"This surgery is all about you," she said. "And your friends and family need to know that it's not about them, it's about YOU. It's time to get selfish."
I thought about that, over and over even after the support group leader had finished her presentation to my pre-op classmates and I. She was saying this to us to emphasize the fact that our success with this surgery depends entirely on us, on how selfish we're willing to be about taking care of ourselves and following the rules for post-op living.
I have, from the very beginning, assumed I would do incredibly well after the surgery. And the reason I assumed this is because I have always been a teacher's pet (and a doctor's pet). I am eager to please, a rule follower who wants to be the best at everything, a person who thrives on being told "Good job!"
When I broke my wrist, I did everything my doctor told me to, just so he could be impressed the next time I saw him. He wanted me to be able to make a fist so I spent hours forcing my thumb to bend down so I could do it. My physical therapist called me a star student, with my mobility getting better with every visit since I would go home and do my exercises religiously. I was obscenely proud of the fact that my doctor told me at the end of my treatment that he was impressed because I had recovered much better than he thought I would since my broken wrist was "way high on the scale of bad."
I am crazy about praise, in other words. And I want Dr. M to tell me how awesome I am when I go in for my follow-ups, I want my nutritionist to tell me that my diet is exactly what I whould be eating, I want the program coordinator to ask to use my before and after pictures on their website. In other words, I want to be the star pupil.
I have not been perfect with my pre-op diet, I will fully admit that. But I have been pretty darn close to it. All liquid protein all day, and only 1 meal a day. I had a cupcake yesterday, but I didn't have the lasagna that was offered. On Friday, I went to Target and bought little toddler sized forks and spoons to start eating with, and I picked up a couple of sippy cups so I can make sure to sip my water after the surgery rather than do my usual glugging it down. (Luckily for me, Target had 10 ounce sippy cups with zero cartoon designs on it, so no one needs to know what they are.) It takes me as long or longer than my husband to eat dinner now, despite my smaller plates. My mindset is shifting over to the place I want it to be in after the surgery, and it's a relief, because I was afraid I never would get there.
Despite my few moments of imperfection this week, I've lost 8 pounds, which I'm sure will please Dr. M. It's like a weird preview of what's going to happen after the surgery, and it's nice to know I'll be under 300 when I climb up onto that operating table. When the program coordinator took my official "before" pictures on Wednesday, I had her take some for me on my camera. And oh, my lord. I remember now why I never let anyone take a picture of me from behind. So I'm kind of glad that my ass will maybe be a smidge smaller by the 9th.
I'm tired and loopy and my mind is running a zillion different directions. If I can just get through this last week of waiting without going crazy, I'll be happy. I'll also be happy if someone decides to make a white Russian flavored protein mix. That would be awesome.
I thought about that, over and over even after the support group leader had finished her presentation to my pre-op classmates and I. She was saying this to us to emphasize the fact that our success with this surgery depends entirely on us, on how selfish we're willing to be about taking care of ourselves and following the rules for post-op living.
I have, from the very beginning, assumed I would do incredibly well after the surgery. And the reason I assumed this is because I have always been a teacher's pet (and a doctor's pet). I am eager to please, a rule follower who wants to be the best at everything, a person who thrives on being told "Good job!"
When I broke my wrist, I did everything my doctor told me to, just so he could be impressed the next time I saw him. He wanted me to be able to make a fist so I spent hours forcing my thumb to bend down so I could do it. My physical therapist called me a star student, with my mobility getting better with every visit since I would go home and do my exercises religiously. I was obscenely proud of the fact that my doctor told me at the end of my treatment that he was impressed because I had recovered much better than he thought I would since my broken wrist was "way high on the scale of bad."
I am crazy about praise, in other words. And I want Dr. M to tell me how awesome I am when I go in for my follow-ups, I want my nutritionist to tell me that my diet is exactly what I whould be eating, I want the program coordinator to ask to use my before and after pictures on their website. In other words, I want to be the star pupil.
I have not been perfect with my pre-op diet, I will fully admit that. But I have been pretty darn close to it. All liquid protein all day, and only 1 meal a day. I had a cupcake yesterday, but I didn't have the lasagna that was offered. On Friday, I went to Target and bought little toddler sized forks and spoons to start eating with, and I picked up a couple of sippy cups so I can make sure to sip my water after the surgery rather than do my usual glugging it down. (Luckily for me, Target had 10 ounce sippy cups with zero cartoon designs on it, so no one needs to know what they are.) It takes me as long or longer than my husband to eat dinner now, despite my smaller plates. My mindset is shifting over to the place I want it to be in after the surgery, and it's a relief, because I was afraid I never would get there.
Despite my few moments of imperfection this week, I've lost 8 pounds, which I'm sure will please Dr. M. It's like a weird preview of what's going to happen after the surgery, and it's nice to know I'll be under 300 when I climb up onto that operating table. When the program coordinator took my official "before" pictures on Wednesday, I had her take some for me on my camera. And oh, my lord. I remember now why I never let anyone take a picture of me from behind. So I'm kind of glad that my ass will maybe be a smidge smaller by the 9th.
I'm tired and loopy and my mind is running a zillion different directions. If I can just get through this last week of waiting without going crazy, I'll be happy. I'll also be happy if someone decides to make a white Russian flavored protein mix. That would be awesome.
2 Comments:
I might actually use a protein mix that was white Russian flavoured. Man, that sounds really good!
"Despite my few moments of imperfection this week, I've lost 8 pounds,"
Congrats!
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