The plum tree bloomed early this year.
So I have been eating like I’ve only got a week left to eat, which is sort of accurate. It’s not that I won’t ever eat again after my surgery next week, but I will have to go quite a few days in a row on IV nutrition and a liquid diet before I graduate to Jello and Ensure. It’s gonna be a long long time before I can eat a whole apple (skins=bad) or any pineapple (fiber=bad) or popcorn (things that get stuck in your small intestines and cause bowel obstructions=bad) or chocolate (the universe? HATES ME). I’m told to expect significant post-op weight loss from the not eating and the loss of part of me that does things like, you know, absorb water and salt and nutrients and stuff. I figure, Why not just go into it with a little extra junk in my trunk, right? This line of thinking has led to sneaking cake from my children, eating bread AND pasta for dinner, putting both cheese AND mayo on my sandwiches, all three of them today, honestly, and beer on weeknights. Okay, I’m lying. Beer on weeknights happens independently of any stress eating. Also, by “all three,” I mean all three transgressions and all three sandwiches. Urp.
It’s working. I’ve put on something like six or seven pounds, though on the rare occasion I step on my scale it’s sort of a shady walkover maneuver. I’m not sure how much I weigh, but the jeans I usually wear when I’m on prednisone don’t need a belt and when I went swimming last weekend I wore a skort, so there you go.
Last time I was at the dentist someone (my dentist) inadvertently told me about a man who had his colon removed and then got an infection and then died before ever getting discharged from the hospital. And, up till the autopsy, they thought the infection killed him, but really he had a blood clot. In my dentist’s defense, I pressed for details on the man’s death, and he didn’t have any clue I’d just scheduled my surgery. He was appropriately horrified when I told him. Statistically, I know I’m much more likely to die in a car wreck on the way to the hospital than I am to die from a post surgical blood clot (if there’s reason to correct me here, just don’t please), but still I’m feeling a little like I should try to enjoy this week and make sure my loved ones know I love them and all that. I’m not, like, making a video goodbye tape for Scuba and the kids or anything, but I’m also holding off paying the balance on my dental bill till next month. You know, just in case.
It’s weird, this waiting. If I feel good for more than ten minutes I start to convince myself that I’m being a little bit hasty with the major organ removal. Then, I have to race to the toilet (again) or I have to take a nap because, OMG, I COOKED SOMETHING, and I realize that it’s time to do this, and THEN, then I start panicking again and looking for a way to talk myself out of it. I’m gonna be so tired when i check into the hospital next week that they won’t have to sedate me before they put me under. Of course I’ll request the Valium anyway. Ooh, or maybe I’ll get lucky and they’ll give me Versed in my IV, which I remember as putting me directly into the most delicious, high nap imaginable.
I’d like to end with this little PSA for anyone planning jpouch surgery who forgot exactly what the doctor said at that preop meeting, the one where you talked about things that you are still working on blocking out entirely, and is left wondering “How long will I be out of work after my jpouch surgery?” The answer to this question, “How much time should I take off work after my jpouch surgery?” is THREE WEEKS. THREE. At least. Maybe you can go back part time after two if you are a bored overachiever. Yes, I googled and googled that before emailing the surgeon and asking for him to remind me what he’d said. Sigh.