Hey-I'm on the other side. Four pokes to my midsection and I'm none the worse for wear. Well, relatively speaking anyway. Thanks for all your words of support-it really helped as I was surprisingly nervous. I suppose that even though it was day surgery it is still quite invasive and major in its own way, despite how common it is, particularly in women. My admitting nurse told me there was only one nurse in the surgery department that day who still had her gallbladder -amazing.
My surgery was delayed about an hour -something about a code red in the hospital (ie fire alarm) not allowing them to prep patients for surgery. Awww come onnnnnn -just kidding. But it was rather unnerving hearing this alarm go on and on and on for about 45 minutes before they moved me to the next "station". The worst part was when they took my glasses before leading me to the operating table -blind much??
Once they hooked me up to the anaesthetic and I took a couple of deep breaths I was out.
When I woke up I felt like I'd been hit by a Mack truck. I saw the other assisting doctor give me a thumbs up, saying "We got it all out-it was HUGE!". My doctor confirmed for Ian later that it was indeed "very large" but he didn't have to make the incision any bigger than usual. It's amazing what modern surgical techniques can accomplish these days. I don't even have stitches steri strips are what's holding the holes together. Amazing yet again. As the nurse told me it's like some sort of magic show -all done in the dark with cameras and video screens and presto out it comes. Sorry if it's TMI.
So it's done and I'm on the mend. Although it is incredible how everything is connected to your midsection. Something as simple as sleeping is even affected -I can't get used to sleeping on my back!
Did some work today but it's so deceptive-I feel almost normal, except for minor itching and pain (I weaned myself off oxycontin pretty quickly) but I'm so exhausted after just spending a couple hours on emails and budgets. It's tough to slow down after going at top speed for the last couple of years.
Yeah I know -I should milk it as long as I can! Skim milk, that is...
Showing posts with label body fail. Show all posts
Showing posts with label body fail. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Tuesday, July 05, 2011
The Biggest Ever ...
"Hey Karen, haven't seen you in a while - wow, you're looking great - so trim!"
"Thanks, I know I've lost weight. I can actually get into some outfits that I haven't worn since before I had the L-boy. To tell you the truth I weigh about what I did on my wedding day "
How wonderful - there's a silver lining to everything I suppose. It's too bad that I got here by not being able to eat properly for the last couple of months. Not eating is highly overrated.
I'm having surgery tomorrow.
There's this thing called complacency. Complacency mixed with a little vino while noshing on mini pizzas and samosas during an enthusiastic discussion about "The Forgotten Garden", combine that with excitement about the Royal Wedding which was coming up the next day...well, let's just say that can create havoc on an unsuspecting gallbladder.
Yes, remember that little episode? That was over two years ago, and what followed was the darkest period of my life. Little wonder that I wasn't in such a hurry back then to go within a one metre radius of a hospital for elective surgery.
I guess there's no thwarting mother nature. So despite my best efforts with watching my rich, fatty food intake over the past couple of years, it's come back to bite me.
"So what were you doing during the Royal Wedding?"
Well I certainly won't forget April 29, 2011. Nothing like a gallbladder attack to wake one up for historic nuptials. Hey, I was up anyway. I promised myself that if I could get through the pain, I would make an apointment with my doctor to get this looked at. Stat.
"Oh, what's this?"
Not the most comforting words from your surgeon. I figured it wasn't a great thing to have something palpable down the belly way but assumed it was a result of the gallbladder issues.
Cue the CT scan, which ultimately proved that it was indeed my offending organ. It's just that they're not normally so freakishly huge.
Tomorrow afternoon I should feel lighter, both physically and metaphorically. The relief from the chronic pain and relief from the worry of diet is so welcome. The irony of losing weight in time for bikini season, but having surgical scars to show for it, is not lost on me.
Who am I kidding? I'm too old to be wearing a bikini anyway.
I'm looking forward to having a Dairy Queen chocolate dipped ice cream cone. And some Bodyjam to go with that. Summer won't start for me until then.
"Thanks, I know I've lost weight. I can actually get into some outfits that I haven't worn since before I had the L-boy. To tell you the truth I weigh about what I did on my wedding day "
How wonderful - there's a silver lining to everything I suppose. It's too bad that I got here by not being able to eat properly for the last couple of months. Not eating is highly overrated.
I'm having surgery tomorrow.
