I prayed more than I had ever prayed the final weeks leading up to my surgery. Going under the knife, no matter how small or big of a procedure it is, can be daunting. To know that you will be going under anesthesia for many hours, being a very large person with breathing problems, is extremely terrifying. There are so many what-ifs, so many negative scenarios playing out in your head and there is little comfort to be found. I weighed the pros and cons on a daily basis and always found that waking up from surgery with a life of possibility ahead of me outweighed the fearfully driven cons that tore through my mind.
There would be side effects, there would be an intense recovery period, and I wasn't going to wake up thin; thin would take time. I had a long journey ahead of me. I thought I knew how hard that journey would be. Truth of the matter was, I really had no clue.
There are multiple options when it comes to weight loss surgery, all with varying results. I recommend doing a lot of research if you are considering it yourself, but here's a really good site that shows you the basics on all the options. For me, I wanted the surgery that had the highest success rate and the one that would be most likely to give me long-term results. I had read, heard, listened and delved into the lives and histories of people who had walked my walk and I had seen so many of them end up back where they started, some even heavier than before.
Where I found the highest success rate was with those who had undergone the Roux-En-Y Gastric Bypass. It sounds exotic, doesn't it? The surgery would reroute my digestive process, trim my 20-ft long small-intestine down to a quarter of its size, allowing me to consume no more than 1000 calories a day on average in my now silly-putty sized stomach pouch. I couldn't just pick the process that wrapped a band around my stomach, no, I had to pick the one that permanently changed my entire digestive system for better or worse.
Like I've said before- I was not going to risk being right back where my fat feet stood the day of surgery. I wanted a change, a freedom from the back rolls and giant love handles that dictated my every move. I was done with my size 28 pants and I was so ready for anything under a size18! I kept telling my fiance and my mom and my dad that I just want to see a size 16 again. I really would have been happy with just that.
And so there I was, less than 24 hours away from my d-day. I had asked my pastor at the time, my worship leader, his wife, my mom and a few other members at my church to pray with me. There is no denying, I was a complete wreck as I stood in the church clutching tightly the hands of those supporting me. I was scared beyond belief. I wasn't just scared of the surgery, I was scared that I wouldn't succeed afterwards. I was scared that I wouldn't lose the weight that I so desperately wanted to get rid of and that it would all be for not.
Somehow, I managed to pull myself together enough to make it to the hospital at 5am on October 8th, 2007. I filled out the monotonous paper work and I sat in the freezing cold pre-op room as they took my vitals. And then I stood on the last giant-mammal-scale I would ever stand on as they weighed me that final time before surgery. I didn't even look at the number. It meant nothing to me anymore. Change was coming in a matter of minutes and the only numbers that mattered to me were the years I was adding back onto my life because of the decision that I was making.
They had me lay down in an over-sized bed, placed a shower cap on my head and injected the happy drugs.
Deep breath...see you in five hours.
I hope.
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