Hunger and kindness

I am getting hungry more often and eating larger portions (the largest portions being about a cup). I'm trying not to be paranoid about this--I have no desire to go back to full-blown eating-disorder-think, and I'm fairly certain I'm "normal" for seven months out from surgery. I don't keep a food journal at present (and I have no desire to, because it just feels punitive and therefore begs me to chafe against it), but I do try to keep a running tally throughout the day of approximate protein grams and calorie intake. I was told to try to stay at about 1500 calories a day, which I assume I am going to have to do for the rest of my life. Fine, fabulous, okay--I'm fine with that as long as I keep losing at some point. At present, I am still in plateau range, holding at 207-208 pounds--I have yet to see the scale go below 207. I'm only walking two days a week (about a mile at a time and at a brisk pace). I have the best of intentions in terms of stepping that up in the near future, but my ankle has been hurting quite a bit. With the stress of the next couple of weeks--job ending, interviewing and applying for new jobs, grandmother moving--I am not pressuring myself too terribly hard to make any extra changes until this month is over.

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There is no quality in people (myself AND others) that I value more than kindness--actually, if I had to choose, it would probably be a tie between kindness and humor. After venting about wanting a technical writing certificate and how hard it would be for me to obtain it due to finances, a friend of mine offered to loan me the money--completely out of the blue. I was--AM--so touched, it is difficult to articulate my feelings.

I put myself through college (it took ten years for me to earn a B.A.; I started a Masters, but left after one quarter) with not one offer of financial help from anyone that I knew. It was a long, hard struggle--one I am still making payments on, but one I am also extremely proud of and wouldn't trade for anything in the world. I also hate (like fire) to borrow money or feel like I owe anyone for anything, EVER. However, this friend is the rare person it would not be awkward to accept a loan from. She cares about me, is generous and kind, and has no agenda whatsoever--I've known her for twenty years. (And seriously, on the whole, how often are we afforded such opportunities in life? Knowing people like this, knowing their hearts--it makes me a bit verklempt.)

I feel very calm, unusually Zen, about this particular situation. I think there are valuable lessons in it for me that go beyond "things happen for a reason". It's a telegram from the universe telling me once again to practice what I preach, in this case: when people are kind, it's okay to accept their kindness--and when they want to help, it's okay to accept their help. Acceptance of kindness and help does not make me less of a person--it invites me to become more of one. It opens my heart, it gives me hope, and it helps me to thrive so that I can put that much more positive energy and action out into the world.

Thank you.

2nd night in hospital

After rhapsodizing about the loveliness of the surgery experience in my last blog entry, the proverbial doo-doo hit the fan. As in, within half an hour of hitting "publish post" yesterday, I got up, looked down, and there was blood on the floor. Needless to say, I freaked out and basically had a mild panic attack. The culprit turned out to be one of my surgical incisions. The left side of my stomach around one of them is very badly bruised to about the circumference of a healthy grapefruit, though the incision itself is quite tiny, less than 1/2 inch. When the surgeon's assistant came in this morning to touch base with me, he informed me that my particular anatomy consisted of a much thicker abdominal wall than most and therefore they had had a difficult time passing the instruments through during the laproscopic bypass, which explains the bruising. I have been up and walking--I did four circuits around this hospital floor today--and I can do that without unbearable pain, just an occasional deep breath like a stitch in my side or ribs.

I am also one of those people who is allergic to almost every pain med on the planet. No Vicodin, Percocet, Oxycodone, Darvocet, etc. I can now add Dilaudid to the "no" list. The itching was so bad I was not going to get any rest, and for some reason, they just plain didn't want to give me the Demerol I suggested--they don't like the way it metabolizes in the body or something like that. However, it's the only pain med that's ever worked for me, and I told them this. This afternoon, they finally consented to give it to me in a shot. I took the first shot, but balked at having to have a shot every four hours, so they removed the anchor from their asses and got me some liquid Demerol that can go in my IV. I am a LOT more comfortable now. (Now I have to find a pharmacy that stocks liquid Demerol for when I go home. Apparently it's an unusual item.)

So between the incision woes and the drug allergies, they decided to keep me another night. Mr. Salted and I are both more than ready to be out of here, but they gave him a cot, and we have our iPods, our books, the laptop, and each other. So we will make it. They did tell me I might have to stay two nights when we scheduled this operation. He's been great. I'm reading one of Lewis Black's books, which is the perfect thing to be reading in the hospital.

I got more flowers today from the people I work with, and was very touched. People have really been much kinder than I expected, which is always a most pleasant surprise.