BIG's Meme

I have begun the next post that continues the saga that is BIG, but I put that on hold to speak of another topic. My Grandmother, who I knew as Meme, died in October. Her real name was Alphegina Snide and she was murdered. Some man entered her home while she prepared for bed and took her life. My Grandmother lived by herself in a very small country town, her closest neighbor was one of her sons who lived a half mile up the road. The area she lived in is one of those areas where this sort of thing just doesn't happen, when I was informed of the tragedy I couldn't believe it, my continual reaction was of pure astonishment. That there was no way it could be real and that it's just plain ridiculous. Since the incident, the culprit has been caught and will be facing trial very soon for her murder. I traveled 17 hours in one day to attend her wake and funeral the next day, I arrived about two hours into the evening wake and was astounded by the number of people who showed up to pay their respects to my Grandmother. Without counting each person individually I am sure there was well over a thousand people in attendance. It was great seeing my entire family again, and especially my Mom. It was the first time I had seen her since my wedding and thinking about it now, my wedding was the last time I saw my Grandmother as well.

With guilt I can say that I didn't call my Grandmother once since moving from upstate New York, I did speak with her on the phone during Holiday's but I loved her very much and am thankful for all the time I got to share with her and my Grandfather during my time growing up. Helping her with various sewing/crafting tasks and yes I just said sewing/crafting tasks, helping bring the Winter's wood into the cellar with my Uncle Claude, who has also passed away. It wasn't about the six dollar reward for stacking 2034840238409238409238409283409823 chords of wood on a given Saturday...well okay...maybe it was all about the six dollars at the time. But now, I would gladly give up that six dollars to hear her voice one time yelling to me to come get some lunch from upstairs. I loved that feisty old woman and my Grandfather too, my Grandfather spoke just as much French as he did English and I fondly remember spending the night and having to sit through reruns of Alf in french...yes you read that correctly...Alf in french. One of my favorite memories of me and my Grandmother was when I found what I believe was a Hustler magazine under my Uncle's bed and was peeking at the nekidness within when my Grandmother caught me. I thought she was going to skin me alive, as she came closer and closer I saw my life flash before my eyes as well as the plethora of naked chicks in the photos. Yet all she did was come over to me and calmly take the magazine from me and politely ask that if I ever found a magazine of this type ever again to please bring it to her so that she could dispose of it properly.

I will miss my Grandmother dearly and unfortunately hold a certain amount of hate in my heart for the man who took her life and the senseless act that he committed. I am deeply saddened for the loss all of her children, grandchildren and so on must be feeling.

Good bye meme

BIG

The End, part Deux

If you've been to Ruin-Why before please continue reading, if it's your first time then please start by reading "The Beginning" and then follow the yellow brick road.

When we last left our hero he was enjoying the most delicious meal of ice chips. The day was Tuesday, the day of the now infamous barium swallow, it was at this point that I was informed I would be leaving the comforts of ICU and relocating to the um...hmmm...non ICU portion of the hospital. And so began the final nine days of my stay in Fayetteville.

If you've read my previous posts then you know of my troubles with the pain medication Dilaudid, if you haven't read any previous posts then shame be unto you. As I was wheeled into my new room I was also in the beginning stages of coming down from my Dilaudid high. It would take another two days before the drug completely left my system, mind you Larry was gone (don't ask) but my mind was still just left of sane. To illustrate please refer to my first nights sleep in the new room, my mind was thoroughly convinced that it was infected with viruses. Yes, of the computer variety, and what do we do if our computer has a virus, well we run an anti-virus program. Thus I didn't sleep all night because my mind was too busy running Norton anti-virus (I only wish I was kidding), well that wasn't enough because by God my mind must have been infected with spyware and adware so I had to install software to take care of those. This continued for two nights...thankfully on the third day my mind cleared. I finally was able to sleep this day and then the crying began.

Before I get into the whole crying thing lets recap, I've got six holes in my abdomen, a ten inch gash going down my stomach and a twelve or thirteen inch gash along my right side. Let's not forget the huge drain jutting out of my right side which is connected to this measuring container, I also had another small drain poking out of my side and God (and probably my wife) only know where that was connected too, and most importantly, the catheter connected to lil BIG. And a few hundred staples in a pear tree.......

When I came down from the Dilaudid I became very emotional, I'm not kidding, I would begin crying at a moments notice and over nothing at all. It all began when I received flowers from friends of the family, the moment the flowers entered the room I began to cry. I'm not exactly sure why, probably something about being so regarded and loved by so many people...yeah that's probably it. After the flowers anything would set me off, certain music videos, thinking of how wonderful my wife and mom (in-law) were being or nothing at all.

