When January Had Other Plans
I woke up on January 17th ready to finally resume my life after months of recovery, moving, and putting everything on hold.
In November I had gastric bypass surgery. December had been about moving into my new apartment while still recovering, which meant I could barely lift anything and had to spend more than I planned just to get through it. After months of being cautious, getting back to business felt overdue. I had plans to finish unpacking, start driving Lyft again, and get organized. Martin Luther King weekend meant three full days of driving ahead of me. The excitement was real.
Then I woke up feeling like a fart was stuck.
I know how that sounds. But that is genuinely the best way to describe it. I could not eat. I threw up a little. I kept telling myself I was exaggerating and moved back and forth between my bed, the living room, and my work chair hoping it would pass. I even walked Oliver through the pain, though not as much as I usually do. That last walk barely made it down the stairs. He was visibly annoyed, which is very on brand for him. Oliver has zero patience. But even he seemed to sense something was off.
Before his walk I threw up a tiny bit of blood. The kind you might brush off on a normal day, like when your gums are sensitive. But I had just had gastric bypass two months earlier. I was not taking chances.
That was the moment I stopped trying to convince myself it was nothing.
The Wrong Hospital, The Right Decision
I went to the hospital as an abundance of caution. The pain was so bad I could not think straight and accidentally ended up at the wrong one, paying for valet because parking was not something I could deal with.
Same hospital system, wrong location. Eventually my bariatric doctor came by and what they found surprised everyone. Two gallstones the size of plums and one small one. The small one was probably related to my RNY surgery. Rapid weight loss after bariatric surgery can increase the risk of gallstones, so that one was not completely surprising. The other two had clearly been there for a while. My bariatric surgeon found no inflammation to indicate they were there, which is why the initial procedure missed them. My doctor said that was very rare.
Looking back, I had symptoms before. The most recent episode was in October. I almost went to the hospital that night but I had been saving every dollar for my gastric bypass and I did not want to spend it. I had eaten tacos that day and convinced myself it was indigestion from something too greasy. I did not tell anyone. I just waited it out.
This time I called my dad.
Gallbladder Surgery
He and my brother drove two hours when they heard what was happening. I think they were worried it was complications from my gastric bypass. They arrived that night. By the next morning, my mom and aunt had gotten to the hospital too, right before the team transferred me to my original hospital for surgery. My aunt drove my car home, which was one less thing to think about.
The gallstones were so large that my surgeon had to widen one of my RNY incisions to remove them. I also got staples this time. Recovering from two back to back surgeries took more out of me than either one alone would have.
Going Home to Heal
My dad brought me back to Corpus Christi to recover from my second surgery.
At first they would not even let me wash my own dishes. My mom, my dad, everyone was careful and loving and watching my every move. I understood. I also went a little stir crazy.
But I got something I had not had in a long time. I colored and drew for hours. Daytime television became my partner in crime, just like my childhood sick days. My dad and I watched telenovelas together. My favorite was Dominica Monterro. I got completely hooked. When I got home, it took me a few days to set up my TV because I needed an antenna. By then Dominica Monterro had already aired its gran final. Maybe one day I will go back and watch the ending.
I rested in a way years of survival mode had stolen from me. It was frustrating and sweet and exactly what I needed even when I did not want it.
By the end of February I had convinced my dad it was time to bring me home.
The Concert
The next day I went to see Camila at Boeing Center at Tech Port.
Yes, Camila the Mexican pop group. The day after getting home from my second consecutive surgery. My family found out after the fact and my dad was not thrilled. I told him the concert was romantic, not a dancing one. I just stood and sang.
And that is exactly what I did.
The stage lights came up, the first notes started, and for the first time in weeks I wasn’t thinking about surgery.
I stood in that venue and sang at the top of my lungs, and I felt like a person again. Nobody watched over me or worried anymore. That night I was just a woman at a concert making her own decisions. A Latina millennial’s dream. It was everything.
If I am being honest the only thing I would have done differently is taken an Uber instead of driving myself. But other than that, no regrets.
The Epilogue Nobody Asked For
A few days later I went to see Rascal Flatts at the Houston Rodeo.
I waited a week before sharing any photos or videos. I did not want to worry my family.
Still worth it. 😉 And I think I will tell you more about that at a future date.
Have you ever done something just to feel like yourself again? Tell me about it.
