Week 1

So this time last week I was laid out on a surgery table blissfully unconscious as doctors closed a loop between me and my worst addiction...food.  It's been an interesting roller coaster thus far.

From the wonderful high of prescribed narcotics to the miserable conclusion that sleeping with my feet on the ground, face on the bed and ass in the air was as close to comfortable as I was going to get...I still have no regrets - so ultimately that is the best news.

Thursday and Friday were the worst days thus far - and shouldn't be any huge surprise.  I felt a bit like a human construction level where any purely perpendicular or horizontal position caused a bubble of gas to land squarely between my breast bone, making me nauseated and cranky.  I now understand why infants need to be burped between feeding sessions and why they wail so if not properly jostled to relieve the pressure.  I would have given anything for someone to lay me across their lap and pat me on the back :)

Saturday I woke up after a fairly decent rest and downed a shot of hydrocodine and had a cup of coffee.  My God it was like the elixir of life!  I took a shower, went to the grocery store, cleaned up the kitchen, finished the laundry and cleaned out all the winter 'fat' clothes in my closet.  By 7:30 I was wondering how I was going to spend the next week of "recovery" now that I was feeling so well. 

Then the downturn.  I don't know if it was the first protein shake, not staying hydrated enough, pushing too hard, not leaving enough time lapse before consuming more liquids or the combination of all of it...but I was exhausted, hungry...and tired of jello.  Looked in my little book of "allowable" food and was overwhelmingly excited that I had overlooked 'cream of  (blank)' soup!  Granted, they said 98% fat free soup...but real f'ing soup!  Not another cup of watered down chicken broth!!  And incredibly, I actually had a can in the cupboard.  Must have been some old guilt driven purchase on many of my attempts to eat somewhat healthier :)  So in the microwave did that can go and like mother's milk...I was off to night night land.

So forget about pizza dreams - I had one hell of a doozey on Campbell's Cream of Celery!  I was on a crazy maze of underground tracks with my ex-boyfriend Joe in a labyrinth of man-made rubbery playscapes submerged beneath a subdivision in Los Angeles.  I kept trying to get out, frequently thinking we had succeeded as we dove through peoples houses and out what we thought was a front door only to be trapped again in the never ending loop.  I am sure Freud would have a field day with that...but I think it more likely I had watched one too many episodes of "Bodacious Backyards" on HGTV - where everyone seemed to have a water slide.

At 2:30am Monday, I woke up again feeling bloated and tired.  I decided I should do what most others are want to do on Memorial Day...and take it easy.  I forewent the drugs and concentrated on careful, calculated hydration.  To no particular avail.  Since I was up however, I did keep my one promise to myself and started my walking program. 

Several weeks ago, I had enlisted the aid of my 62 year old neighbor I call Mrs. Kravits.  She is a born co-dependent with a family in desperate need of a day on Jerry Springer...but God love her, I couldn't have the life I do without her.  She is nosy and overbearing, and opinionated (hmmm, that sounds familiar) but she graciously takes on the parts of my life I sometimes can't or won't do.  She brings my garbage cans in from the street, let's my dogs out to play, and happily helps me dust when I can't bring myself to do it alone. 

She was the person most averse to this surgery - but I think she has great skepticism of hospitals in general.  Most of her family who've gone in...don't come out.  But I finally told her she was either with me or keeping quiet.  I also told her she had a job.  Since she's a habitual walker anyway - she could show up on my front door at 6am and tell me to get my shoes on.  I then calmly explained that for at least 2 months I would come ungratefully to the door and offer her 999 reasons why I couldn't go, shouldn't go, or didn't want to go.  She then had permission to look me straight in the eye and tell me to shut my big fat pie-hole and get dressed.  That I was the one who wanted to have this fucking surgery and if I was so hell bent on doing it - I'd better learn to walk.  I told her to use that as a direct quote so she wouldn't feel bad using the "f" word.  I then told her that I would likely be churly and uncommunicative and very grateful if she would not attempt to engage in conversation until I had accepted this daily routine.  She seemed resigned to accept the task if not eager to embrace the guidelines.  So Monday morning, bright and early - we made the short, but progressive first step of walking from our little cul-de-sac to the end of our road and back again.  I promise progress...not perfection.  We will do this for a week, adding a 1/2 block every week until I can do a mile or two each morning.

But as the day wore on, so did my attitude.  Not unhappy, but frustrated.  By 9pm, I gave in and took another shot of liquid calm.  Comfort and bliss restored.  I watched more regular programming, spoke to family, and had my first real nights sleep in my own bed rather than the sofa.  At 6 am, as promised, Mrs. Kravits was at my door.  I did not offer protest - but grudgingly shuffled into my sport bra and sneakers before mutely walking out the door.

