Dr. McDreamy, not to be confused with my hot doc.So, of course being the neurotic freak I am (and because I'm having MAJOR SURGERY!) I called him on Thursday to have some questions answered. The first, of course, being: "So, doc, how are we going to, like, reinforce this incision because I want to have a baby soon and as my stomach gets huge I don't want that incision opening up and the baby crawling out!!" I really said it like that. (That's sort of the relationship we have; I think he finds me relatively amusing, or he's just being super patient and nice, which I also have respect for.) Anyway, he said I have nothing to worry about (doi). Okay. Next question: "What can I do to prep for surgery now?" He told me to be active and in good shape. I responded with the following: "Woah, woah, woah! That is a tall order for two weeks!!! Have you SEEN my stomach rolls?!" (Again, I really said that.)
And basically, the upshot of our fabulous phone conversation is the following: he's going to try not to take more than two feet of intestine out (I was a little miffed at this as I thought I was getting like eight inches out), the surgery is going to take up to about three hours (WHAT?! What the heck is he going to be doing in there for three hours?!), he promised to be properly caffeinated because my surgery is in the afternoon, and he told me I was going to hate him the day after surgery when the nursing staff was going to make me get up and walk because it will be "extraordinarly painful". At least the man is honest.
Oh, and he also said the following, which anyone who has come in contact with me for the last day has heard: "I'm not going to lie; this is not going to be a simple, easy surgery - you have a lot going on in there." I took this as: "You might die on the operating table, so divy up your belongings now." So I told my co-worker Leigh Ann she can have my bobbly head turtle and dinosaurs, Courtney in benefits can have my pretty wrap and the banana sitting on my desk (she's way healthy), and my neat alien-like mirror was up for grabs (Kate, if you're reading this, I betrove that lamp to you!). I also IMed Matt and told him he can of course have our dog, Penny, and he just replied with "Well, what about the house?" HELLO! I just told you I may die on the operating table! No one is taking me seriously!
I also asked about the dreaded poop bag. Well, I call it a poop bag, but the technical term is an ileostomy, and it's when the intestines are in such bad shape they really can't sew them together, so they bring the intestine to the surface of the skin (on your abdomen) and you escrete waste through there into a pouch. They can be reversed when your intestines are in better shape and can be re-joined. When I was in the hospital back in November I was told I may have an ileostomy, to which I replied, "I do NOT condone this!!!" The doctors didn't care and ignored my protests. So, of course I had to ask my surgeon about my poop bag prospects this time around. I said, "I am not going to have a POOP BAG, right??!!!!" I am very blunt. He said, "It would take you having a heart attack on the table for me to do that." I am not really sure what that meant, but I took that as a "no" so I was pleased. He said my CT scan last week showed a vast improvement in my intestines since November (back then he said it looked like a bomb went off in my abdomen, so I'm guessing anything is an improvement).
And that is that. I'm still crying about it, but apparantly I'm also making lame jokes, so I think I'm getting a little bit better, day by day...
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