update you all on how I've been getting on.
It hasn't been all plain sailing as I alluded to in my previous post. Physically it's been tough with delightful things such as constipation and crippling pain from that, but mentally...it's been, and is continuing to be, absolute hell.
I mentioned in my last blog that I didn't think I was losing as much weight as I should be; that has continued along with some new issues. I've developed a food phobia (which is as lovely as you'd expect) coupled with a newly found fear of vomiting (if you eat too quickly or don't chew the food enough, this makes you sick.)
So I'm scared to eat 'new' things (things I was eating before the surgery). I have established things that I eat but I'm literally just sticking to Weetabix, beans, cheese, tuna and potatoes. And not a great deal of any of those things. I'm scared I'm not eating enough, but then I know if I eat too much, I'll get a pain in my chest or stretch my sleeve, which I really don't want to happen).
I'd been passing the surgery off as no biggie, because it wasn't open surgery, it was being done via a laparoscopy. I genuinely, somewhat naïvely, didn't think it was going to be as big a deal as it was. I mean, I was only having 75% of my stomach removed... how hard could it be?? What an idiot I am. I'm sort of coming to terms with the fact it WAS actually major surgery.
I've been dealing with feeling like I've made a massive mistake, due to the pain my body and brain have been and are still going through. Can't go back though, they can't rebuild me...maybe they could shove a load of sausage casings back in and see how that goes...
So I'm trying to cope with that, on top of feelings of utter misery and inflicting misery on David and my family and friends. I'm no fun to be around, I'm generally usually down, crying at the drop of a hat, and my old arch nemesis of Low Self Esteem is popping her head in, telling me that I'm failing at weight loss, how I'm pretty much a failure in life anyway because I can't have children and that how that even if I get to the desired weight for IVF, it won't work because I don't deserve it. I don't deserve to be happy, I don't deserve to have a child. She tells me that David will probably leave me when the IVF fails because I can't do anything right in life. Happy cheery stuff like that.
I've told one of the bariatric nurses my concerns, and she's referred me to psychology...but I don't know when I'll get an appointment (cut backs to mental health services, thanks you Tory cunts). I know I need help, I've identified my problems, I've told my GP and she was going to try to expedite my psychology appointment. Speaking to my GP helped a bit, she signed me off for another four weeks, so we'll see how that all goes. I've had to up my antidepressants again (as a sort of a sticking plaster until my psych appointment).
I'm so lucky to have David and my family and all my friends...and even the cats - Aslan is an excellent nurse (well okay maybe not but he's always good for cuddles). And writing helps me out a lot. I know a lot of this might seem extreme but I have to be honest about how I've been feeling since surgery.
I'll get there, I know I will. I'm loved and adored and well cared for. And I'll be a mother one day, I know this too. I just need to see more blue skies than grey.