Emotional BIG lasted for a few days and then the oddest thing occurred Puberty BIG emerged. Now puberty BIG was fun for the whole family, one morning upon waking I immediately noticed that my voice was breaking and would be high one moment and low the next. This made for highly entertaining conversations with Nurses, Doctors and Surgeons, then came the pimples and pubic hair. Actually only the voice thing occurred but it was still damn funny for anyone within hearing range.

I realized that these last few days in the hospital all melded together, the only way to tell the difference between them was by which tube was yanked out of me when. The catheter was the first to come out and I'll go on record as saying that having a catheter yanked out sucks the balls. They always tell you it won't hurt, but they lie, God damn they lie. I'm lying there minding my own business and the nurse begins the yanking out procedure, after a second or so it becomes uncomfortable but nothing too bad, after a few more seconds it stops. I'm thinking to myself that wasn't so bad, that's when the nurse looks me in the eyes, and I swear I could see evil intent in those eyes, she asks me if I'm ready. Ready I think, for what, wasn't that it, but apparently no it wasn't, immediately the pain begins and I begin to scream. As the nurse pulled more and more I screamed louder and louder. It only lasted a few moments but by God I shall never forget that moment or that pain. Now please allow me the fortune of repressing said memory....going going going and gone.

Next both tubes were removed from my right side, the removal of these didn't hurt as much as just feel damn weird. I think because most of my right side was numb from the long incision the removal of both drains didn't hurt as much as it probably should. That numbness continues to this day, two months after surgery my entire right man boob is completely numb, even the nipple. This, of course, renders my entire nipple clamp collection useless, well the right one anyway.

So the catheter is out, both drains are out and things are beginning to look up, that is until I begin to retain fluids. It started with swelling in my feet and continued with my legs ballooning to twice their normal size, all because of water retention. As if this wasn't bad enough the fluids began to put pressure on my lungs and restrict my breathing. I just couldn't get a deep enough breath, I would get out of bed and move to a chair two feet away and lose my breath for ten minutes. Water blisters began to form all over my legs and then began to leak, it is just damn odd to feel water dripping down your legs and knowing it's from blisters. There was an easy solution for this situation but not a quick one, the Surgeon began me on diuretics, which immediately began to alleviate the fluid retention problem, though would help contribute to another problem at a later time. It was at this point I actually began to miss the catheter...well almost.

It was during this time that I experienced probably the most scary moment of my hospital stay. Mind you, for most of the serious happenings I was hopped up on pain medication and not really aware of my surroundsing or just in a deep sleep. Well, one morning I had just moved to my bed and was sitting there when I felt this warm liquid flowing down my side, it didn't begin with a trickle but a flood. I don't remember why but there was a nurse in my room with me and she grabbed a towel and pressed it to my right side while remaining calm and I believe asking my wife to call for another nurse. I refused to look, but I could feel the fluids flowing down my entire leg and soaking my gown I was wearing, I was petrified to see what was surely blood flowing like a river from my side. With my intense desire not to see what was surely my lifes blood being drained from me I didn't hear the nurse explaining to me what was actually flowing out of me. Eventually I found out that the drain on my right side had become clogged and thus fluid began to pool instead of draining properly, with too much pressure being exerted on the pooled fluids, the only possible solution was for the dams to burst and allow the pooled fluids to escape.

I'm sure I'm missing a few things but this has been a long post, I actually began this post at least a month ago and didn't think it was on par with the other three so I let it be for a bit only to come back a month later to finish.

It was at this point that I was finally released from my stay in Fayetteville, you might think this would be the end of the saga that is BIG, but by God you'd be wrong. We still have two more hospital stays and the tragic passing of BIG's Grandmother, and that will only bring us up to the middle of November.

The End

If it's your first time at Ruin Why please start at the bottom of the page with "The Beginning", then move onto "The Middle" and then...you guessed it..."The End"

While my lovely wife was reading over my last post, the now famous "The Middle", she mentioned a few things that I shall now add. When the Surgeon sliced me open on my side He found it necessary to remove a nice size chunk of one of my ribs, not sure why, but I'm guessing it was so He and his buddies could make a wish or something (that or he needed to get around it and removing it was much easier). The reason for the actual side slicing has also become known to me, apparently my diaphram was in the way when the Surgeon tried to reattach my esophagus to my stomach via the gash on my belly, I never did trust my diaphram and now (dramatic pause) I know why.

