From the Wife: Some of the Nitty-Gritty

Eric has been very forth-right with you about his thought processes and some of the realities that were facing him before the surgery. I know he will continue to do this once he is feeling a bit more up to it. Until then, I shall continue to hijack the blog and share some random details that may otherwise get overlooked.



1. The liquid diet - pre and post op - is difficult for many reasons for the person who has to partake of it (Eric can give you the details). For the spouse, it is also difficult. I found myself very aware of the foods I was fixing -- worried about them being too fragrant or too tempting for Eric. When it came to preparing meals, I found that I was in a state of mourning. At the end of the day, Eric and I typically cook supper together and catch up with one another. This didn't happen often while the liquid diet was in effect. I certainly don't blame Eric for not "helping out" - that isn't at all what I am saying. Rather, I mourned the time that we shared together over meal preparations. It did, however, lead me to realize just how much we count on food to be the center of our family rituals. Oh, and another thing about the liquid diet: it makes you stupid. Ditzy. Flaky. On a good day, a person may consume 600 calories on the pre-surgery diet. SIX HUNDRED CALORIES. It is easy to flake out with so little feeding your brain. Eric tried to burn down the house (left a stove-top burner on) and tried to asphyxiate me and our youngest daughter by warming up our car in the garage without putting the garage door up. Thankfully, both of those times, I was not far behind him and kept any harm from being done. The liquid diet is NOT for the faint of heart.



2. I was not ready for how pale Eric was going to look post-operatively. He slept much of the first 24 hours after surgery (except for a recurring case of the hiccups - perhaps Eric will share that story with you.), which I was prepared for, but the lack of color to his complexion is what brought home the severity of the surgery that just took place. Then again, perhaps it was less about him being pale and more about the hospital gown not being in his color palette...



3. Eric had an On-Q ball for pain management. Essentially, On-Q is a catheterized pain med that is placed and feeds directly into the surgical location. If you or someone you love ever has one of these, be thankful -- it works wonders. While on the pain ball, Eric's pain was never above a 3 on a 1-10 scale. Once it was removed, the pain hovered closer to 5 and 6. If you have to remove it at home, like I did, know it isn't as scary as it sounds. I am a complete medical wuss -- if I can do it, anyone can (truth: I had my mother-in-law on alert - her sole purpose other than emotional support was to pick me up if I passed out).



4. Follow all the rules. Follow the pre-surgery rules. Follow the post-surgery rules. The rules are truly there for your health and recovery -- not to make your life difficult. If the rules say walk, then walk. If they say don't eat, then don't eat.



5. Our children are resilient. I knew this before, but was reminded of the reality this past week. Not only did they live through Daddy not eating for two weeks, they lived through a week of Daddy in the hospital during a blizzard -- a time when I couldn't even come home to them because the roads were impassable. They survived a week of craziness filled with snow days, Nana days, and missing Mom and Dad. Upon our return, they were gentle, caring, and adoring of their Daddy. They have held up through this ordeal better than I could have ever imagined.



There are other details to be shared, of this, I am certain. But for now, may this whet your appetite until Eric is back. I promise... I shall limit my hijacking of the blog. I don't promise never to hijack it, just to limit how often I do. I appreciate Eric's kindness to allow me to share my voice in the midst of this deeply personal experience.

Day 5 and Still Alive

Somebody at some point will inevitably say to me that having this surgery was the "easy way out".  My sincere hope is that I don't punch them in the face.  I've been at the clear liquid diet since first-thing Tuesday morning.  It's been humbling -- humbling because of how hard this has been, humbling because I know the process will inevitably get harder.  I chose this path with my eyes wide open, fully aware that this wasn't a two-week or six-week commitment, but one that will forever change my life.  And quite honestly, I pray it does.  In my vocational role I have been privileged to counsel countless folks prior to their elective surgeries, and despite myriad differences, one thing remains common to most all of us:  we opt for surgery when the negative aspects of the operation pale with the status quo.  I am no different.

Truth be told, I've wondered why the two weeks of liquid diet beforehand.  Sure, the paperwork and the nurses and the doctor all say the same thing, that the pre-surgical diet is to minimize surgical risk.  I suppose that makes sense:  the heavier one is the greater the surgical risk, generally.  Also, the no-fat diet causes the body to rely upon the fat stored in the liver thereby making the liver smaller at time of surgery.  But there's also a part of me that wonders if at least some of the reason for the liquid diet isn't somehow psychological -- make it these two weeks, big guy, and you can surely make it the rest of the way.

So, this is day five of fourteen days of living only on a clear liquid diet and liquid protein supplements.  They say to maintain energy and health I must have at least 80mg of protein a day.  So far I've been able to keep at that threshold.  I get most of my protein from a pre-made drink that GNC sells called Isopure, along with usually one shake I blend a day from powdered whey protein isolate and skim milk.  I've also found low-carb SlimFast and sugar-free Carnation Instant Breakfast to be decent (although much more expensive than their standard, forbidden versions).  Additionally, I eat a fair bit of sugar-free jello and chicken broth.  My greatest luxury includes no-sugar-added fudge bars.  Our kids are helping me eat the fudge bars but flatly refuse to get within five feet of the chicken broth for fear that I'll try and feed it to them.

I think I learned what they mean by "water weight".  The first day I lost seven pounds, and have lost about a pound each day since.  I suppose I could forgo the surgery at that rate and just opt for the liquid diet for the rest of my life, but then I'm sure I really would end up punching someone in the face.