As I lay in bed, the gauze against my abdomen growing more and more irresistible to scratch off my skin, the pain coming and going out of nowhere like a train station with no schedule. Standing isn’t an option, sitting up is hard enough as it is, talking in short choppy sentences because the oxygen tube left me with a sore throat.
I feel like this all happened so quickly, I have never been skin and bones. Yeah, I’m athletic, so nobody really had much to say when the weight began to come off, “you look great!” they would say followed by selfish curiosity that haunted them and left them slightly jealous, “what do you do?”. As if the first part didn’t sting enough, I would just respond “I run, A LOT.” and leave it at that; people in my town, they don’t want to HAVE TO DO anything to lose weight, they want a magic pill, or a super secret ingredient.
No, This all happened so quickly, first chest pains, EKG, stress test, blood work, cardiologist referrals, another dr appt, followed by another, more blood work, scales after scales after scales, ultrasounds of my insides, prescriptions to help with the acid reflux from purging, another dr appt, and once again more freaking blood work. Then came the call, “I need you to come back down here, like today, do more blood work so I can check your liver and I’m going to schedule you with an appointment with the surgeon.” Blood work and scales were becoming the norm, but the urgency in her voice left little to be desired.
It’s amazing how an ultra sound can turn to surgery in a matter of 10 days. The doctor and I, and my pre-surgery consultation doctor and I had all pretty much come to the agreement that people who get gallbladder stones this big are usually much heavier, much older people. My first reaction came from the eating disorder itself when I blurted, “WHY DO I GET SOMETHING FAT PEOPLE GET?!” The doctor, super patient, explained that with my weight loss, very low fat diet, plus teasing my body with food and purging it up, left the stomach acid with no place to go. At the consultation the doctor warned me, “You aren’t going to like this…” as I saw her with the restrictions, “…no gym for…” Oh Lord, here it comes, “…2 weeks…” DAMMIT!!! But it just got worse from there, “By two weeks you can probably walk around, no running on pavement, no jumping, no lifting for 3-4 weeks.” Well, this sucks.
So, as I started off, I’m laying in bed, ready to climb the walls.