All week long I been doing the “This time last year I was…” thing.
This time last year I was in a lot of pain. I had no idea I'd be in ICU before the night was done. Emilie was telling me last night about how she felt that night a year ago, when they came back from dinner to find me unconscious, with a blood oxygen level of 20. I'm incredibly lucky that my surgeon was there in the hospital that night. I owe an awful lot to the man who rerouted my digestive tract. I believe he also saved my life. (I hope I can still say this in 25 years ... I hope the long-term effects of malabsorption don't prove to be a deal-breaker.)
The fact that I spent almost a month in the hospital ... the fact that I had to make it through countless days of "NPO" (Nothing by mouth. Nothing.) ... the fact that I had to endure IV nutrition, a chest tube, pneumonia ... none of those facts change THIS fact:
This time last year I weighed more than 300 pounds. And today I weigh 179. (Hopefully on my way to 168 or so.)
It might take years for my brain to get used to this.
Of course, I was told before the surgery that at, or around, the one-year mark is where the REAL work would begin. I'm talking about the fight against regaining. The body is remarkable in its ability to adapt. My intestines will begin-- and probably have already started -- to absorb more calories from the food I eat. I will have to practice portion-control, because my "pouch" will get bigger as time goes by.
In other words, the further out I am from the gastric bypass surgery, the harder I will have to work to maintain the weight loss.
Just like everybody else.
No news about my Aunt today. She's in a lot of pain. I know her children are, too.
(Thanks, Amy. xo)