Life After Divorce

{March 26, 2009}   Panic! at the Disco: The Remix

Once the party starts… you can’t leave.  The bouncer has blocked the exit and your only choice is to hang out until the music stops and they turn the lights back on.

Oh, those fucking lights.

I began to feel anxious about 9 pm.  I had eaten a Subway for dinner, because it sounded like a good idea at the time.  It was light and I was starving.  But after eating half of the sandwich, I didn’t feel right.  Unfortunately, when you have the lap band, this is often the case.  I could feel it – it was stuck.  Crap.  When something gets stuck, there is only one way to get it unstuck…

But that is a one-way pass into the disco.  That crappy, drunk-ridden club where the jerk next to you spills his drink down your shirt and then proceeds to feel you up while “helping” you.  It is miserable.  It is uncomfortable.  And there is NOTHING you can do about it.

I tried all of my typical tricks.  I tried soaking in a hot bath.  That works for a while.  The hot water will relax me enough to fall asleep.  In the tub.  For some reason, people are always concerned I will drown [shrugs].  I say whatever works, right?  So that works just long enough to get out, dry off, and put some clothes back on.  Then, it sucks again.

I tried listening to music.  I love to sing and music usually calms me down.  No dice.  I tried helplessly laying in the dark with my eyes closed hoping that my brain would eventually short-circuit and I would fall asleep.  To no avail.  I ended up back in the tub three different times.  I watched every infomercial on my mother’s wretched no-cable-or-satellite TV.  I laid in the dark cursing her clock that ticks like a time bomb.  Counting the minutes as they seemed to roll backwards.  Further and further from morning.

I didn’t want to wake my mother.  She was so tired and I already knew I was keeping her up with my gagging and frequent trips into the tub.  I just laid there… all night… and listened to the thumping of the disco.

When daylight broke and Mom finally emerged from her den, she was not surprised to see me wide awake and looking panic stricken.  We had to wait until a reasonable hour to call my surgeon (from the lap band surgery).  It was Saturday, which meant calling the answering service and then waiting for a call back.  We explained to the doctor about the slipped band, the panic attacks, and the vomiting.  He was very concerned, as all of these things can lead to really dangerous issues.  He told my mother to bring me to the Emergency Room so that he could check me out.  Again, it was both a panic and a relief.

Thankfully, when we arrived at the ER, it was empty.  I was quickly assessed (I know I looked like hell) and taken back into a room for some tests.  The doctor looked at my tests and x-rays and came to talk to me.  He said that the band hadn’t actually slipped – the other doctors didn’t know what they were looking at – but that I was already on the surgical schedule, so it was up to me what I wanted to do.  His suggestion was to convert from the Lap Band to the Gastric Bypass.  I told him he was out of his ever-loving mind.

Take this shit out of me.  NOW.

I told him that I have never done well with it (a fact he had always blamed on me not doing what I was supposed to do).  I told him that I felt like a transplant patient who was rejecting a new heart.  He acted like this was absurd, but since I had disturbed him on Saturday, he would go ahead and remove it.  He didn’t want to.  But I knew why…

I had gotten the information, reluctantly, from him last year.  He has never had to remove one that he put in because it didn’t work.  He didn’t want to ruin his statistics.  Fuck your statistics.  This thing has been killing me for over 2 years.  I felt it ever minute of every day.  It was uncomfortable and painful and did not EVER help me lose weight.  30 lbs… big fucking deal.  I could (and have) do that with Weight Watchers.  Take this shit out NOW.

So they did.

And amazingly enough…

Everything changed.  My blood pressure dropped immediately.  My blood sugar returned to a normal range immediately.  I felt fucking fantastic.  For the first time.  In YEARS.  Maybe ever.  I knew it.  I had been telling them for years… and I was right.  Suck it, Doctor Can’t-Pronounce-Your-Name. I was right.  It WAS being rejected.  I WAS sick because of it.  And now it was gone.

I was in physical pain, of course.  But, I still felt better in that pain than any day since having that horrible, strangling device put in back in 2006.  Choir of angels, and all that jazz.  One doctor, we will call him “Doctor Hottie”, suggested that I might have been allergic to the lap band.  Well, hell… I am allergic to everything else.  I am even allergic to the dissolving stitches!  Why not the band??  I ran it past another doctor and he agreed.

So within 24 hours, I was released to my mother’s care.  I already felt 100 times better than I did before the surgery, and a 100% better than when I had the surgery the first time around.  I had energy… I had commitment to getting healthy.

I was happy.


matt says:

This blog’s great!! Thanks :).

I can tell that this is not the first time you mention the topic. Why have you decided to touch it again?

Hey, cool tips. Perhaps I’ll buy a bottle of beer to the person from that chat who told me to visit your blog 🙂

Good Job on the articles you have here, thank you for putting your time into it!

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