Lincs Lass
New Member
One year ago today I was on my way to the Nuffield in Derby for my op. I had sat up for most of the night writing order of service for my funeral, signing my car over to a friend etc etc. Not to be morbid but just to make things smooth for everyone!
A little background to my story. I have been overweight all my life (except for 1987-1988!). Late 1980's I was back to chubby but then reached full on fat. Over the years I had been widowed, divorced, homeless etc etc.
So a few years back my GP in Bexhill suggested gastric surgery to me. He applied for funding which was approved and then referred me to The Whittington in London. He had an old form which didn't show St Richards - which turned out to be a blessing. If he HAD referred me to St Richards the chances are I would have been due to have surgery in August or September of 2011. As it was, the beginning of August 2011 my son and I moved in to a women's refuge. If I had already had a surgery date It may have swayed me to stay where we were and heaven knows how that would have turned out.
So, jump forward to April/May 2012. We are in out own home here in Boston. But I am still miserable and fat. I've done the local weight loss scheme supervised by the nurse but am making a complete fist of it. I am feeling verging on suicidal (as much as you can be without having the urge to take that final step). I feel stupid, hopeless, like I am letting my son down etc etc. I had an appointment with the nurse and told her that I wish the next 30-odd years away as the sooner I pop my clogs (with it being as painless as possible for my son) the better. She, the lovely lady, persuaded me to make an appointment to see my GP and ask for a referral.
I made the appointment - 7pm that evening - and went home. I then Googled the criteria for this area and spoke to the local support group organiser. For someone like me - no co-morbidities - my BMI had to be 50+. According to my scales it was around 49. So, and I do put my hands up to this, I cheated. I filled bags with stones and put them in my pocket. (That caused a bit of a row on here and I apologise to this who felt it was wrong of me. Desperation is a terrible thing and if I hadn't and had failed matching the criteria I don't know whether that would have tipped me 'over the edge'). In hindsight the GPs scales always weigh heavier than mine so the chances are I would have been over the 50 anyway.
So, in around May 2012 the GP referred me. The next thing I got was a letter inviting me to an appointment at Derby on 6 August 2013. On the 5th of August my car was written off in an accident but fortunately a friend got me on her insurance and let me use her car. I had a delightful appointment with the dietician and anaesthetist. The registrar was a miserable sod but so what! I was given a sheet of instructions to follow and would be sent a follow up appointment.
My next appointment was 21 December 2012 - the day the world was predicted to end. I had done what had been asked of me so was being put on the list. The unofficial guesstimate I was given was 10 months wait.
On 4 Feb 2013 I received a call from the surgeon's (Mr Ahmed) secretary. He had been given some slots at Derby Nuffield and because there is no Intensive Care there they can only operate on the lowest risk patients. Therefore I was being offered a slot on Monday 25 Feb 2013 - and had to start my pre-op diet 8 hours BEFORE the call !
On 6th Feb I got a call from the Nuffield to book my pre-op for 15 Feb - and telling me my op had been bought forward to Friday 22nd Feb.
When I reached the Nuffield on 15 Feb for my pre-op they had the TV on and were reporting meteorites hitting Russia. So my journey to surgery had included car accidents, the end of the world and the script of a sci-fi film. Everything went well at the pre-op (despite one of the nurses coming in to ask me and my nurse to keep the noise down as our laughing was disturbing her patient).
So, the big day dawned. 22 Feb 2013. A friend gave me a lift to the hospital. It was half term so my son was with me and we stopped at my parents on the way through. They dropped me off at around 12.30pm. And I sat in my room on my own and sobbed. I was terrified but sure this was the right thing to do.
After a slight delay I walked down to the operating theatre at just after 3pm. Lay down, was given the anaesthetic. And woke up again. How easy was that !! I vaguely remember Mr Ahmed telling me that I had had the bypass (because of previous surgery there was a chance it would be the sleeve). They then wheeled me from the recovery room to the recovery ward. I looked at the clock and it wasn't even 6pm. The op had been so straight forward they had sailed through it. By about 6.30pm I was on the phone to my dad telling him everything was ok and could he let me son know.
By just after 7 pm I was ready to go to the loo so they walked me to my own room. I then asked if I could make a quick call and actually speak to my son. The nurse told me I could take the phone back to the recovery room. Oh boy, was that fun. I phoned my son and had a quick chat. Posted on Facebook. I think I even posted on here. All the time the machines I'm wired up to are going haywire. In the end a senior nurse confiscated the phone and told me off.