*****
Book Clubs are Hazardous for Your Health
There's this thing called complacency. Complacency mixed with a little vino while noshing on mini pizzas and samosas during an enthusiastic discussion about "The Forgotten Garden", combine that with excitement about the Royal Wedding which was coming up the next day...well, let's just say that can create havoc on an unsuspecting gallbladder.
Yes, remember that little episode? That was over two years ago, and what followed was the darkest period of my life. Little wonder that I wasn't in such a hurry back then to go within a one metre radius of a hospital for elective surgery.
I guess there's no thwarting mother nature. So despite my best efforts with watching my rich, fatty food intake over the past couple of years, it's come back to bite me.
*****
"So what were you doing during the Royal Wedding?"
Well I certainly won't forget April 29, 2011. Nothing like a gallbladder attack to wake one up for historic nuptials. Hey, I was up anyway. I promised myself that if I could get through the pain, I would make an apointment with my doctor to get this looked at. Stat.
*****
"Oh, what's this?"
Not the most comforting words from your surgeon. I figured it wasn't a great thing to have something palpable down the belly way but assumed it was a result of the gallbladder issues.
Cue the CT scan, which ultimately proved that it was indeed my offending organ. It's just that they're not normally so freakishly huge.
*****
Tomorrow afternoon I should feel lighter, both physically and metaphorically. The relief from the chronic pain and relief from the worry of diet is so welcome. The irony of losing weight in time for bikini season, but having surgical scars to show for it, is not lost on me.
Who am I kidding? I'm too old to be wearing a bikini anyway.
I'm looking forward to having a Dairy Queen chocolate dipped ice cream cone. And some Bodyjam to go with that. Summer won't start for me until then.
Thursday, August 06, 2009
The same ... but not
I went back to the gym for the first time in over six months on Tuesday. I'm sure it wasn't the smartest way to dive back in, but I decided to try my beloved Bodyjam class. Yes, the one with all the fab twists, turns, jumps and deep knee grooving to a funky hip hop beat. Go big, or go home with a broken knee, I always say.
But how could I not? I was so passionate about it, and for over two years, the sessions that I looked so forward to three times a week - that had me pushing my over-40 body to the limit - kept me feeling great about myself, and more importantly, kept my mind relatively stress-free.
I would be lying if I said I wasn't nervous.
The last class I had attended was about six days after my Dad's diagnosis. My knees were intact, and Dad's prognosis, although not wonderful (being an upside of 18 months), was at least something to strive for. I hit the routine hard, throwing my body into the ferocity of Kanye's "Stronger", somehow trying to will the strength to my Dad to fight...or more likely willing myself to find the strength to deal with the enormity of it all. I remember working through it in tears.
Less than four weeks later, he was gone and my will limped in unison with my bum knee.
Aside from the fact that I couldn't physically get much from the gym until my leg got strong enough, there was a big part of me that was reluctant... or even afraid to go back to the gym. Routine, what was that anymore? How could life go on just as it was before, when the world I knew, and especially my mother's world, was shattered?
I suspect this is what made me drag my heels to the physiotherapist - and made it even more difficult to start with my regular classes again.
So here I was this week, tackling Bodyjam Release 49. The same class at the same time, with many of the same friends ('Hey, Karen, where've you been? It's been a long time...') ... but it was not the same. The instructor was new; the routine was new; and my confidence not exactly at a high. Especially when the instructor told me to watch for the advanced options she would be throwing out there, to make sure I wouldn't push myself too far.
Damn, I used to love to jump, twirl, spin, samba... all that fun advanced stuff! This would be more torturous than I thought!
In the end, it turned out not to be too bad, and I managed to complete the class feeling just sweaty enough, with no twisted limbs to show for it. Which was a bonus. It was difficult to hold back, and it certainly wasn't the old me out there on the gym floor.
So it was done. No more excuses. I intend to get back into my regular exercise cycle again (which will have to include some core strengthening workouts).
As I drove home from class, I was stopped at the railway tracks. Unexpectedly, as I'd never had to wait for a train at this time before, not once in the past two years of regular Tuesday night classes. I watched each car pass in front of me, in rhythmic tandem with the piano riffs of Coldplay's "Clocks" playing on the radio.
And I thought of Dad, and how I missed him, how I wished he was still with us ... but also about the inevitability of time, how life must still move forward, and how he'd want me to continue to move forward. Remembering the profound words that my daughter had said to me, just hours earlier when talking about her grandfather...
