I'm home... (This is going to be LONG)

Well, I got home from my surgery yesterday afternoon. I'm doing okay, not fantastic. I'm certainly not going to be singing arias and jumping up on the furniture like one of my housemates was the day after surgery (lucky SOB).

I have an overall tight/clenching sort of feeling in my gut and occasional gas pains (mostly when I drink). My incisions feel alright, but I am super squeamish about them, especially the one where the drain was. Ugh! I'm just realllly taking it easy since I'm probably going back to work tomorrow (eh, desk job).

So now on to the important stuff: my weight! The morning of my surgery, the clinic's scale registered my weight as 190 (with my Fit Flops on, which are substantial--at home, I had been getting 188-189, naked in the morning [the BEST time to weigh, right?]). Today, four days later, I am at 183.2. I certainly understand the crazy fluctuations that occur right around and after surgery, so I take my post-op numbers with a grain of salt. Still, it looks nice on the scale, even if my body looks gross right now with all the swelling/oddness. I can't remember the last time I was in the 180's; probably grade school. I was always overweight, all my life, and over 200 pounds since I hit my teens. I'm not a yo-yo dieter or anything like that; I just consistently gained weight as I got older, mostly due to severe (undiagnosed) insulin resistance that eventually progressed to type II diabetes. (I also have PCOS, for those who need to know it all.)

I've also been monitoring my blood glucose levels and they have been excellent, for me. For the first time in my life, I've been getting cold! Like a normal person! With my blood sugar in the mid-100's and a lack of carb/calorie intake, my body temperature has dropped. I love it; it is so much nicer/easier to be cold than it is to be hot.

So that's the good, so far. Now onto the bad:

Have I mentioned that I feel like I've been hit by a truck? I can't believe all these people who just breeze through this surgery like it's nothing. I'm not in any acute pain, per se, I'm just weak, sore and achy. I was a self-pay patient, so I'm terrified of developing complications that my insurance won't pay for. Maybe that is why I am taking it really easy. I feel as though I have a ticking time bomb strapped to my chest. It is not nice, not at all.

I worry about my incisions, all the time. Did you know I am going to have to remove my stitches? Myself? Oh my freakin' god, no. I am going to see if I can get a doctor to do it when the time comes. I wish I had had the extra couple of grand to go to a better surgeon! Who the heck doesn't use dissolvable stitches these days? Welcome to 2010, idiots! :-)

So yeah, my surgeon. Here's the thing: I don't really want to say who did my surgery, because this particular surgeon generates a lot of commentary/attacks when mentioned. If you need to know, ask. Or, more likely, you'd probably be able to guess based on my account of the facilities, care, etc. Just know that I was at a well-advertised chop shop in Tijuana, MX.

I was picked up at the San Diego airport the morning of my surgery. I was the first of my group to arrive, since my airport shuttle departed at 6:00am. The rest of my group consisted of a brother/sister duo and another female traveling with her husband. We were picked up in a small SUV and had to really cram in there like sardines, especially with all of our luggage. The driver was pleasant enough, though I don't believe he spoke much English.

We made the quick trip over the border. Once in Tijuana, we were immediately taken to a dingy little "lab" to have our blood drawn. That was over quickly, and we proceeded to the clinic shortly thereafter. The clinic, located in a strip mall, was small, but nicely decorated. It appeared clean enough, considering the locale. Now, I am no medical facility snob or anything, so know that I wasn't expecting a whole lot. I took a calculated risk doing my surgery in Mexico, at this particular clinic, and had an idea of what it would be like.

A cardiologist (I assume) showed up and performed EKG and blood pressure tests on the four of us. We were weighed and asked questions about our medical histories. I was shortly informed that I would be the first surgery of the day. I was ushered into a two-bed room and put in a gown. My legs were tightly bound with ace bandages and an IV was placed in my arm. There was another patient recovering from a mini-bypass in the other bed. I chatted with her for a few minutes before finally meeting my surgeon, who took a picture with me in that horrible hospital gown. A few more minutes passed and then it was time to go into surgery.

I was taken into the OR, and without much fanfare, the nurse spread me out onto a table and put me OUT. I was literally awake one second and just gone the next. I woke up, presumably a few hours later, and was walked back to my room. I don't remember much; I think they gave me some pain meds in my IV and then I was drifting in and out for awhile. I regained most of my facilities later on and got up to walk around a bit. I used the free phone in my room to briefly check in with my husband. I was horribly uncomfortable and in a decent amount of pain for the duration of the night. I could barely sleep, but got in a couple of hours once I requested some sleep medication. I HATE sleeping on my back, but I was in no condition to try anything more adventurous. I think I put my iPod on at some point to help me get some rest.

