Why weight is not the only thing lost after weight loss surgery
I am almost 3 months out from my surgery, which is hard to fathom in many ways. Time really does fly, as trite as that statement is. And, as in my previous surgery/anesthesia experiences, I have begun to notice a little more hair coming out than usual when I shampoo.
In 1995 when I had my gallbladder removed, I was given valuable information about post-surgical hair loss, not by my doctor but by my hairdresser. He told me that when a patient is put under general anesthesia, some increased shedding of hair will occur a few months later, that it is generally temporary and not a big deal. I have found this to be the case each time I have had surgery. In the pre-op class before my weight loss surgery we were also told that we could expect to experience some hair loss in the months after surgery, because our bodies are experiencing lots of metabolic, hormonal and nutritional changes, and again, we were assured that it is not total and generally only temporary.
For lots of women, hair is a big deal. If a woman says she doesn't really think much about her hair, ask her to shave her head and watch her reaction! Hair loss can be traumatic for anyone, no matter what causes it, but in our society it can be especially devastating for women. Aside from Sinead O'Connor in the "Nothing Compares 2 U" video, we haven't been exposed much to beautiful, bald women, at least, not enough to make female baldness seem normal. So much of our appearance, and how we feel about it, stems from how we feel about our hair. Hair is a multi-million dollar industry in our country, both in product formulation and in marketing. Cleansing, conditioning, coloring, curling/straightening...on and on.
I have always been a brunette, both in my soul and on my head. I have a big, bold, brunette personality. I have never been tempted to experiment with another color. Some women play around with their hair color like they change socks, but not me. When I color it is because the grey is showing enough to really bug me! Grey hairs show up much more vividly in darker hair, after all, because of the contrast.
My first greys started coming in when I was 19 years old and a sophomore in college. I had a horrible start to the fall semester which included a viral infection in my throat that sent me to the hospital for several days, as well as some other personal issues, and a lot of stress. I earned those first grey hairs...and all the ones since then as well! When they first showed up they were more of a curiosity than anything else.
The Hubs will not be happy that I am sharing this, but it's pertinent (and kind of funny now). When I was 28 years old, my Aunt Mary died, and all of us were in the parlor at the funeral home for the receiving of friends. I was sitting on the end of a couch, and The Hubs and one of my cousins were a few spaces down from me. My cousin remarked, "Looks like your wife is getting a little snow on the roof!" To which The Hubs responded, "I think it's the beginning of a blizzard!" I heard this exchange and decided that it was time to try coloring my hair.
I know people who have beautiful, full, radiantly silver grey hair. Aunt Mary in the paragraph above had the best hair of anyone in her family, going from jet black to salt & pepper to snowy white in the front by the time she died. Her hair never seemed to have an awkward stage as her grey came in. I color now and then because I'm not happy with the way my grey is coming in. My personality does not thrive in grey patches and streaks!
People do all kinds of things to change their appearances. I have 5 ear piercings, but no piercings anyplace else. I have no tattoos, but I have friends who have lots of them. I wear makeup, but I have friends who don't. And someday I expect not to color my hair any more...or maybe not. It just depends on how things go.
For now, I'm just glad there is hair to color, even if a little more is coming out right now. If it starts coming out in handfuls, I guess I'll wear hats. In the grand scheme of things, it's just hair...but it's my hair, and, like the rest of me, I'd like it to be healthy. That's what this whole process is all about.
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Monday, August 20, 2012
Firsts
The new normal and the old one
A few nights ago I had my first restaurant meal since surgery. I met a new friend (and fellow traveler on the weight loss path) at a local restaurant which has a good reputation and good reviews, and one I had never been to before. After the initial greetings and small talk, we decided to split an entree, as many weight loss patients do since we can no longer consume an entire restaurant-sized meal. We shared the evening's special, grilled shrimp. Since my dinner companion is also a weight loss patient, she understood my need to cut my portion into tiny, dime-sized pieces and my attention to thoroughly chewing each bite. The last thing I wanted was to have a "dinner issue" in public. I was thrilled that the shrimp not only tasted delicious, but it also made my belly happy. Some foods are just uncomfortable to eat now, and they can upset my stomach, or at the worst, threaten not to stay there. The shrimp was a good choice. I also had a couple of bites of sauteed mushrooms, which tasted wonderful as well. I left the restaurant pleasantly satisfied and not too full.