Rather than continue to fight against my recovery - I got home and took another shot of pain meds, poured myself a cup of coffee and got to work again comfortably.  I re-organized the kitchen a bit - making room for what I know will be a lifetime of protein shakes and vitamin supplements.  Only I could use this knowledge to rationalize a trip to the Container Store for practical and decorative storage tools for said products.  I hate the idea of medicine bottles lined up along my counter.  Might as well make them look like candy :)  If life gives you lemons as they say...might as well make lemonaide.

Hope this catches everyone up.  Thanks again for all the lovely calls and posts.  One step at a time...one step at a time.

Cam

Day 3

I'm home.  Wished I had stayed one more day.  Yesterday was miserable.  Mostly the gas they pumped me with for the surgery less than the actual incisions. I'm still trying to burp my way out of that mess :)  Was so very, very happy at the hospital...but I only realize now that was because I had a button to push every six minutes with Delodin! Wednesday I thought I'd had the easiest surgery ever!!  Then I went home.  Couldn't seem to find a comfortable position - best seems to be sitting up.

Today walked around the back yard a bit trying to relieve some of the pressure and it has helped some.  Also, the doctor suggested hot tea.  I don't typically like tea, but it was very comforting nonetheless.  I find looking at pictures of food make me want it...but I'm definitely not starving.  Apple juice and water keep me pretty full.

Ironically, I think I weigh more now than when I went in.  I think it's the gas and maybe the saline solution which is sugar water I gather. my sugar levels were through the roof post op.  I expect to deflate by the end of the weekend and then start on the protein shakes.

Just finished rooting some little gardenia shoots that Sharon brought me from her garden.  Am hoping they take off and I can plant them next spring.


Thank you all for your well wishes and prayers.  It meant a lot.  Hoping to write more peppy blogs soon.


Cam

T-0

So I called my mom this morning to give her some updates on miscellaneous stuff.  I sure hope I don't die tomorrow or she's really going to feel like crap!  She rushed me off the phone because someone else was on the line.  Not that I think she doesn't love me...God knows she's put up with me way longer than most parents would...but just keep that in mind when you're feeling bitchy and short.  Life can be the same.

I don't know that I have a whole lot to add tonight.  It's about 8:30pm - I'm sick to death of beef broth and jello.  At the movies on Sunday I kept fantasizing I might suck on a few pieces of my friends popcorn and spit it out like chewing tobacco...but figured I wouldn't have the will to do it.

I have to be at the hospital at 7am...and neither Sharon nor I are particularly great morning people.  I told her to pull up and honk the horn.  I'd wave and get in and we could mutually ride silently in the dark in sullen discomfort.

I've packed a small bag with a nightgown, my Kindle and a tube of chapstick.  I can't think of anything else I could possibly need.  Hell, I can't even think of why I would need to wear a bra.  I'm going to get there and there going to tell me to put on one of those hideous ass-flapping gowns anyway, right?  Maybe a toothbrush should be added to the list I guess.

Just finished listening to my favorite song: Drift Away by the Dobie Gray.  I don't know why, but years ago I heard it on the soundtrack to Wonderland - an uplifting little movie about the beginning of porn...and it struck me as a gospel song.  So whenever I hear it, I get a little weepy hoping Jesus enjoys Southern Rock just as much as I do.Drift Away

So signing out.  God speed and good luck.  Chat soon ya'll.

Cam

T-2

I'm utterly exhausted writing this tonight...so apologies if not up to par :)  Started a week ago when I went on a 40 mile hunt for a freaking ice cream bar.  I don't even care about ice cream!  But the thought of never having one again...and at most a tiny taste of one for a very, very long time...made a bit of an addict out of me.

It was last Friday as I was watching TV, relaxing...chillin.  Nothin' up for the evening... when an ad for Magnum Ice Cream made my mouth salivate over the creamy rich European vanilla ice cream, double coated in Belgian chocolate with a layer of caramel in between. My God it sounded like an orgasm on a stick!  Hell, even the name Magnum brought certain connotations with it!  So I think, why not?  I've got nothing better to do at 10pm on a Friday night.  So I Google the brand and very kindly it gave me a list of sellers within a 20 mile radius of my home.  Walgreen's about 9 miles from my house seemed the closest. 

So I set my Navigator with the address, choosing the back-roads instead of the freeway because I really don't like driving at night at 80 miles an hour anymore.  I didn't realize it would add about 5 miles to my trip.  And after driving along some very dark and country roads...I finally find heaven in the offing.  And wouldn't you fucking know I picked the one Walgreen's on the planet that closes at 10pm.

