thyroid surgery and The Prayer

About ten years ago, I noticed a growth on my thyroid. It was a benign goiter, and my endocrinologist left it up to me whether or not to remove it. Since it wasn't that noticeable and wasn't interfering with my breathing or swallowing, I opted to just leave it alone. Over the years, we monitored it closely, measured its slow growth, and biopsied it again. I always knew the day would come that I'd have to have it removed.

This past September, I was sick with flu-like symptoms, and when I recovered, I immediately noticed a golf-ball-sized blob on the side of my neck. Thinking it was probably swollen lymph nodes from my illness, I dismissed it. A week later, at the urging of Cara (who's a nurse), the insistence of Darren, and the counsel of two doctor friends, I went and had it checked out. Turns out, it was more of the goiter, which had exploded in size.

Suddenly, a bunch of little things began to make sense. I'd started snoring inexplicably, I'd become short of breath, I was constantly fatigued, I suffered "fuzzy brain", and my muscles ached. I chalked it all up to turning 40 and gaining weight; my internist explained that all these things could come down to one problem: I wasn't getting enough oxygen. The goiter had grown at such an alarming rate and in such a direction that it was shoving my trachea aside. It was also wedged against my carotid artery. The time had come. Surgery was unavoidable.

I was scared at first - I mean, who wants the neck sliced open, right? But after meeting my surgeon, Dr. John Crawford at Harris Methodist Fort Worth, I felt a lot better. His expertise in vascular surgeries gave me confidence, but it was his relaxed demeanor and jovial personality that put me at ease. I knew immediately that he was the right surgeon.

As the surgery drew nearer, I began to worry about being "under" for so long. Because of the intricacy of the procedure - having to work around the carotid and all the nerves in my neck - it was expected to take 4 to 6 hours. The night before surgery, I was listening to Andrea Bocelli's new Christmas album and wondered aloud, "I wonder if they'd let me choose the music for the operating room?" I was half joking, but the next morning as they prepped me for surgery, I heard myself ask, "Can I choose the music for the OR?"

One of the attendants said, "I don't see why not. What's your request?"
"Andrea Bocelli's new Christmas album," I answered, "But it's brand new. I bet you don't have it."

We have Pandora in this OR," said the attendant. "I'll see what I can find."

I'd already been given a sedative and was fading in and out.

Then I heard the music. It wasn't the Christmas album, but it was Andrea Bocelli singing something in Italian. I was happy.

"I couldn't find any Christmas," he said, "but hopefully this will do." Next thing I knew, "The Prayer" began to play.

As soon as it did, a tear escaped out the corner of my eye. I was too far gone to open my eyes, or to reach up and wipe it away. But it was there, and I felt it. This particular song has always been extremely special to Darren and me - it was given to us as a gift from a dear, dear friend (Sonny Tomme) upon Aidan's birth 9 years ago this month.

The anesthesiologist - or whoever had been talking to me this whole time - said, "You must like this one." I whispered, "It's my favorite."

"Well, that's too bad," he said, "because you won't remember any of this." And as I continued to drift off to neverland, it was to these words:

I pray you'll be our eyes
And watch us where we go
And help us to be wise
In times when we don't know
Let this be our prayer
As we go our way
Lead us to a place
Guide us with your grace
To a place where we'll be safe.

I knew - I knew! - that this was God speaking to me, telling me to let go of the fear and worry, and that I would be okay.

Later, Dr. Crawford said that what was supposed to be one of his most difficult surgeries turned out to be one of his easiest. He was finished in just over 2 hours. Aside from having a hard time intubating me because the trachea was shoved so far out of place, and then having to locate a specific nerve that was playing hide and seek (the one that controls my vocal chords), everything went perfectly.

Even knowing ahead of time how large the goiter was going to be, he was still shocked to see it up close and personal. He took a photo and gave it to Darren afterward. (Click here to see the photo. It's kinda graphic, so don't click if you can't handle blood and guts!) I can't believe this thing was in my neck. No wonder I felt like crap for the past several months!

The scar is bigger than he wanted it to be, but to get the whole goiter out without damaging any nerves or vessels, it had to be this big. I'll admit that when I first saw it, I shed a couple of tears. But it will fade, and be mostly unnoticeable in 2-3 months. There's a lot of swelling around my chin and neck right now, and along the right side of my face, but that will go down in a day or two.

He was able to leave the left lobe of my thyroid, which is healthy and normal-sized. It will take over and perform normally for the now-missing right lobe, and all should be well.

I'm glad it's over. I can't wait to have my old energy back, and to be able to wear necklaces again!