And there began the worst night of my life. No problem whatsoever with the surgery side of things. But the boots pumping up and deflating constantly, the blood pressure cuff going off, hearing the same happen to other people in the room. I've never been so glad to see the sun rise. I went through to my own room about 7.30 am and had a cup of tea. Bliss !! They tool blood. Mr Ahmed came and saw me to say if the results were ok I could go home as 'there are sick people in hospital'. All was fine and I got back to my friends house about 8 pm and they looked after me for a few days before packing me off home.
Now, that was long winded wasn't it? It makes up for this post op section.
Problems since op - a small amount of trapped wind about 4 days after which I shifted by walking; boredom of being restricted from doing stuff for first few weeks; one bout of constipation
Positives - walking... and walking ... and walking without getting out of puff; people I know not recognising me and seeing their faces when the penny drops; wearing 'nice' clothes and lots of similar stuff; sitting on any seat I want; not taking up one and a half people's room on buses, at theatres etc
No, the last year hasn't all been a barrel of laughs but that's not because of the surgery. I have tried to keep my feet on the ground but have had one or two moments when I have thought a particular situation would be better because of the surgery and hasn't - but then I give myself a mental slap and get on with it.
So a year down the line I am 8.5 stone down from where I was on operation day. I would have liked to have lost 9 stone but 8.5 stone is more than acceptable. To be honest, I reckon I have a good half a stone of excess skin but I have to go by the figure on the scales.
I was a size 26 and am now a size 16. Again, if the excess skin wasn't there I reckon I would be a small 14. But there are very few places that don't sell up to a size 16 so my clothes choice is not restricted. And I am happy with what I have. I got some 16's in a charity shop they other day and grinned at every one fitting me more than ok.
I have a fondle many many times a day. Of my collar bone. Laying in bed of a night I also have a fondle. Of my pelvic bone. They are long lost strangers that I am meeting again after a very long time.
I guess my journey over the years can be summed up by milk colours. When I was a child I was a green top. At one point in my life I was a red top. In time I became a blue top. Since my op I have dropped from blue top to green top and now consider myself to be an orange top (I shop in Asda, if I shopped at the Co-op I would be a purple top).
Thank you all so very very much for your support over the past couple of years xx
A little background to my story. I have been overweight all my life (except for 1987-1988!). Late 1980's I was back to chubby but then reached full on fat. Over the years I had been widowed, divorced, homeless etc etc.
So a few years back my GP in Bexhill suggested gastric surgery to me. He applied for funding which was approved and then referred me to The Whittington in London. He had an old form which didn't show St Richards - which turned out to be a blessing. If he HAD referred me to St Richards the chances are I would have been due to have surgery in August or September of 2011. As it was, the beginning of August 2011 my son and I moved in to a women's refuge. If I had already had a surgery date It may have swayed me to stay where we were and heaven knows how that would have turned out.
So, jump forward to April/May 2012. We are in out own home here in Boston. But I am still miserable and fat. I've done the local weight loss scheme supervised by the nurse but am making a complete fist of it. I am feeling verging on suicidal (as much as you can be without having the urge to take that final step). I feel stupid, hopeless, like I am letting my son down etc etc. I had an appointment with the nurse and told her that I wish the next 30-odd years away as the sooner I pop my clogs (with it being as painless as possible for my son) the better. She, the lovely lady, persuaded me to make an appointment to see my GP and ask for a referral.
I made the appointment - 7pm that evening - and went home. I then Googled the criteria for this area and spoke to the local support group organiser. For someone like me - no co-morbidities - my BMI had to be 50+. According to my scales it was around 49. So, and I do put my hands up to this, I cheated. I filled bags with stones and put them in my pocket. (That caused a bit of a row on here and I apologise to this who felt it was wrong of me. Desperation is a terrible thing and if I hadn't and had failed matching the criteria I don't know whether that would have tipped me 'over the edge'). In hindsight the GPs scales always weigh heavier than mine so the chances are I would have been over the 50 anyway.
So, in around May 2012 the GP referred me. The next thing I got was a letter inviting me to an appointment at Derby on 6 August 2013. On the 5th of August my car was written off in an accident but fortunately a friend got me on her insurance and let me use her car. I had a delightful appointment with the dietician and anaesthetist. The registrar was a miserable sod but so what! I was given a sheet of instructions to follow and would be sent a follow up appointment.
