but most importantly

I am stupid to not have added a huge thank you to all of you who wrote me such supportive and kind emails and posted such great comments. They were a huge help, before during and after, and thank you so much for thinking of me.

Ding!

So, that happened. How was your week?

Oh, ho ho.

I will go into further detail later, in a post to be entitled "Holy Fuck, Think Twice," just in time for the holidays, I think. But to sum up: this is hard. You may go into this thinking it's hard, but I am tough! I am strong like bull! I am no tiny peanut to be eaten by the elephant of pain! Or maybe some other metaphors that make more sense!

But you don't know, man. You don't know until you do it, and it's hard, and it hurts. Morphine is nice, and liquid vicodin, that's pretty sweet, but there is so much that is painful and strange and off-putting and frustrating about this whole experience.

I woke up hurting, and it got better each and every day. But what isn't changing is how tired I am all the time, how frustrating it is to want to go to the corner store and have to go have a lie down when I get back, to pick something up and then remember I'm not supposed to pick anything up and be reminded by that unpleasant stretching feeling in my belly. Showering is exhausting, sitting up is exhausting and lying down is exhausting and I almost cried, the night I finally managed to arrange the pillows in such a way that would let me finally – finally! – sleep on my side. No, I'm lying. I did cry. That's something I do at the drop of a hat, for no good reason.

There is no way I could have gone through this alone – no fucking way. Guy has been incredible. He has done so much for me, and so sweetly and cheerfully and happily that I could cry. And did. Several times, with a pillow over my head while he laughed at me for being silly.

This has been hard and frustrating and exhausting, and getting my protein shakes in and my water in and my vitamins in has been a chore like you wouldn't believe. Who the fuck would think drinking a protein shake was a hard job? It's a hard job. They are nasty like nasty ass in a nasty juice made from nasty. I'm not getting enough protein and I won't get enough protein for awhile, not until I heal some more and can take in more than I currently can.

Also, everything smells like Hospital. My bed and my clean clothes and my living room and my deodorant, none of which smelled like Hospital before I left. I don't know WHY but it is driving me NUTS.

But also: I am walking. I am doing better every day. I am glad to have done this and am waiting impatiently for the weeks to tick by, for things to get easier and easier until this is an ordinary way that I just am. It's coming closer each day and I am strong like bull and not a tiny peanut at all and I have lost 30 pounds, and I already feel lighter.

I woke up on that hospital bed aching and scared and tired, feeling sick and sad, but mostly thinking I can't wait to get started. That, and more morphine, please. Ding!

5, 4, 3, 2

So it's actually tomorrow, then, for real and true. I had meant to write things down, before it was 14 hours away, but it turns out that it takes a lot of energy to keep it together and tie up loose ends at work and with freelance stuff. There was also my birthday, and Halloween, and a friend came to visit, and suddenly it was too much and I had a little bit of a breakdown.

That was unpleasant. It started last Sunday, and then through most of Monday. I started wondering what the fuck I was doing, and feeling bad and sad and freaked out about the whole thing – not in the manic okayokayokay I have to do everything right now ohmygodohmygod kind of way, but a seriously terrible feeling of shaking, nauseous anxiety.

I made the mistake of being honest with my primary care physician about it, when I went in for my final check up, that Monday morning, and he sat down and said "Well, then you shouldn't do it. It's elective, isn't it? You should just postpone. Until next year."

And that was kind of shocking. And I thought Oh, he is probably right, because he is a doctor, and I am being stupid for doing this, aren't I. And then I kept thinking about what had me scared, and anxious, and upset, and it was that, exactly. That it was so so ridiculously stupid to put myself through major surgery on an elective basis, isn't it. I mean, who the hell do I think I am, doing this for no reason except I want to? What if something happens to me, and then I am hurting everyone who loves me because I decided that elective surgery was a so-great idea? My life is pretty wonderful, and it isn't that bad, being morbidly obese, and maybe someday I'll lose the weight but if I don't, that's okay, and what the hell am I doing?

It was bad. And then I thought wait – selfish? I think I am being selfish? I don't want to end up like my mother in ten years, diabetic and on a CPAP machine, with degenerative joint disease, and that's selfish? I am a low-risk patient. I am not going to do something major like this and fuck it up. I am not doing this on a whim. What the fuck is wrong with me, thinking it's selfish to do something for my health, physically and emotionally? Wow.

So, I got over it. And in the past week, I've been equal parts crazed and excited and tired (quit caffeine. That sucks) and still nervous. Because, well, I'm not stupid.

Now we're at a hotel in San Jose (because my insurance sucks, and would not let me go to CPMC, which is like, a ten minute cab ride away from my house). I am finishing up my three day bowel prep which is supposed to be easier than the normal one-day flush out your system with lye and a scrubbing brush kind of prep that usually happens, but I am finding it sucks a lot. I have not et for three days, and the laxatives made me wildly yack-up sick yesterday, and that was fun, and now today I just want to sleep a lot. Lack of calories, I'm guessing, will do that to you. I have probably lost like, ten pounds, which means my liver will get all small and cute and make my surgery easier. Go me!

Guy, who has been wonderful, has gone out to take a walk on his own. He is more nervous than I am. He has been incredible. My friends have been incredibly supportive and kind – watching my cat and sending me the best emails ever, and just generally being great. You guys, reading this blog, have also been great – thanks so much for you emails and your good luck and your best wishes. Think of me tomorrow morning, 9:30 PST. I'll see you on the other side.