My hilarious friends Darcie and Amanda named the goiter for me last month, and he's been known as Gaston ever since. "No one's slick as Gaston, no one's quick as Gaston, no one's neck is incredibly thick as Gaston's!" And they were quick to point out, too, that Gaston lost in the end. Good riddance, Gaston! :)

eavesdropping

A few minutes ago, I told the boys, ages almost-8 and almost-9, to go unload the dishwasher. Emphatic protesting immediately ensued, until I reminded them that they haven't had to do it since the weekend. Now they're in the kitchen and I'm eavesdropping.

Aidan: I don't get the purpose. We unload it tonight, and we'll just have to unload it again tomorrow night. We should just keep it loaded.

Ian: Something reeks!!!!!

Aidan: Seriously, Ian, what's the purpose?

Ian: WHAT REEKS SO BAD?????

Aidan: You know what I hate more than unloading? Touching dirty silverware. It's disgusting.

Ian: This reeking smell is disgusting. Hello? Are you listening to me?

Aidan: Huh?

Ian: I just farted about a million times. HELLO.

bwahahahahahaha! Lovin' life with boys!

Stacy, 2. Candy Bars, 0.

Let's see. The last time I blogged about my weight loss journey was ... wait. Really? November 5th of last year? Seriously almost a year ago? Wow. No wonder I've allowed myself to gain so much of it back. And no wonder I have avoided blogging, too. It's all coming back to me now.

I say I've gained most of it back, but the truth is, I don't know. I haven't stepped on the scale. I'm scared to death to. The funny thing is, when I started this journey, when I was at the heaviest I'd ever been in my life, I wasn't scared of it. I came online and announced it to the whole world wide interwebs. But now, NOW. Now I'm scared. How much did I allow myself to give up? How much of that hard work did I just throw away?

I have all sorts of reasons and excuses, starting with an emotional upheaval that lasted for a few months last year, followed by me breaking my foot and being forced out of regular exercise for 14 weeks, compounded by starting a new job that involves me sitting on my butt all day at a desk next door to a woman who cooks the best soul food in the county and loves to share it.

Somewhere along the way, I started to slip. It was winter, though, and my sweatshirts and sweaters didn't seem that much tighter. My jeans were a little snug, but it was easy to forget how baggy they'd actually become. Snug was a feeling I'd been used to for years, and it felt normal. Then warm weather came and I had nothing to wear, 'cause I'd given away and thrown out all of the previous year's too-large clothing, knowing I'd never need it again.

I cut off a pair of jeans into capris and wore them daily, washing them constantly, 'cause they were my only pair. I would not allow myself to buy jeans in the next size up, so I just refused to buy any period. Then about a month ago, I was pulling those threadbare jeans on when one of the beltloops gave way and created a humongous hole in the backside. I wore them that day anyway, but it became clear almost immediately that this was a very temporary situation at best. I was forced into new jeans. Size 22. I'd gotten down to an 18, almost a 16. And now I was back in a 22, just two jeans sizes away from the old ones that still hang in my closet, awaiting the day when Kristi and I will both stand in the same pair that used to clothe just me. I was disgusted.

And so I did what all emotional overeaters do when they're stressed, or worried, or pissed as all hades: I ate. For the last month, I completely sabotaged myself. I ate bad intentionally. I ate when no one knew I was eating. And in the process, I made myself a miserable, angry blob of a person.

Meanwhile, one of my sweetest friends was hitching up her own bandwagon and goin' to town. She started with a simple gym membership, then ramped it up with a personal trainer. Consistently, she invites me along. A free month here, a two-month trial there. I always decline the offers, but I've been watching her progress, and she amazes me.

Then I see women in my neighborhood jogging along every morning, some pushing strollers while barely breaking a delicate glow, others huffing along, slimy hair slammed against their foreheads and donning the tell-tale face of "what the hell was I thinking?". But they're out there.
And I notice them.

On Saturday night, we ate badly at CiCi's. On Sunday night, we grilled hot dogs. Both nights, I tossed and turned in bed, unable to sleep, feeling nauseated, racked with heartburn, bloated and miserable. Sunday afternoon while at the grocery store, I was in the check-out lane when I spotted the sale: 3 for $1. We all know this means I could've purchased one for $.34, but why waste a good opportunity? I chose a Reese's, a York peppermint pattie, and an Almond Joy. I took them straight from the cashier's hand and plunked them in purse for later. I'd already eaten a Hershey's with Almonds that day.

Monday morning, after a fitful night, I woke up exhausted and cranky. As I showered, I made a snap decision: today it begins. I hadn't planned it, I hadn't worked myself up for it, I hadn't laid plans to make it easier, nothing. I just knew it was time. It clicked. Thank God. I'd been praying for the click!

And so, at the end of Monday, I went to bed early to avoid the night time snackies that plague me. I slept well, having made good, healthy choices all day long, with three candy bars still in my purse. I considered giving them to Darren and the boys, but decided that leaving them would force me to surrender once and for all.

