Decisions

Well I've done it.  After a lot of soul searching and family discussions, backed up by the inability to keep up with other people walking because of puffing and pain, I am going to undergo elective surgery.

Thursday evening was the first appointment with the Bariatric surgeon who will do the operation.  Jon took me and daughter met us there.  Newly tanned from her recent running in the sunshine she did indeed look 'whippet' fit.  She had a picture to show the surgeon - that of her pre gastric surgery two and a half years ago.  "You look fantastic" he said, his eyes shining.  He meant it.  Not only does he change people's lives but he can even give them back their lives - at 30 she felt doomed to sloth, crippling doses of anti-depressant, anti-psychotic and mood-stabilising medication and inactivity for the rest of her life.  Now she is entering cross country races and loving every step.  That's more than successful surgery.  How wonderful to be able to do that for people.  The ultimate kick.

To my surprise the surgeon did not recommend a gastric band at all but said he would be willing to do a sleeve or bypass procedure.  I thought the later was not an option because of my age, but he had no problem with that at all.  Only problem he perceived with the bypass would be remembering to take medication every day for the rest of my life.  Funny.  I've been talking medicine every day (until recently only herbal) for about 20 years now - no problem there.  The problem with sleeve would be that it restricts capacity, but nothing more.  I would need a strict dietary and exercise regime.  Exercise and academia don't mix well for me.  My bottom gets the most exercise some days, with tutorials and up to two hours of driving back and forth.  And it's not easy to exercise from a computer (I see husband smiling knowingly at this point).

I felt anxious overnight and really doubtful and apprehensive driving to work the next day.  As an aside, this was in my old car, no sat nav or phone, just my little green car and me. Pause for digression and explanation.

Precious car went in for MOT on Tuesday- the first, overdue (first MOT, thought it wasn't due until May earliest) - but had picked up a stone-chip on the A1 on Saturday driving to the Open Day... car consequently failed MOT due to said stone-chip. Calling the insurance company I am told that Autoglass can't replace for A WEEK unless I go outside insurance??? Through insurance = £75 excess; outside insurance = £750. Bastards. Consequence = car illegal so can't drive = car has to stay with dealer = car-less... however I still have my previous green Micra, back from my son as he's gone abroad for the year. RAC replaced dead battery Monday morning after the Sunday call-out because Jon's car was going in for service and MOT and mine was illegal to drive, etc. etc. etc...Hence the old girl is back in the saddle...

ANYWAY, driving round I'm thinking that this is just like old times - for 13 years I was driving this little car to work and back.  Tank hasn't been filled since it was used in January; pretty economic. Every now and then the waves of anxiety and dread break through as I consider the decision I have to make this morning - do I go ahead and book a totally voluntary surgery?  Will it really change my life?  Do I really need it?  Then I realise this is exactly the same feeling I had about changing the car three years ago... Of course I'm anxious - anxiety is my middle name. 

 

Said good morning to colleagues. Saw my students into their exam then went back to my office, transferred some money into my current account and phoned the weight loss centre.  I’ve got a date for the operation now – it’s going to be the 1st June.  I will need to eat a very restricted diet for 2 weeks before to shrink the liver, then nothing for 24 hours before.  Actually feel better now it's booked.   

That evening we took Chris to a carvery for a late birthday meal and I was appalled at the amount of food people were eating. I really didn’t have the stomach for it, and didn’t want a dessert. There was a really fat family (mum, dad, grandma and grandad) with a toddler in a high chair for whom they’d got the most ridiculously huge plate of food topped with a ginormous Yorkshire pudding. She was crying and they were spoon feeding her. Crazy. Jon had a nice fruit sundae and Chris chocolate brownies but the amount they ate was very moderate compared to what other people were giving themselves – all because it was ‘eat all you can’. Scary.