The evening also gave me a chance to ask questions and share my concerns with another female who walks this same path and is about a year ahead of me. It was reassuring to learn that some of the experiences I am having are normal and that yes, I am making good progress. My friend and I hope to meet regularly for mutual support and accountability, to become a sort of unofficial support system for each other, and to include some other people in this new network of travelers. With only a few people, there will be more opportunities for real sharing and interaction, rather than a support meeting with 50 people in a conference room where there is barely time for introductions before it is time to leave.
Tonight my chorus resumed rehearsals for the fall concert season. It is always sort of an "I'm-so-glad-to-see-you-how-was-your-summer?" kind of moment as we pay dues and purchase concert music, touching base with one another after having the summer off. I will admit to some apprehension about showing up there this evening. Many of my fellow singers knew that I was having weight loss surgery in June, and I was nervous about seeing them again, wondering if my shrinkage would be noticeable, if today was a day when I looked peaked and tired, was I able to cover The Humility Pimple...on and on the insecurites raged. When I opened the door and walked inside, I was greeted, welcomed and then applauded by more than a dozen people who were in the vestibule buying their music and paying dues for the season. There were hugs, congratulations on my progress and lots of affirmation that my size is indeed different than when they last saw me in the spring. It was almost overwhelming and a moment that I will treasure in my heart for the rest of my life.
Compliments are, of course, not why I had the surgery. But they are nice. I know a time will come when the compliments will stop coming, people will get used to me shrinking and it won't be a big deal anymore. I need to prepare myself for that time and continually reinforce to myself that it's not about what I look like. It's about getting, and staying, healthy and strong, in body, soul, mind and spirit.
Something has been a little "off" since surgery, and only recently have I been able to put words to it. I was talking recently with The Hubs, and I said to him that since surgery, "I just haven't felt like myself." That's the best description I have been able to come up with for it. I've been subdued, unmotivated, almost as though a cloud or a fog has been hanging over me. Having had surgery before, I knew that some mild depression can come after general anesthesia. A friend at music practice tonight asked how long I was under, and I told him that surgery itself took 3 hours. He told me that when his wife had surgery recently, the surgeon told them that for every hour a patient is under anesthesia, it can take about a month for the body to recover. This revelation made me feel MUCH better. I am only 2 1/2 months out from surgery, so if this assertion is true, it's not unusual that I still feel a bit unlike my old self. I realize that I may never feel exactly like my old self again, because I am changing so much physically.
My hope is that I'll feel new and improved!
A few nights ago I had my first restaurant meal since surgery. I met a new friend (and fellow traveler on the weight loss path) at a local restaurant which has a good reputation and good reviews, and one I had never been to before. After the initial greetings and small talk, we decided to split an entree, as many weight loss patients do since we can no longer consume an entire restaurant-sized meal. We shared the evening's special, grilled shrimp. Since my dinner companion is also a weight loss patient, she understood my need to cut my portion into tiny, dime-sized pieces and my attention to thoroughly chewing each bite. The last thing I wanted was to have a "dinner issue" in public. I was thrilled that the shrimp not only tasted delicious, but it also made my belly happy. Some foods are just uncomfortable to eat now, and they can upset my stomach, or at the worst, threaten not to stay there. The shrimp was a good choice. I also had a couple of bites of sauteed mushrooms, which tasted wonderful as well. I left the restaurant pleasantly satisfied and not too full.
The evening also gave me a chance to ask questions and share my concerns with another female who walks this same path and is about a year ahead of me. It was reassuring to learn that some of the experiences I am having are normal and that yes, I am making good progress. My friend and I hope to meet regularly for mutual support and accountability, to become a sort of unofficial support system for each other, and to include some other people in this new network of travelers. With only a few people, there will be more opportunities for real sharing and interaction, rather than a support meeting with 50 people in a conference room where there is barely time for introductions before it is time to leave.