Today, I forgot to take lunch to work. At noon, I had an online training class to attend and locked myself in my office. The class lasted two hours, and about 1/3 of the way through it, my stomach was rumbling and I was feeling nauseous. I knew those candy bars were within reach. I knew I had another hour plus to sit there. I knew I could end the hunger pangs. I knew no one would ever know. I eyed the candy.

Tonight, at the end of Tuesday, I'm going to bed having made good, healthy choices all day long, with three candy bars in my purse. I'm leaving them there. Today was too hard. I'm leaving them in my purse until I don't CARE that they're there anymore.

Stacy, 2. Candy bars, 0.

fuzzy

"Are you feeling a little fuzzy today?" asked Terri, my coworker. Um, yah, just a little bit.

I don't know what was wrong with me today, but more than once, my brain failed to connect with my mouth, and I made a fool of myself. Several times, I walked out of my office only to stand in the big room wondering why I left my office. Then I'd sit down again at my desk only to immediately remember why I left in the first place.

First thing this morning, I needed to call Darren to ask him some computer questions. I picked up the phone and dialed up to Michael's office. Michael, I knew, was not in the office yet. And yet, I let it ring and ring, wondering why Darren wasn't answering across town in HIS office. Yeesh.

Darren was on the phone with me yesterday (my cell) when I took a call (on the work phone) with a vendor I've been courting, and commented that it was cool to hear me "in professional mode". He was impressed that his trash-talkin', oft-giggling, sometimes ghettofied wife could actually sound mature and educated on the phone. I rode high on that compliment for a couple of hours, sad as that sounds.

Well today, the gentleman I was so professional with came by the offic with a proof for me to peruse and sign off on. He was middle-aged (meaning, of course, that he was probably 20 years older than me. ahem), immaculately groomed, very professional. After we small-talked for a bit, I offered to provide him with one of our info packets, and made my way across the room to my office. Behind me, I could hear him mumbling something, and then he said, "A&M".

I turned on my heels and squawked, "GIG 'EM!" He looked completely taken aback, and was speechless. Then I realized that he was looking up at the quote that adorns the doorframe of my office, which reads, "The Lord is my rock, my fortress, my deliverer. Psalm 18:2." In an instant, I realized that the mumbling I'd heard was him reading that verse aloud, followed by a more audible "Amen and amen." NOT A&M.

Finally, he said, "You're an Aggie?"

"Oh!" I gasped. "You said amen." He smiled weakly. I know he was thinking, "What a FREAK."

"I thought you said A&M. I just moved my daughter to College Station last week for her freshman year at A&M, so I guess I have it on the brain."

I am a freak.

I'll spare you the other stories, but the day didn't improve.

Fuzzy.

1st day

And so here we are again - the first day of school.

Remember back in the day when choosing your first-day-of-school-outfit was something to stew over and change your mind about thirty-three-and-a-half times? In this age of mandatory public school uniformity, it's a choice between khaki or navy pants, and white or blue shirts. Not a whole lot to get excited about. In fact, it's so unexciting that this morning, Aidan and Ian dug through their dirty laundry and chose the closest-to-clean shorts they could find to impress their teachers and influence their peeps. But wait - before you judge me - let me explain.

Last week, before I left for College Station with Dani (who is now safely nestled into her townhome and noshing on cupcakes and Dino nuggets like a real grown-up), I carefully laundered all the new school clothes and put them away. Imagine my surprise this morning when I opened the shorts drawer to find it empty of all khaki and navy shorts! WHA.....? A quick glance at the laundry heap clued me in: they'd been wearing their new school clothes every day that I was out of town. Did their father notice? Apparently not. Who sends their kids to the first day of school in dirty clothes? Please pass the Mother of the Year Award.

At least their underwear was clean.

catch up

Dani graduated.
I turned 40.
The boys went to summer camp.
Darren finished staining the trim in the front room.
My foot continues to heal, but still hurts sometimes.
I gained 20 of my 70 pounds back.
Darren planted a garden and has harvested green beans, tomatoes and strawberries so far.
I manage to get up and go to work every day, a fact which still surprises me.
I've reunited with many old friends on Facebook, and am so grateful for it!
I stopped blogging, because I've felt like I had nothing to say. But that's not entirely accurate. I just haven't had the desire to type it all out. I think it's mostly due to the fact that I type all day at work.
I love my job.
I still scrapbook for others, but can't remember the last time I actually scrapbooked for ME.
I took up painting and have created two pieces - one for me, and one for a friend.
I've become addicted to Facebook.
The truth is, THAT explains my absense from this blog more accurately than anything else.

I'll try to do better!

DEELISHEEOSO!!

Darren just baked me a cake.

No reason.

Just 'cause.
And it wasn't even bad for me.
AND... it was THE moistest, most delicious chocolate cake I've ever eaten.

Ever.

Recipe here.
Thanks, Ashley!