Reading this article got me to thinking about all the customary consumption of food and drink that surrounds the holiday season and I'm wondering how I'll cope with the temptation. I've already had a few incidents. The first involved Grand Marnier on the evening before Thanksgiving. Listen, it's not my fault most bartenders don't know how to properly pour into a sniffer, and I'll admit there was a time I would relish at the sight of one being filled halfway, but this time, no. I had earlier found a wonderful bottle of what I can best describe as Gingersnap liqueur made by the fine folks down at Art in the Age in Philly. Because of issues with soda I just drank it over ice with a little water mixed in. After having enjoyed my fair share, perhaps a little more, of the Snap, there was really no reason to stop for a nightcap of cognac. But I did anyway.
I've only overdone it with alcohol once since my surgery and it was lesson enough for a while, I would have thought anyway. When I was in Wisconsin at my sister's house she decided to have a bourbon tasting. Now tastings can be somewhat civilized events using only small amounts of each kind. Even the word "tasting" conjures an image of spittoons lying around because one isn't supposed to actually ingest the concoction being tasted. Uh, okay. Now I'm not such a big fan of bourbon, in fact I hate it. But that night back in Milwaukee I had discovered American Honey which is Wild Turkey mixed with honey. This I liked. Apparently a lot, as I woke up the next morning in a daze, the only thought in my head that I had to be at O'Hare to get through security by about 1:30pm.
After having that one too many last Wednesday it's needless to say I was useless on Thanksgiving. I cut some Brussels sprouts in half and maybe some carrots or something but that was it. I did manage to hurt myself later, this time with the cranberries. My sister made this cranberry, pear and ginger sauce that was so tasty and delicious. You can't even call it sauce really because it's chunks of the fruits and fresh ginger. I can't fathom eating that gelatinous mould that comes out of a can. Gross. The only problem is that the sugar content was kind of high, so by eating too much I set myself up for some fairly Ill feelings after our meal.
This overexposure to things of which I can only partake of in minuscule doses actually started around Halloween. The kids got more candy than usual after hitting extra houses in the neighborhood next to the one we usually go to. In addition, I had bought a bunch of candy the week before, even though we have never gotten trick or treaters at our house, even the years one of us is home. The Reece's Peanut Butter Cups and Kit Kats went quickly and the plain Hershey Bars slowly faded from the bowl. Now I'm stuck with a bunch of Whoppers because no one in the family aside from myself likes them and I'm unable to eat seventeen of them in one sitting So there it sits; a green plastic bowl adorned with an orange stripe and black pumpkins filled with little packets of Whoppers is cluttering my table currently festooned with a green tablecloth, red place mats and a Santa Claus tray. A big bowl of candy I can't tear into is my own personal Nightmare before Christmas!
These are all lessons learned I hope. Saturday was an informal general all class reunion for my high school. I ate leftovers before going out and made sure not to overdo the cranberries which was difficult because they are so darned good! I managed to have a second glass of wine at the reunion even though it took over an hour to drink the first one. And since it was a casual event without prepaid dinners or buffet, I did not feel compelled to eat, so just ate a little snack back at my mom's before going home.
I suppose it's easier to not give in to tempting treats when I know they'll make me sick. It makes me not want to bake any of them though, and I know my kids will be upset if they miss out on any of my traditional Christmas cookies. I'll just have to pick up some new traditions that aren't so heavily centered around Sugar! I'm accustomed to taste testing at least a few cookies for each type when I'm baking, you know, for quality control. Maybe I'll let the elves do it for me from now on.
I know everyone else has trouble with extra calories and expanding waistlines this time of year. (I used to be one of them). So I'm sure I'll get no sympathy from anyone in my daily struggle to take in adequate calories and nutrition just to maintain. December is upon us, Happy Hanukkha (early this year!) and Merry Christmas (though I hope to post before then).
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Sunday, November 14, 2010
The Lost Post
I came across an entry in one of my writing apps. It was from the morning of my surgery but I wasn't able to post because I couldn't get the iPad hooked up to the hospital's wifi. So I thought I would post it here and offer a bit of reflection upon that day as I have just passed the four month post-surgical mark.
I thought I would remember every single minute of that morning. But it turns out that my brain's random selectivity in recalling stored memory of that day is no different than it is for any other. Dan and I drove down and were met by my mom and niece shortly after I checked in. I had been drinking coffee and realized that I had done the math wrong and wasn't supposed to be drinking anything, even water, at the time I was slugging down some Wawa Java. Ooopps!
I recall a few different waiting rooms and actually experiencing the beginning stages of my long-awaited psychological freak-out. But it turned out I had to answer questions or something and forced myself to hold it together. I finally got my dress and bracelet; hospital-gown couture is not haute. Once we got to that part I had to say goodbye to Dan, Mom and Rachel. They walked with me in the hallway. Here is where some poignant words may have been exchanged, where a future legendary quote may have been uttered; but if it was, I don't remember.
I found myself on the gurney in a buzzing room full of pre-operative patients such as myself. Several people stopped to ask me questions. What is my name? Why am I here? Or stick me with needles. Or ask if I had any questions. I thought about the iPod thing again, but I hadn't finished creating a proper playlist and didn't know if it had enough of a charge. Incidentally, I found out later that my surgeon would have played whatever music I wanted, so I'm content knowing that it could have happened.
