In 1976 at the age of 20 and weighing about 290 pounds, my father and I decided that I should have weight loss surgery. I don't know who suggested it first, but I know my father was not in good health and was concerned about my becoming 'healthy' as I moved into adulthood.
At that time there were two doctors in our city who had a practice together and did nothing but intestinal bypass surgeries. They were the only doctors within about a 1,000 mile radius who were trained on this type of weight loss surgery. I remember they spend a lot of time discussing how they had each spent a year at the Mayo Clinic learning the procedure. They spent almost an hour telling us about their credentials. This was in our initial visit to their office, after being referred by my family doctor.
The second visit consisted of about 15 minutes of explaining the medical procedure, how much intestine would be bypassed and how we could choose to leave it attached to a blood supply or have it removed. They then spend over two hours talking to our insurance company getting the procedure approved.
Day 1: On the day of my surgery I did not see either of the surgeons. I did talk somewhat to a male orderly who was getting me prepped. He was large himself and asked me several times if they had explained the surgery to me. He is the only one who ever told me that if at any time I changed my mind, all I had to do is say so and they would call it off. He seemed very concerned about me and if I understood what it entailed. I also met another young woman the same age as myself who would be having the surgery after mine. Her name was Rose, she had beautiful long brown hair and the prettiest brown eyes with huge, thick eyelashes.
When I woke up from my surgery I couldn't breathe. I had never experienced a respirator before and did not know not to fight it. I started thrashing around, and the nurse ran over to restrain me. I had an incision through the middle of my belly button, running from hip to hip across my entire stomach. A double row of staples held it all in. There was a drainage tube coming out of a hole in my stomach that was draining the fluid where my gallbladder and spleen used to be. I drifted in and out of the anesthesia for most of that day. Sometime around dinner time the doctor came in, told me it all went very well, and removed the respirator tube from my throat. I was incredibly thirsty, but he said I could have nothing for 48 hours, until the intestine had a chance to close up.
The next morning I tried to shift position in bed. The incredible blinding pain made me pass out. The respiratory therapist came in that morning. She covered my stomach with a pillow, had me press it into myself and sprayed liquid into the back of my throat to make me cough. I would cough and scream, cough and scream through the whole 15 minute treatment. Every four hours for the next 24 hours she came back in. This was so I did not get pneumonia from not moving around.
Day 2: The surgeon came back in, told me I was just fine and I could have 'a few ounces' of clear liquid today. I was so thirsty, I wanted to thank him over and over. The nurse gave me about one swallow of warm water. I drank it slowly, swirling it around my mouth first. As I lay back, the water moved into my stomach and started through the intestines. It was like swallowing battery acid!! The intestine had been sitting idle trying to recover from a major trauma. When it started to work again the incision site was coated with gastric acid from my stomach. This continued to happen every time I ate for about two weeks until the area healed and scar tissue started to form.
Day 3: Today the nurses made me get out of bed and stand up. I held the pillow to my stomach and eased my feet to the floor. When I stood up, my entire insides pushed against the incision across my stomach and felt as if they were going to fall out. I took a few steps and then the nurses let me get back into bed.
I was in the hospital a week. We had to stay until we had our first bowel movement. Since it hurt so bad to eat, I could only force down a few bites at a time. The first time I went to the bathroom I sat there and screamed. Most of what came out was blood, but the nurse said that was "normal."
Finally I was told I could go home. Before I left, I asked to see Rose, the pretty young woman who was having surgery the same day I did. I was told she died on the operating table. Almost one fourth of the patients died during that first week after the surgery. Another one fourth died during the first year. No one had ever told me that my odds of surviving were only 50%.
The first month passed. It no longer hurt to eat, and I found myself eating larger amounts, like I used to do. Some foods that used to be my favorites now would suddenly come back up. One night some friends invited me to a drive in movie. We had pizza before we went. About half way through the first movie, all of my pizza came back up. No warning, no feeling sick, just thought I needed to burp, and all my dinner came up onto the floor of my friend's car. Needless to say, the evening was over.
As I ate more, I had to go to the bathroom more. Within an hour of eating, most of what I had eaten flushed from my system. Now, food does not have much time to digest in one hour. But it does start to digest, which causes it to start to decompose and the smell is unbelievable. If anyone has any experience at all with people who have a colostomy bag, this is similar. It is incredibly overpowering and impossible to hide or cover up. The bathroom fan doesn't begin to expel the smell, air fresheners and incense don't really hide it. If anyone else is in the house, they have to open a window or leave the house until it clears. Many people stop visiting because it is so unpleasant. And so constant.