So our journey left off with waking up in ICU two days after the actual surgery. So began the "Six days of ICU", I think there's a Lifetime movie of the week coming out with the same name. I was still pretty out of it during the first day, in fact the only thing I do remember is my wife telling me there were complications with the surgery and that I was going to be just fine, again, paraphrasing. This also was my introduction to the wonderful world of Dilaudid injections. Dilaudid is this wonderful pain medication derived from the poppy seed (read as opium). It's stronger than morphine and commonlly referred to as the "drug store heroine". This stuff was injected into my body every hour, on the hour, I do believe someone didn't want me to feel. There are many side effects of Dilaudid, most common and mild, yet there are a few rare ones. One of those rare ones is hallucinations, and guess who decided to partake in this rare and serious side effect, you guessed it...ME...the B I G. Sure it began all fun and kookie, such as little fuzzy things walking out the room, splotches on the wall, then things turned dark and ugly. Soon the hallucinations began the moment I closed my eyes, I would see the most horrific scenes thought imagineable. A few of my friends know some of what I saw, but I won't go into any sort of detail here, I shall leave it at I would see people getting murdered, maimed, mauled and lets not forget raped. I'm going through hell, I need lots of sleep and rest and yet the moment I close my eyes all I see is that sick shit. So I didn't sleep for three days, I refused to close my eyes to allow myself sleep.

Only a select few friends will understand but I would like to take this moment and say: damn you Larry, damn you to Hell.

Some other fun things I remember from ICU:

I awoke in the middle of the night completely turned on my side, gripping the side of the bed for dear life, having no clue as to what was going on only knowing that I was in tremendous pain. There were six people in my room and four of them were holding me so I couldn't move, eventually someone let me in on the secret, they were changing the sheet on my bed and apparently this was the best way to accomplish the task.

It wasn't all bad when I was awaken in the middle of the night, in fact there was this one time when I awoke from my slumber only to find a nurse washing my balls. Apparently you can wash my arm, my leg and my stomach, but by God you begin to wash my testicles and I'm gonna wake up. It was at this point that I completely lost any inhibitions I might have had about my body. When a total stranger washes the jumbly wumblies, you can't be modest, ya just can't.

One of my favorite little moments in ICU happened when my pain medication had lapsed and I was in considerable pain. I was agitated and all grumpy and then like an angel I see my nurse float into my room holding the golden syringe. But low and behold she became distracted by another nurse, after what seemd like an eternity I mustered up everything I had and muttered "hey you...do...your...job". She giggled, the other nurse giggled, I giggled, actually I reached for the syringe because I was planning on injecting myself. This is the same nurse that at a later date I called Tater Tot thus beginning her permanent nickname, sorry about that Tater.

At one point I had a fever, this news was relayed to me via my nurse-de-jour. I was then informed that they would give me a walnut sized Tylenol which would combat said fever. It's at this point that things begin to go downhill quickly, I'm told the unfortunate news that there does not exist a liquid Tylenol injection, this perplexed me. You see at this point in my recovery I couldn't swallow pills, water or anything which left me wondering how I would take said pill. I'm sure most of you have already guessed it, but for the Gumps in the group, they shoved the damn pill up my bum. two nurses grabbed the legs while the other did the shoving. I'll never forget that nurse, the bond we shared, by God it was beautiful...thanks Tater.

So anywho, I digress, I had an arguement with my nurse-de-jour about the Dilaudid. Eventually she screamd at me something about do I want to stop taking it and be in horrible horrible pain to which I replied with a resounding yes. Thus began my trip back from Dilaudid village, of course this also coincided with an all important barium swallow. This is a test where you drink, you guessed it, liquid barium and a Doctor will then track the barium through your esophagus, stomach and small intestine using fluoroscopy connected to a video monitor (thank you WebMD, thank you). This process is another check for leaks, if there are no leaks then the patient can begin a clear liquid diet, if there is a leak then then the patient cries while the Doctor calls the Surgeon and tells him or her the good news.

I'm wheeled in my bed to "The Room", at this point I see a metal table and a huge mechanical arm hovering above said table. It's at this point that the debate begins on whether or not I'll fit on the table underneath the hovering x-ray arm. The lab technician thinks no, the Doctor thinks maybe and Abdul, the guy who wheeled me down to "The Room" is sure I'll fit. They all decide to give it a try and hope for the best, three people push, two pull and I'm on the metal table. At this point the table makes a horribly loud noise and I watch the face of the lab technician contort into utter fear, then I hear the technician whisper to the Doctor, we need to hurry or the table is going to collapse and we'll end up picking his massive ass up off the floor, so needless to say I'm all calm and whatnot. Then not to be too anticliamatic but I drink the crap and they tell me I have no leaks (please note that we will speak more about leaks in the future, I know, I can't wait either). It's at this point that I am wheeled back to my room and given the greatest meal I ever had...ice chips. You need to understand, I had nothing to drink by mouth in six days, the ice chips were Heaven.

I thought I would finish with this post but I realize I still have nine more days in the hospital. Please join us back here for the continuation of this epic story, and you too can find out the fate of our hero in "The End, part deux".

The Middle

If you haven't read the previous post, "The Beginning", please do so before reading "The Middle"...it only makes sense folks.