"Just pretend that he's still here, Mommy, when you get sad. It will make you feel better."
While pretending the odd time isn't quite the same as reality, it'll allow me to take more concrete steps toward the future. I did feel better.
After the last car of the train went by, and the railway crossing arms lifted, I took my foot off the brake.
And headed home.
But how could I not? I was so passionate about it, and for over two years, the sessions that I looked so forward to three times a week - that had me pushing my over-40 body to the limit - kept me feeling great about myself, and more importantly, kept my mind relatively stress-free.
I would be lying if I said I wasn't nervous.
The last class I had attended was about six days after my Dad's diagnosis. My knees were intact, and Dad's prognosis, although not wonderful (being an upside of 18 months), was at least something to strive for. I hit the routine hard, throwing my body into the ferocity of Kanye's "Stronger", somehow trying to will the strength to my Dad to fight...or more likely willing myself to find the strength to deal with the enormity of it all. I remember working through it in tears.
Less than four weeks later, he was gone and my will limped in unison with my bum knee.
Aside from the fact that I couldn't physically get much from the gym until my leg got strong enough, there was a big part of me that was reluctant... or even afraid to go back to the gym. Routine, what was that anymore? How could life go on just as it was before, when the world I knew, and especially my mother's world, was shattered?
I suspect this is what made me drag my heels to the physiotherapist - and made it even more difficult to start with my regular classes again.
So here I was this week, tackling Bodyjam Release 49. The same class at the same time, with many of the same friends ('Hey, Karen, where've you been? It's been a long time...') ... but it was not the same. The instructor was new; the routine was new; and my confidence not exactly at a high. Especially when the instructor told me to watch for the advanced options she would be throwing out there, to make sure I wouldn't push myself too far.
Damn, I used to love to jump, twirl, spin, samba... all that fun advanced stuff! This would be more torturous than I thought!
In the end, it turned out not to be too bad, and I managed to complete the class feeling just sweaty enough, with no twisted limbs to show for it. Which was a bonus. It was difficult to hold back, and it certainly wasn't the old me out there on the gym floor.
So it was done. No more excuses. I intend to get back into my regular exercise cycle again (which will have to include some core strengthening workouts).
As I drove home from class, I was stopped at the railway tracks. Unexpectedly, as I'd never had to wait for a train at this time before, not once in the past two years of regular Tuesday night classes. I watched each car pass in front of me, in rhythmic tandem with the piano riffs of Coldplay's "Clocks" playing on the radio.
And I thought of Dad, and how I missed him, how I wished he was still with us ... but also about the inevitability of time, how life must still move forward, and how he'd want me to continue to move forward. Remembering the profound words that my daughter had said to me, just hours earlier when talking about her grandfather...
"Just pretend that he's still here, Mommy, when you get sad. It will make you feel better."
While pretending the odd time isn't quite the same as reality, it'll allow me to take more concrete steps toward the future. I did feel better.
After the last car of the train went by, and the railway crossing arms lifted, I took my foot off the brake.
And headed home.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Bitch, moan, wail
I was officially discharged from physio last week! Yay, knee is pretty much good to go, Bodyjam here we come (well, in a bit)...
Yesterday, thinking about going to the gym, helping the kids get their backpacks on ...
SPAZ- MATTACK!!!!
What the HELL was that?
PAIN.
Oh my frickin' crap, my back is out.
Bloody, bloody, bloody hell.
Can't I catch a break?
Or at least a margarita or a mojito at 8 AM for all my troubles.
(Serves me right for even thinking about the gym. And for carrying that 500 pound shredder into the house on my own. And where the heck did I hide that Robaxacet, anyway?)
I'll be fine *sob*, really I will *sob*...
Yesterday, thinking about going to the gym, helping the kids get their backpacks on ...
SPAZ- MATTACK!!!!
What the HELL was that?
PAIN.
Oh my frickin' crap, my back is out.
Bloody, bloody, bloody hell.
Can't I catch a break?
Or at least a margarita or a mojito at 8 AM for all my troubles.
(Serves me right for even thinking about the gym. And for carrying that 500 pound shredder into the house on my own. And where the heck did I hide that Robaxacet, anyway?)
I'll be fine *sob*, really I will *sob*...
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