, I will be able to diversify my eating plan and enjoy some of the gastric delights I had prematurely consigned to the “can't eat” category.
That's the story of my agony and my ecstasy. The pain and discomfort: an expensive price that fades from my memory quickly. The hope that I won't have to continue forever to be so stoic about my food options: priceless. And if the newcomers at our next support group ask, I'll be telling them too that my WLS is still one of the best decisions I've ever made.
Glenn
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