Well now I'm on a mission.  I am having ice cream by God!  I'll go to Publix, the high-town grocery just down the road from my house.  Surely they'll have something equally decadent to sink my taste buds into, right?  But to hell with the back-roads, it's 10:30 now, and I just want sugar...a junkie overdosing on an imaginary high.  It's not too long before I find the freeway and pick it up.  I go about 5 exits down the road before I realize I am going the WRONG f'ing way!  Seriously, I'm now 25 miles into my quest and farther than ever from home.  So I turn around, literally now laughing like a mad woman at how crazy this would seem to any sane and rational person.  I get off at the appropriate exit and make my way to the grocery store...and it's CLOSED!  OMG!  But do I take heed?  Do I give up?  Oh helllll no!  In my peripheral vision I see the glowing neon sign of a Walgreen's oh but a few hundred yards away.  Like a moth, I am driven to the calligraphy of the red glowing sign stating "OPEN 24 HOURS".  And wouldn't you know...all but a lo 2 miles from my home I could have been satiated early and well - given they too carried the the crack-like cream I was so feverishly in need of.   So like Gollum and his compulsive need to horde the One Ring, I giggled nervously on the way home - mentally savoring the heady vanilla, rich chocolate and buttery caramel about to cascade down my gullet.

At 11:35 last Friday night, after a 40 mile adventure, I wickedly tore at the paper covering, hoisted the Magnum bar to my mouth and thought...huh - I think Dove does this better.  That was Friday.

Since then I have straightened the house, done the laundry, purchased $300 worth of shoes, a chair, a pillow, a belated mother's day gift, a new kitchen faucet, paid off a credit card, stuck a $1000 dollars into savings and stayed on the phone with friends way too late.

I have discovered my job is not quite as secure as I thought, I still don't want to quit smoking, am not ready to be off anti-depressants (went a little crazy for nine hours when I couldn't find my cat...many apologies to my neighbor when he finally came home), and I will always rationalize a way to pay somebody else to dust.  I also discovered that real gunshots at 3 am really can cause a person to freak out just a little.

I have locked myself out of my car, lost my phone, found my phone and dropped my phone into a steaming whirlpool that is my tub.  It wants to work desperately and I'm not sure it will ever be the same.  If not, I have to assure my boss that it was not a radical attempt to secure the same phone in hot pink instead of the aqua I currently possess.

I have had the kitchen faucet installed, the house de-furred and dusted, a new shoe rack assembled,  a programmable thermostat mounted and 17 plants ensconced along my drive. 

I arranged three business trips, 7  meetings, my funeral (should the worst occur) and completed four expense reports.  I spent 2 hours washing dishes after our church picnic last Sunday.  Tomorrow I usher, host a planning committee meeting and intend to see a movie.  All with nothing but clear liquids to drink.  I don't think wine is included in the list.

I am fairly certain I'm due for a couple of weeks off...even if it does entail radical surgery that will alter my life forever.  I mean really???  Seriously?  When did life get this hard?

Thank you as always for listening. 

Cam

T-14

So for someone who by all measure is in the 'summer' of her life, this morning I felt irrationally like I'm in the spring.  The almost palpable sense of hope and impending bloom makes me feel a bit like a kid about to graduate from school.  I find this incredibly stunning given the fact that just a year ago I began labeling myself as old and truly felt my best years were behind me.  I saw living not a bad life...but a predictable and tepid one.

I am completely and utterly aware that no amount of surgery or weight loss will fix the ills of mind transfixed in an emotional status quo - but I do believe that optimism drives one to forge past the acceptance of a life live adequately to a life lived passionately. 

I've never been one to see the glass half empty so it is a little sad to me that I allowed myself to view my actual life that way - but like a freakishly stubborn weed, my internal hope springs eternal!  Several years ago I wrote a line in my diary that stated my heart was held together by hope and string.  Maybe today it's a little closer to duck tape :) 

So on my way to work today, as the morning air was still reasonably cool and the green was exploding in the hills around me, I thought about what I might hope for in my love life.  Anyone who knows me knows I can pick real humdingers.  I used to laugh and say that apparently my "want ad" for a man consisted of : "If you have no car, no job, no friends and DON'T want to have sex with me...I'm your girl!"

Trying to run on the assumption that I should actually put forward in a concrete and measurable way what I really do want in a man (should he exist) I came up with the following:

WANTED:

One self deprecatingly funny guy who knows his way around a tool box as much as his Xbox.  Desperately seeking someone who understands what it is to be a real man – not in the macho sense of the word…but an old fashioned, responsible, kind but firm gentleman. Someone who sees relationships as a friendship as well as a romantic partnership.  Someone who knows how to fight properly…i.e. sticks to the issue without making it personal, threatening to walk out or dredging up old crap.  Also someone who finds it amusing that someone would use “i.e.” in a personal ad.

