So, the first week was tough. The second week was tougher – I was readmitted to the hospital due to dehydration. And the third week, well lets just say I was readmitted again this afternoon for dehydration, vomiting and nausea.
It’s been a frustrating time as I’ve tried to adapt to my new plumbing. I’m down almost 40 pounds, but that’s probably too much, too fast. I just can’t keep anything down. I’m having some tests tomorrow and hopefully the docs will figure this out. Tonight I’m stuck in a hospital bed with a broken Kindle (yeah, I dropped my precious Amazon.com bookreader onto the hard hospital linoleum, shattering it’s screen).
But the dehydration, vomiting, nausea and just feeling like @#$% haven’t even been the worst of my weight loss surgery experience. I’ve had some great nurses to help me through (shout-outs to Lauda, Susan, Cassie, Lisa and a few others I only remember through the post-op drug-induced haze). No, the worst part was during my second readmission, when a (nameless) doc at the hospital decided I was simply choosing not to drink. It was post-surgical anxiety, he said and ordered a psych consult. A psych consult, to help with nausea and vomiting.
Insulting, to say the least.
So, before asking the psych guys (yes, plural) to go away, I suggested they were lucky I hadn’t yet yaked all over them. They left rather abruptly.
I can’t help feeling angry at the (nameless) doc who ordered the consult in the first place. How does vomiting and dehydration stem from post-surgical anxiety? It doesn’t. Frankly, I don’t understand why he didn’t listen to me. I don’t understand why he didn’t take my symptoms more seriously. If we could have dealt with my symptoms last week, I might have avoided a third admission.
The last few weeks have been hard on me, but even harder on Erica and Annie (I’m not ignoring Ari; he’s just too little to understand). Erica is a doc and knows what can go wrong, so she’s always thinking about the worst case scenario. And Annie is just a kid, nine-years-old at that, who’s watched her dad struggle through three inpatient hospital stays in three weeks. Not to mention the week I spent inpatient back in March and the two nights last December, both due to my herniated neck disks. I think she just wants her dad home. I think both my girls just want our normal life back.
They’re right. It’s enough already. I’m starting to wonder if this was a big, giant mistake – an un-doable one at that. To top it all off, at this very moment, they are running all kinds of fluids into my slowly rehydrating body. One of ‘em is potassium. You’ve heard of it – the Chiquita Banana stuff. It’s good for you, I know. But it burns like hell running through an IV. UGH!