Hospital Visits...

Some people considering, or trying for, gastric bypass surgery probably wonder what to expect. My journey to this point in having surgery has been about a year long; this was because of insurance requirements, so the particulars for other people will vary.

Of course I've been seeing my primary care physician. While she wasn't directly involved in the surgery her records do contribute to the picture the insurance company was getting of my progress (or lack thereof). Her primary worry was stabilizing my goofy bloodwork. Cholesterol was bad. Blood pressure is bad. Blood sugar is bad. I'm probably not a good patient...lots of nodding but little progress for quite some time. I was the first person to acknowledge that I was a screwup. Heck, my dentist actually scheduled a time to have me come in and get lectured.

So I'd have periodic bloodwork done by my primary care physician, hereafter referred to as my PCP. She's been wonderfully patient with me and never sounded like she gave up on me (and the same could probably be said about her resident, but the poor fellow always seems so nervous that I sometimes wonder if the residents at the hospital are being hazed or punished if patients aren't absolutely glowing about their prostate exam after the residents administer one. Not that I've had one. Because I've never had my prostate poked. But just sayin'...

So the PCP appointments were happening regardless of the surgery. She and her resident were primarily working on stabilizing my bad numbers from the labs. Popping drugs, injecting a drug, monitor some more, ask about side effects and whether I had any other problems.

Then there were bariatric-specific appointments. I rarely saw the surgeon. I had early appointments with him where he explained the procedure, early in the process. Then I had classes on what to expect, a social worker assigned for insurance and information, and then a lot of serial appointments with a nutritionist.

I would talk to her about what I was eating, then she'd give feedback. I had to meet goals like not drinking soda any more (carbonation is a big no no for the surgery and post-surgical changes). I eventually caved to her wishes and started tracking the calories I would shove into my mouth. Using a free website, I could bring in graphs and charts of my progress. Then she said that she was done with me...for now.

That was around the time that the end may have been nearly in sight. She said that she didn't need to see me until I was post-op. Huh?

Yup. I was on the track she needed me to be on, and now it was up to the surgeon.

So I met with the surgeon again. He spent about an hour enumerating the ways I could die, the complications, various things to help keep me up at night.

I was then sent home to wait for a call from their office about the results from insurance; it was their turn to turn me down or approve the operation at this point.

I got the call. They approved.

I was scheduled to meet with the surgeon. He reviewed the procedure, telling me the steps he was going to take...arms suspended, cut here, inject there, arrive at this time, cut at this time, you'll meet with the three ghosts of Pain Blockers, Unconcious Bliss, and Sharpened Blades.

The next day I went to the hospital where the actual playing with my innards would take place. This one was actually kind of fun. They drew blood from an artery...in my wrist (oh, I cringed inwardly with that), and then drew again from my arm near the elbow to test for...well, I don't know what. I was told that the artery draw was to test blood gasses and find out, for example, if I was lying about being a smoker.

They asked me a number of screening questions. Have I been exposed to TB? Do I have TB? Do I sniff glue? (Yes, that was an actual question. Actually they asked if I use glue. I said I do use glue, but not like that.)

They had me sit in a chair that reminded me of the Ancient seat used to control systems in Stargate Atlantis, only probably a little less comfy. They took about an hour and a half giving questions and drawing blood and getting a urine sample. Then they strapped me with a little plastic band on my wrist with my name and the letters "T+S" on it. I don't know why. The nurse just said I have to wear it until the operation. So I have this plastic band on me for a week.

It's now the fourth. The operation is on the seventh. According to their instructions I have to take a laxative and stay on a liquid diet on Monday, and my wife and I will be heading to a hotel that night so we're closer to the hospital; I'm due in the day surgery area at 5:30 in the morning.

Then it all happens. I go in and change my life forever.