I want someone who will call me on my bullshit but finds it cute that I am so passionately obstinate even when I’m wrong.  Someone who is willing to let me cry when I’m overwhelmed without needing to ‘fix’ the problem and quietly accepts that I habitually neglect to close doors, drawers and cabinets with any consistency.

Looking for a man who appreciates a girl with curves in all the right places…but accepts some curves in some wrong ones too.  I want a man who enjoys good food, adequate exercise, and great political discourse…these are deal breakers!  I want someone who is comfortable with who they are and knows what they want in life; hopefully someone who believes he already has most of what he wants and is willing to dry if I wash.

I am trying to find a man who believes in God without being zealous about it.  Someone who likes that I go to church most Sundays and loves when I’d rather laze in bed.  I want to meet someone who sees the cup as half full rather than half empty.  That cool, dry evenings are meant to be shared on the deck with a bottle of wine and the occasional silence.

I want a guy who’d rather take a road trip than a plane trip – with the windows rolled down so I can stick my arm out the window and feel the air roll across my arm like the rolling of the waves.  Who will smile at my tone deaf singing even though I think I sound great.

I need to find someone willing to occasionally sleep not just with me, but two big dogs and a couple of very needy cats….who will accept that I view them as family and secretly feel the same.

I want someone who listens to me well enough to understand I’d rather have a collector’s Ayn Rand than a piece of Tacori…and knows who John Gault is.  Preferably someone who didn’t just Google them to figure that sentence out.

If you are out there…so am I.

T-16

Wow - what an emotional week.  Found out a favorite aunt had passed away.  Had meant to go see her for the last two years since she only lived about 4 hours away in Alabama and you know, it was just one of those things "I'd get to tomorrow".  So when I found out she was put into hospice, I was ready to go see her immediately.  Or at least on Saturday.

Friday night I tried to reach her sons, my cousins, and got no answer.  Some part of me knew it was too late...so on Saturday when I called to see if she was up for accepting visitors, the answer was...not so much.  I was overwhelmed by how much this grieved me.  Immediately I was in tears while talking to her son Thomas.  And it felt so strange because he hardly knows me and I guess I hardly know him.  Cousins and yet so much strangers.

When I called my folks to tell them that it was too late, I couldn't quit crying.  Mom tried hard to tell me it was alright, that Aunt Caroline was ready to go.  I told her I wasn't crying for her, I was crying for me.  Crying that time is not elastic.  That tomorrow's don't always come.  I was crying for all sorts of regrets over the last few years of things I meant to do and didn't.  Reminding me all the more of why I want to have this surgery.

I want to travel more.  And a fat flyer is a miserable flyer.  You find yourself grasping your elbows to your chest so that you don't spill over into your seatmate, making you all to aware that's there's a real reality to some airlines' desire to charge double to the chunky folk on their plains.

I want to see people I've been too embarrassed to see for five years.  If you wonder why I haven't come to visit even when I'm in town...here's your answer.  Most of you have seen me at my best.  So hate to see you when I'm at my biggest.  Deliberately didn't say my worst, because by so many measures...I'm at my best - just not physically.  And that's the first thing we judge each other by.  Even me.  really.  I swear I can be just as snarky as the rest.  FYI...fat girls out there...do NOT wear spandex.  It's rude to those around you.  Also, sleeveless t's.  It's like advertising mutton chops no one wants to think about.

So back to the funeral.  So glad I went.  No one loves to drive in silence as much as I do.  I love reading road signs, billboards, free thinking to the wind.  Spent time wondering about what I would like my own funeral to be like.  What songs to play, what reading to read, what bit of me I could bring out so that it wasn't just so 'right'.  I laughed at my Uncle Gary who said his daughter and I were 'deliberately unique.'  I thought that was a wonderful label.  I want my funeral to be cry, cry, cry...laugh, laugh, laugh.  I want my stories told by the people who know and love me best.  The ones that I tell at every happy hour and every stranger because they could only have happened to me.

So in this vein, I made my will.  You'd be amazed at how little of value you have to give away - but there's stuff there you don't want forgotten.  I don't expect to die on the table...though I had to sign away that possibility the other day.  So just in case I thought I should at least be prepared.  We should all be prepared.  You never know when you will be hit by a bus.


So live large, eat small, and love boundlessly.  I think this is a bit of what it's about.

Love Cam