Tonight my chorus resumed rehearsals for the fall concert season. It is always sort of an "I'm-so-glad-to-see-you-how-was-your-summer?" kind of moment as we pay dues and purchase concert music, touching base with one another after having the summer off. I will admit to some apprehension about showing up there this evening. Many of my fellow singers knew that I was having weight loss surgery in June, and I was nervous about seeing them again, wondering if my shrinkage would be noticeable, if today was a day when I looked peaked and tired, was I able to cover The Humility Pimple...on and on the insecurites raged. When I opened the door and walked inside, I was greeted, welcomed and then applauded by more than a dozen people who were in the vestibule buying their music and paying dues for the season. There were hugs, congratulations on my progress and lots of affirmation that my size is indeed different than when they last saw me in the spring. It was almost overwhelming and a moment that I will treasure in my heart for the rest of my life.
Compliments are, of course, not why I had the surgery. But they are nice. I know a time will come when the compliments will stop coming, people will get used to me shrinking and it won't be a big deal anymore. I need to prepare myself for that time and continually reinforce to myself that it's not about what I look like. It's about getting, and staying, healthy and strong, in body, soul, mind and spirit.
Something has been a little "off" since surgery, and only recently have I been able to put words to it. I was talking recently with The Hubs, and I said to him that since surgery, "I just haven't felt like myself." That's the best description I have been able to come up with for it. I've been subdued, unmotivated, almost as though a cloud or a fog has been hanging over me. Having had surgery before, I knew that some mild depression can come after general anesthesia. A friend at music practice tonight asked how long I was under, and I told him that surgery itself took 3 hours. He told me that when his wife had surgery recently, the surgeon told them that for every hour a patient is under anesthesia, it can take about a month for the body to recover. This revelation made me feel MUCH better. I am only 2 1/2 months out from surgery, so if this assertion is true, it's not unusual that I still feel a bit unlike my old self. I realize that I may never feel exactly like my old self again, because I am changing so much physically.
My hope is that I'll feel new and improved!
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
Two Months Since Surgery
And an eventful time it has been
Yesterday was 2 months since my weight loss surgery. I have lost 34 pounds since surgery and I'm seeing big changes in the way my clothes, rings, and even shoes, are fitting me. My plan is not to buy new clothes for as long as I can possibly avoid it, partly because I don't enjoy shopping, and partly because my Bonus Mom (I dislike the word Stepmother) has offered to alter things for me when I'm ready.
I have also advanced to phase 3 diet, which means I can gradually begin introducing some vegetables and fruit, provided that they are cooked, soft and I avoid seeds and peels. Last night, for example, I had a small portion of baked chicken for supper, with a little dab of stewed tomatoes. Delicious! Vegetables can also add much-needed moisture to a meal, which makes it much easier to eat and digest.
The week after my last follow-up at the surgeon's office, The Hubs became ill. He went to a midnight movie on a Thursday and had scheduled time off from work the next day because he would be out so late. He said that after he got home from the movie he was having some abdominal pain that kept him from getting much sleep. He called the doctor, who was able to see him that Friday afternoon and, suspecting diverticulitis, sent him to the hospital for an abdominal CT scan. That night at 9:30, the doctor called us at home to tell us that the scan indicated pancreatitis, told us that The Hubs was to have no food for 48 hours, only clear liquids, take pain medication as needed and if his pain became unbearable to go to the emergency room. This began a week of medicine, temperature-taking, gradually introducing bland foods, watching and praying. The Hubs is not a complainer but I could tell that he just did not feel well. God's timing being what it is, I had scheduled time off that week for a trip, which I cancelled so I could be home and watch over The Hubs. I was so grateful that my time off was already in place and work was one less thing I needed to worry about.