I had the Roux-en-Y Gastric Bypass surgery on August 10, 2006, on August 12 they woke me up.

Before I continue, everything that follows is from either my personal memory or the memory of those around me, any inaccuracies are unintentional.

The surgery was scheduled to last between four to six hours, mine lasted ten and a half. My wife, my Mother-in-Law and myself arrived at the hospital and before I sat down I was taken into a small curtained room. After stripping nekid and putting on some awesome little booties, I found my wife and I in another little curtained room awaiting surgery. The next thing I remember is yanking the intubation tube out of my throat, later on I found out my arms were restrained but somehow dumb ass me finds a way to reach up and yank the damn thing out. Needless to say the nurse was pissed which confounded me, since I saved her and the Doctor a job.

I was sedated for the next two days and awoke in ICU on Saturday, upon waking I could vaguely make out my wife sitting next to me. Mind you I'm legally blind without my glasses...yes I'm white and nerdy. The first thing I hear is, and I'm paraphrasing, there were complications with the surgery, but you're going to be fine.

Eventually I pieced together most of the surgery from the minds of everyone around me. The first part of the surgery went according to plan, it was performed laparoscopically and included a snip here, a snip there, a new stomach pouch and voila. At this point the surgeon performs some tests to verify there are no leaks, well apparently I was leaking like a stuck pig. The more the Surgeon tried to resolve the situation the more leaks that sprang up...and yes...sprang up is appropriate. At this point He makes the decision to slice me open, I'm guessing he felt he could get a better look at my insides and resolve the problem easier. So to tally, I now have six holes in my abdomen and a gash beginning between the man-boobs and ending a few inches above the belly button.

Well......that didn't work, still leaking like a stuck pig. Mind you I have no idea where that saying originates but apparently if you stick a pig it will bleed a lot or something. At this point of the operation the Surgeon makes the decision to abandon the Gastric Bypass surgery, He is then left with putting Humpty Dumpty back together again. This is where things get fuzzy in my understanding and others around me, from what a nurse has told me recently, this is the point that the Surgeon called his office and told a nurse to get the rest of the crew together and tell them to get their asses down here now. The Crew being other surgeons who perform the surgery in his office and other specialists. At this point I had been in surgery about seven hours and no end in sight, after conferring with his colleagues they decided to flop me on my left side and cut me open yet again. This time they cut me open from the middle of my right man-boob around to my back, collapsed my right lung and were thus able to get under my mountains of lard and put Humpty back together again. It has never been confirmed but I'm guessing at this point there was a check for leaks...a successful one I'm guessing and at some point I believe they used a bicycle pump to blow my lung back up. After ten and a half hours, I was rolled into ICU where the aforementioned intubation tube incident occurred.

So to tally once more, I now have six holes in my abdomen, a ten inch gash going down my stomach and a twelve or thirteen inch gash along my right side, and lets not forget all the staples holding me together (over a hundred by my count).

Conclusion to follow...

The Beginning

I figured I needed to keep some sort of journal about what in Gods name happened over the past few months. I have other blogs, which are rarely if ever updated, but they are blogs none the less, and I use the name BIG to post with and will continue the epic tradition. The point you ask, well I use the name BIG because I am well...big. I'm not kidding, I'll cry myself to sleep tonight on my huge pillow (25 points to anyone who gets the movie reference).

With that said, a few years ago I seriously looked into the Gastric Bypass surgery. I live in/or around Durham, NC (don't try to find me, BIG isn't in the phone book). I applied for the surgery at Duke University, yes THE Duke, the famous one known all over the World. After getting poked, prodded, analyzed, a barium swallow here a thyroid test there and they decide to weigh me. At this time I was around 475 pounds, no it's not a typo, after all the tests were completed I was told that everything looks great and when I get below 400 pounds to come back and they would approve me for the surgery. I was shocked, the surgery was created for people like me, hell I am the exact reason the surgery was created and I was.....too heavy. So the 230 pound soccer mom could get the surgery but not my fat ass. A part of me understood their reasoning, I was a BIG health risk at my size and they didn't want to accept that risk even though I was. So I got all pissed off and found the low carb diet and lost 120 pounds or so and told Duke to [enter expletive here].

I gained it all back.

After I was married to the greatest woman in the whole wide World I just ate myself silly and probably stupid. Over the next two years I gained all the weight I had lost and found myself at the pleasantly plump weight of 480 pounds. At this point I think I was clinically past morbidly obese and entered into the fat fuck stage of my existence, I couldn't help myself I find that term so damn funny. My wife calls me one day at work and asks if I'm still interested in having the surgery, at this point I had given up hope that anyone would perform the surgery on me. She tells me that a surgeon in Fayetteville performs the surgery for anyone under 500 pounds. "I'm under 500 pounds" I exclaim and so it began.