Within one hour of eating, I have to "expel." This means I can never be more than about 45 minutes from a bathroom. I quickly learn where all the good rest rooms are in town. The smell is so bad that frequently people start to come in, then leave coughing. A few times I am caught too far away from a toilet. Then it all starts backing up into my stomach until I throw up. It smells the same when I throw up.
I get through the first year. My father has been battling cancer and dies one week before my 21st birthday. Now I am all on my own, and start trying to find a job. My skills are good and I have a solid education, so an office position is easy to find. I have lost down to about 180 pounds. I look really good as long as I wear long sleeves to hide the flab hanging from my arms. There is a huge drape of skin with a bright purple scar that is my stomach. My legs have folds of dry skin hanging from them like wrinkled long johns. The doctors tell me toning exercises will eventually tighten this skin up, or I can have more surgery to remove it.
At work my co-workers complain about the smell when I go to the bathroom, and I am let go. This repeats itself over the next several months at three more jobs.
By now my self esteem is rock bottom, and I am eating more and more. I don't gain weight, but it does cause me to go to the bathroom more and more. Because I have a high fat intake, I develop a "prolapsed rectum." This means each and every time I go to the bathroom, my rectum turns itself inside out and protrudes from my body. The digestive juices are still caustic, causing open sores on this protruding rectum. Each time, I have to push it back up inside. I use a combination of A&D ointment and hemorrhoid cream to make a seal so that the gastric juices don't burn so bad. Every time I go to the bathroom, which is five or six times a day, it takes about 30 minutes to get myself all cleaned up and put back together.
By now I cannot hold down a job. No one wants to admit why they let me go, so they assume something is wrong with me and won't hire me. Finally I manage to get a job working as a nurses aide in a nursing home. Strange smells don't seem to bother anyone here.
While I look good, and am slimmer than I can ever remember being, it is not exactly easy to meet people. Try explaining to a date why you have to spend an hour out of your date in the bathroom. Most foods and the shortened digestive time also cause tremendous gas problems. By this time my rectum is in such bad shape that it no longer does a very good job of holding things in. I make sure I am never far from a bathroom, and wear pads in my underwear at all times in case I don't quite make it. There is no way of knowing if the pressure I feel is gas or vile, burning liquid.
I go out in public less and less. I am asked to move from two apartment buildings because other tenants are complaining about the smell. I find an old hotel that rents by the month. Its all I can afford on my nursing home wages, and no one cares much about smells there, even though I have to share a bathroom.
It has now been two years since my surgery. My body is trying to adjust to the reduced calories and nutrients it receives from the food I eat. I have been trying to limit my eating to cut down on my bowel movements, and become extremely malnourished. I am hospitalized for extreme anemia and potassium deficiency. My family doctor prescribes a potassium supplement. I have to take it in liquid form so it has time to absorb into my system.
The two surgeons who did my surgery are hit with a major lawsuit by the family of a young man who dies after having his intestines shortened too much. One of them moves to another state. The other one leaves medicine and enters the state senate. The American Medical Association releases cautions on this type of surgery and suggests it be banned.
Time moves on and I am caught between violent bowel movements and depleting my body of nutrition. Once I get so depleted of potassium that I lose use of my hands. They cramp up into claw-like fists that I cannot relax. Another time I cannot stand up and am rushed to the hospital.
During this time I meet an incredible man who can see past all the physical problems. I finally am open with him about my bathroom situation, and he doesn't run!! Luckily he is there the morning I wake up and cannot move my arms. My legs are cramped up and twisted and my hands are again like claws. He rushes me to the hospital, where they are concerned the heart and liver damage is too great for me to pull through. They do an emergency re-connect of the bypass in an attempt to save my life.
My re-connect surgery was done in 1982. Since that time I no longer have the extreme problems with bowel movements that I did. But I do not have normal movements either. I have to go four or five times a day, and while it is no longer painful, it is still very soft to liquid. I still have potassium deficiencies, which cause a weakened heart, liver and poor muscle tone. I have been able to have two children, both by Cesarean section.
Due to all the scar tissue on my stomach, I have no feeling below my belly button to my pubic hair line. Frequently I get open sores there, which I can't see and can't feel. Due to my poor eating habits and the stress my body has been through, I now weigh about 400 pounds. I have violent leg cramps almost every night, since I will never absorb potassium correctly even though I take massive amounts of supplements. My skin is always dry and flaky, and my elbows and heels are so dry and scaly they often crack open and bleed. My liver is so damaged that only a few alcoholic drinks make me sick for two or three days. I have asthma and arthritis, neither of which I had before.
I found the brochure a few years ago that made my father and I decide to have the bypass operation. In large red letters across the front it says:
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