Three weeks and 20 pounds ago I had gastric bypass surgery, and up until Easter Sunday (about 1 am) I could have been the poster child for the procedure. Everything seemed to go so well, my body tolerated this major change admirably, the weight loss was dramatic, the blood pressure dropped... Perhaps it was too good to be true. Or at least I got carried away, jumping back into 12 hour days too quickly.
Years ago when my youngest daughter was only 6 or 7, she developed some sort of food intolerance. We were never quite sure if it was lactose, or roughage, or something entirely different. There didn't seem to be much of a pattern, but for 2 or 3 years poor Kate would suffer stomach aches after eating. While I tried to be sympathetic, and certainly did what I could to help her feel better, I have to admit a part of me thought she was just a bit of a wimp. After all, how bad is a stomach ache?
BAD. It is really bad. If only I could have become more empathetic without the first hand experience! This newborn pouch of mine is angry, and not shy about letting me know it. Even heavy-duty, post-operative painkillers only begin to touch the edge of the pain. So, instead of being at my office first thing this morning, I am waiting to call the surgeon's office, hoping they will tell me I'm just a bit of a wimp. Because I liked being the poster child.