We laid around a lot that week and didn't do a whole lot of anything. We both had freak-out moments during that time, but we also had moments of closeness, and even enjoyment. We spent an afternoon watching the first part of The Animaniacs box set, remembering when we first discovered these brilliantly written cartoons. We watched a lot of TV criminal misadventures, the opening ceremonies of The Olympics in London, and he caught up on DVRed episodes of Craig Ferguson. There was some Facebooking and other computer time. He missed a week of work, which, it turns out, was probably pretty typical. The doctor was prudent in suggesting that we treat the pancreatitis at home. From what we were able to learn, the condition generally runs its course in a week to 10 days, which is what we experienced. I am praying that this was an isolated thing that will not repeat itself.
The Hubs returned to work last week, says he has no pain, no fever and feels fine. Thank God. This was about as scared as I can remember being for a long time, maybe ever. I learned a lot from this experience. I know what I feel like when I am sick, what my pain tolerances are and what I can live with. When The Hubs is sick, I can't step inside him and feel what he feels. Those feelings of uncertainty and helplessness are awful. And it made me appreciate the times when he has experienced those same feelings as a caregiver when I have been the patient, including, most recently, following my weight loss surgery.
Yesterday was 2 months since my weight loss surgery. I have lost 34 pounds since surgery and I'm seeing big changes in the way my clothes, rings, and even shoes, are fitting me. My plan is not to buy new clothes for as long as I can possibly avoid it, partly because I don't enjoy shopping, and partly because my Bonus Mom (I dislike the word Stepmother) has offered to alter things for me when I'm ready.
I have also advanced to phase 3 diet, which means I can gradually begin introducing some vegetables and fruit, provided that they are cooked, soft and I avoid seeds and peels. Last night, for example, I had a small portion of baked chicken for supper, with a little dab of stewed tomatoes. Delicious! Vegetables can also add much-needed moisture to a meal, which makes it much easier to eat and digest.
The week after my last follow-up at the surgeon's office, The Hubs became ill. He went to a midnight movie on a Thursday and had scheduled time off from work the next day because he would be out so late. He said that after he got home from the movie he was having some abdominal pain that kept him from getting much sleep. He called the doctor, who was able to see him that Friday afternoon and, suspecting diverticulitis, sent him to the hospital for an abdominal CT scan. That night at 9:30, the doctor called us at home to tell us that the scan indicated pancreatitis, told us that The Hubs was to have no food for 48 hours, only clear liquids, take pain medication as needed and if his pain became unbearable to go to the emergency room. This began a week of medicine, temperature-taking, gradually introducing bland foods, watching and praying. The Hubs is not a complainer but I could tell that he just did not feel well. God's timing being what it is, I had scheduled time off that week for a trip, which I cancelled so I could be home and watch over The Hubs. I was so grateful that my time off was already in place and work was one less thing I needed to worry about.
We laid around a lot that week and didn't do a whole lot of anything. We both had freak-out moments during that time, but we also had moments of closeness, and even enjoyment. We spent an afternoon watching the first part of The Animaniacs box set, remembering when we first discovered these brilliantly written cartoons. We watched a lot of TV criminal misadventures, the opening ceremonies of The Olympics in London, and he caught up on DVRed episodes of Craig Ferguson. There was some Facebooking and other computer time. He missed a week of work, which, it turns out, was probably pretty typical. The doctor was prudent in suggesting that we treat the pancreatitis at home. From what we were able to learn, the condition generally runs its course in a week to 10 days, which is what we experienced. I am praying that this was an isolated thing that will not repeat itself.
The Hubs returned to work last week, says he has no pain, no fever and feels fine. Thank God. This was about as scared as I can remember being for a long time, maybe ever. I learned a lot from this experience. I know what I feel like when I am sick, what my pain tolerances are and what I can live with. When The Hubs is sick, I can't step inside him and feel what he feels. Those feelings of uncertainty and helplessness are awful. And it made me appreciate the times when he has experienced those same feelings as a caregiver when I have been the patient, including, most recently, following my weight loss surgery.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)