The Surgery

On August 24, 2010 I reported to Massachusetts General Hospital (MGH) in Boston for laparoscopic Roux-en-Y Gastric Bypass surgery, which reduces the stomach to one ounce and reconnects the intestines into a "Y" formation.  At that point it has been over a year since I first expressed interest in the surgery to my primary care physician.  She first referred me that spring to Boston Medical Center, but the location would have been a hardship for visits during the work week.  MGH was just down the street from my office, but they had a waiting list, so I could not even have a screening visit before June 30, 2009.

Shortly after that appointment, I left my job.  That should have been an ideal to go through the process, but delays kept coming up.  The screening process stretched out longer than expected, and then there was the 3 month pre-surgery canon of visits.  After completing most of that process, I had a surgery date scheduled for January 2010.

In early November, I was offered a job, with an estimated start date of 6 weeks later (processing takes a long time for jobs with the federal government!).  Considering that, I decided to cancel my surgery, thinking it would be incorrect to leave for 2-6 weeks so recently after starting the job.  The hiring process ended up taking about 3 months, and I started my new jobs about four weeks after my previously-scheduled surgery date.  I thought it best to wait until I had been at my job for a few months, so I ended up with a new surgery date of July 14, 2010.

The date was switched to the 13th about a week later, but I continued with the remaining visits to each of the specialists at MGH in preparation for the surgery.  There was a nutritionist, a psychologist, a medical doctor, a new surgeon (my old one was leaving the practice), plus a battery of pre-surgery screening tests.  I cleared off the dates with my job.  My mom scheduled to come stay with me the two weeks after the surgery, and everything was ready to go.

On July 12th, the day before the surgery, I met my mom at the airport and we returned to my apartment.  Less than an hour later, around 3 pm, I got a phone call from MGH.  My surgeon was sick and we would need to reschedule the surgery.  The next opening was August 24th - 6 weeks later.  Because of that extension, I would need to repeat my pre-surgery tests and have another visit with my surgeon.

I was stunned to find out, less than 24 hours in advance, that this surgery I had waited so long for had been delayed once again.  My mom had taken time out of her life and had incurred the expense of a trip to Boston, and the reason for the trip was gone within an hour of her arrival.  I had rearranged a lot of schedules and events at work because of my absence.  I was very frustrated, but knew that I couldn't change it, so I enjoyed the time with my mother and went back to work.

I began the process of rearranging things at work, my mother scheduled a second trip, and took care of my duplicate appointments at MGH.  I got a cold about 2 weeks before the surgery and did everything in my power to get rid of it, knowing that it could delay the procedure once again.  I held my breath throughout those 6 weeks, up until I was lying on the gurney outside the operating room.  It was finally going to happen.  After 20 months of waiting, my surgery was finally taking place.  They connected all of the tubes and needles, shifted me onto the operating table, and the world quickly faded to black.

I woke up sore, dry, and itchy in the recovery room.  I stayed at the hospital for two nights, a new roommate each night.  Each day brought its own challenges and indignities.  The first 24 hours, I was not allowed to drink, as they wanted to test the seams with a variety of disgusting liquids that can be seen by x-rays.  In the mean-time I kept my mouth bearably moist using a sponge on a stick that would rest in a cup of ice cubes.  My visitors would chuckle as I re-bathed my tongue and mouth with the little sponge every few minutes.  The heavy sedatives being pumped through my IV also kept my eyelids low and my head bobbing with fatigue, which was of particular amusement to my mother and brother (but that was pretty funny to me too).

I was constantly itching.  First my nose, then my face, and gradually the rest of my body.  I spent the second day begging alternately for pain medication and something to soothe the itchiness.  The bed was uncomfortable and I was fairly helpless.  But I'm also stubborn and kept pushing myself, watching to see what the attendants did, and taking my liberties back one by one.

I left the hospital on Thursday, August 26th, accompanied by my mother and my prescriptions.  This blog details the story from there.