Someone came and put on leads for the heart monitor. Someone else set up a PICC line. (When I woke up post-op there were no less than six additional tubes/wires coming out from or going into my body). I recall a key conversation with the anesthesiologist where we talked about NOT having an epidural. He told me that it would be needed if I was having a standard "open" surgery, but since it was being done laproscopically, I wouldn't need one. I concurred as I figured that it would be one less thing that could go wrong, but made sure he was aware that they were set up to go in the standard "open" way if necessary. He just said they would cross that bridge if they came to it.
Big. Fat. Mistake. I'm the only one who crossed the bridge, and it was misery! As I've detailed in earlier posts, they did end up having to make a big incision to properly reconnect my new alimentary canal. It wasn't until weeks after my surgery that I realized that the lack of having an epidural greatly contributed to the state of constant discomfort the first four or five days after surgery.
As the nurses wheeled me into the OR, I commented that it all just wasn't nearly as glamourous as it looks on TV. Not long after that, I was out. The next thing I knew, some people I don't know where calling my name and telling me I had to scoot over from the gurney to my bed. This did not make me happy. It got worse when the bed I was in didn't incline and they had to bring another one in. I got to do it again.
Well the rest is ... not just history, but mostly documented in previous posts. So I'll refrain from a rehashing of the events of those early days. It's amazing to look back at the state I was in and see how far I've come. Four months is a decent landmark of sorts so I'm pleased to be here. I have quite a road ahead of me but it's a well worn path with many guides along the way to help when I stumble and pick me up when I fall.
I'll be checking in to the hospital at 10am. Correction: I should be. However, due to a few stops before getting on the turnpike and the traffic we're currently stuck in, our ETA is in question. It will be a few hours before I'm actually in surgery so I figure somewhere around lunch time is when it will start.
When I woke up this morning, my head started going through all the coulda-shouldas. You know, coulda done a lot more yoga the last few weeks as it will be some time before I can resume that activity. Shoulda made a song mix to see if doc would play it during the operation. (I imagine they like it quiet in there, but who knows, maybe my surgeon likes to work listening to music with the volume turned up to 11. And there's just something really cool about imagining Lateralus playing while I'm having my stomach cut out of my abdomen).
I had a craving last night for lobster and crab legs. So we ended up going to Red Lobster, of all places, for dinner. Some of you may not be aware of my utter disdain for huge, corporate-owned chain restaurants. But this fit the bill at the time. I had quite a little feast and it was decent for my last full meal for a while.
I haven't had my panic attack yet. I'm starting to wonder if it will ever happen. It should, right? I mean, there's something abnormal about not having a complete and total mental breakdown at some point prior to having a major organ removed from the body. I can't help feeling that the longer my psyche waits to crack, the more heinous and horrific the episode will be.
Oh well, it's time. We're almost there. Thank you all for everything. See you on the other side of this ...
I thought I would remember every single minute of that morning. But it turns out that my brain's random selectivity in recalling stored memory of that day is no different than it is for any other. Dan and I drove down and were met by my mom and niece shortly after I checked in. I had been drinking coffee and realized that I had done the math wrong and wasn't supposed to be drinking anything, even water, at the time I was slugging down some Wawa Java. Ooopps!
I recall a few different waiting rooms and actually experiencing the beginning stages of my long-awaited psychological freak-out. But it turned out I had to answer questions or something and forced myself to hold it together. I finally got my dress and bracelet; hospital-gown couture is not haute. Once we got to that part I had to say goodbye to Dan, Mom and Rachel. They walked with me in the hallway. Here is where some poignant words may have been exchanged, where a future legendary quote may have been uttered; but if it was, I don't remember.
I found myself on the gurney in a buzzing room full of pre-operative patients such as myself. Several people stopped to ask me questions. What is my name? Why am I here? Or stick me with needles. Or ask if I had any questions. I thought about the iPod thing again, but I hadn't finished creating a proper playlist and didn't know if it had enough of a charge. Incidentally, I found out later that my surgeon would have played whatever music I wanted, so I'm content knowing that it could have happened.
Someone came and put on leads for the heart monitor. Someone else set up a PICC line. (When I woke up post-op there were no less than six additional tubes/wires coming out from or going into my body). I recall a key conversation with the anesthesiologist where we talked about NOT having an epidural. He told me that it would be needed if I was having a standard "open" surgery, but since it was being done laproscopically, I wouldn't need one. I concurred as I figured that it would be one less thing that could go wrong, but made sure he was aware that they were set up to go in the standard "open" way if necessary. He just said they would cross that bridge if they came to it.
Big. Fat. Mistake. I'm the only one who crossed the bridge, and it was misery! As I've detailed in earlier posts, they did end up having to make a big incision to properly reconnect my new alimentary canal. It wasn't until weeks after my surgery that I realized that the lack of having an epidural greatly contributed to the state of constant discomfort the first four or five days after surgery.
As the nurses wheeled me into the OR, I commented that it all just wasn't nearly as glamourous as it looks on TV. Not long after that, I was out. The next thing I knew, some people I don't know where calling my name and telling me I had to scoot over from the gurney to my bed. This did not make me happy. It got worse when the bed I was in didn't incline and they had to bring another one in. I got to do it again.
Well the rest is ... not just history, but mostly documented in previous posts. So I'll refrain from a rehashing of the events of those early days. It's amazing to look back at the state I was in and see how far I've come. Four months is a decent landmark of sorts so I'm pleased to be here. I have quite a road ahead of me but it's a well worn path with many guides along the way to help when I stumble and pick me up when I fall.
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