My next appointment was 21 December 2012 - the day the world was predicted to end. I had done what had been asked of me so was being put on the list. The unofficial guesstimate I was given was 10 months wait.
On 4 Feb 2013 I received a call from the surgeon's (Mr Ahmed) secretary. He had been given some slots at Derby Nuffield and because there is no Intensive Care there they can only operate on the lowest risk patients. Therefore I was being offered a slot on Monday 25 Feb 2013 - and had to start my pre-op diet 8 hours BEFORE the call !
On 6th Feb I got a call from the Nuffield to book my pre-op for 15 Feb - and telling me my op had been bought forward to Friday 22nd Feb.
When I reached the Nuffield on 15 Feb for my pre-op they had the TV on and were reporting meteorites hitting Russia. So my journey to surgery had included car accidents, the end of the world and the script of a sci-fi film. Everything went well at the pre-op (despite one of the nurses coming in to ask me and my nurse to keep the noise down as our laughing was disturbing her patient).
So, the big day dawned. 22 Feb 2013. A friend gave me a lift to the hospital. It was half term so my son was with me and we stopped at my parents on the way through. They dropped me off at around 12.30pm. And I sat in my room on my own and sobbed. I was terrified but sure this was the right thing to do.
After a slight delay I walked down to the operating theatre at just after 3pm. Lay down, was given the anaesthetic. And woke up again. How easy was that !! I vaguely remember Mr Ahmed telling me that I had had the bypass (because of previous surgery there was a chance it would be the sleeve). They then wheeled me from the recovery room to the recovery ward. I looked at the clock and it wasn't even 6pm. The op had been so straight forward they had sailed through it. By about 6.30pm I was on the phone to my dad telling him everything was ok and could he let me son know.
By just after 7 pm I was ready to go to the loo so they walked me to my own room. I then asked if I could make a quick call and actually speak to my son. The nurse told me I could take the phone back to the recovery room. Oh boy, was that fun. I phoned my son and had a quick chat. Posted on Facebook. I think I even posted on here. All the time the machines I'm wired up to are going haywire. In the end a senior nurse confiscated the phone and told me off.
And there began the worst night of my life. No problem whatsoever with the surgery side of things. But the boots pumping up and deflating constantly, the blood pressure cuff going off, hearing the same happen to other people in the room. I've never been so glad to see the sun rise. I went through to my own room about 7.30 am and had a cup of tea. Bliss !! They tool blood. Mr Ahmed came and saw me to say if the results were ok I could go home as 'there are sick people in hospital'. All was fine and I got back to my friends house about 8 pm and they looked after me for a few days before packing me off home.
Now, that was long winded wasn't it? It makes up for this post op section.
Problems since op - a small amount of trapped wind about 4 days after which I shifted by walking; boredom of being restricted from doing stuff for first few weeks; one bout of constipation
Positives - walking... and walking ... and walking without getting out of puff; people I know not recognising me and seeing their faces when the penny drops; wearing 'nice' clothes and lots of similar stuff; sitting on any seat I want; not taking up one and a half people's room on buses, at theatres etc
No, the last year hasn't all been a barrel of laughs but that's not because of the surgery. I have tried to keep my feet on the ground but have had one or two moments when I have thought a particular situation would be better because of the surgery and hasn't - but then I give myself a mental slap and get on with it.
So a year down the line I am 8.5 stone down from where I was on operation day. I would have liked to have lost 9 stone but 8.5 stone is more than acceptable. To be honest, I reckon I have a good half a stone of excess skin but I have to go by the figure on the scales.
I was a size 26 and am now a size 16. Again, if the excess skin wasn't there I reckon I would be a small 14. But there are very few places that don't sell up to a size 16 so my clothes choice is not restricted. And I am happy with what I have. I got some 16's in a charity shop they other day and grinned at every one fitting me more than ok.
I have a fondle many many times a day. Of my collar bone. Laying in bed of a night I also have a fondle. Of my pelvic bone. They are long lost strangers that I am meeting again after a very long time.
I guess my journey over the years can be summed up by milk colours. When I was a child I was a green top. At one point in my life I was a red top. In time I became a blue top. Since my op I have dropped from blue top to green top and now consider myself to be an orange top (I shop in Asda, if I shopped at the Co-op I would be a purple top).
Thank you all so very very much for your support over the past couple of years xx
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