The next morning, my drain was emptied and I was cheerfully informed that we'd be traveling to the recovery house. I stared in disbelief; I understood that we were to spend two nights in the hospital. Apparently not. I did not feel up to getting up and into a car, but we all went anyway, including my mini-bypass roommate who had already spent two nights at the hospital.

The recovery house was nice; no complaints there. It was clean and there were two housekeepers (deceptively dressed like nurses) present to attend to our needs. Later in the day, a doctor from the clinic came to check in with us. She gave me a shot with some antibiotics and (I think) pain medication. She wasn't there very long.

I was put in the one downstairs double bedroom with my previous roommate. I think there were three additional bedrooms upstairs. Whatever, I was happy to not have to do stairs. The recovery house has wifi access (eh, it was pretty spotty though) and a phone to use. I called home again and also called my mother. There was a nice TV with cable in our room (and a DVD player), so I spent a lot of time watching cheesy American sitcoms with Spanish subtitles. I had my iPad with me (omigod, what a lifesaver!) so I was pretty much set for entertainment. I was not feeling at all social; I tend to withdraw when I'm feeling crappy, so I didn't really talk to anyone at length while I was there. Everyone else was pretty lively--I don't know how that was possible.

The first night at the recovery house wasn't awful, but I could barely sleep, yet again. I still wasn't ready to try sleeping on my side, so I tossed around quite a bit. I am a smoker--yeah, I know, one addiction at a time--so I was up and down a lot to go outside (it was nice to move around). I had an ice pop, some gatorade and water. I felt NO hunger at all, other than what my head felt after smelling all the wonderful Mexican food the housekeepers were cooking. My stomach wasn't interested, thank god. Head hunger is certainly a bitch though.

I was fairly cold and underdressed, coming from the dry, 110 degree Las Vegas heat. I asked the housekeeper if the window in our bedroom could be closed and she said it doesn't close. That was odd, but to be fair, she may not have fully understood my request. It was also noisy in there from all of the cars, dogs, etc. running around outside.

The next day, Friday, we had to do the inevitable leak test (including the awful purple drink that made me want to hurl). That took freakin' forever because we had to first return to the clinic to pile in several additional patients. They were all bandsters, those chumps (kidding). We all got our x-rays and were told there were no problems. We crammed back into the transport vehicle and returned to the clinic for awhile. I briefly saw the surgeon again. He asked me how I was doing, but that was the extent of it. We were given some meds to bring home and sent back to the recovery house for our last night there. Most of the bandsters came with us, so the house was crowded. I mostly stayed in my room to avoid the commotion. The dreaded drain came out that evening as well, and I was finally brave enough to gingerly sleep on my side.

Saturday morning I was taken back to the San Diego airport along with a few other patients. Of course my flight was delayed by an hour (effing Southwest), but I made it. My husband picked me up in Vegas and we went home after first stopping at the store for some gatorade and such. Last night was devine, finally in my own bed.

Now here's the thing: while my overall experience was fine, I am shocked by the utter lack of proper aftercare by this clinic. My vitals were not taken once after surgery and I only had the one brief visit with the doctor at the recovery house. When I asked to have my temperature taken at the recovery house, the house manager (I think that's who he was) simply felt my forehead and said I was fine. I had to remind the nurse to take my drain out (which was the only time after my initial drain empty where my bandages were changed). Once the drain was removed, my incisions were all left uncovered, except for the drain site. I was told by the nurse that I'd have to squeeze out some additional drainage in the shower for the next couple of days and to use antiseptic spray on all the wounds. That was all though. I took a shower at home (I didn't want to take one while in Mexico) and rebandaged the drain site, but I have no idea how long I need to keep that incision covered.

The paperwork I was sent home with was minimal in regard to aftercare. There is a lot of conflicting info given about the proper progression of my post-op diet. The instructions are vague at best, so I'm going to abide by the Cornell guidelines to be safe. I am still terrified about these incisions and the thought of possibly having to remove my own stitches. I don't know how to do that (I could Google it) or if I'd even have the stomach to try. I get fairly intense gas pains when I drink and I have no way of knowing if that is normal. I also have occasional pain in my left shoulder. I also assume this is from gas, but again, how would I know?

I don't want to dwell on the negatives; my overall experience wasn't terrible. I knew the risks I was taking by going with a bargain-basement surgeon and accepted that risk. If I had had the extra money I certainly would have gone to a more reputable clinic, whether in Mexico or here. You just need to understand what you're getting in to; if I had had any post-op problems, or develop any later, I am totally on my own. Understand that and accept it before going to Mexico for weight loss surgery and you'll be fine.