On the 24th of November I was summoned to the MES unit at York District Hospital for my glucose tolerance test.  I didn't even know that units like this were open on the weekend but it was good, my husband could come with me.  We got the bus in and made our way up to the MES unit, we were really early so we did have to wait a bit.  I was absolutely terrified.  Ever since a health scare when I was 14 and a week long hospital stay where I was constantly pricked and prodded by needles, I have been deadly scared.  My veins are particularly shy and some people have a terrible time finding them.  Mark was trying to comfort me but to be honest, nothing would have comforted me at that point.

A male nurse invited me into the suite where another man was already cannulated.  The room was really nice, there were seven or eight large squishy armchairs with cushions and the radio was on a casual station.  We took a seat at the end of the room and Mark sat opposite me.  The room even had it's own coffee machine so Mark grabbed a drink while I had to go thirsty!  I had fasted since the evening before and just had a few small sips of water when I woke so my mouth was like cotton.  A young female nurse handed me an admission form which I signed and then the male nurse came back with a bottle of Lucozade.  The medical trolley was wheeled over to me and then panic set in.  First my blood pressure was taken, it usually reads about 120/80 taken by ear but these electronic machines always either can't find a reading or give me a ridiculously high reading.  Today it was the latter, reading at about 160/100.  I explained to the nurse that my BP is usually much lower but I don't think he believed me and he recorded it anyway.

Now the search for veins could begin.  A tourniquet was tightened around my arm and he peered at my arm, prodding here and there and shaking his head.  Then the other arm was tried with the same result, he could feel something on my right arm but wasn't sure if it was a vein or sinew.  He could see how scared I was and so he asked another nurse to come and give a second opinion.  The nurse was called Rosie and she was such a gentle woman.  Again the search continued and she shook her head at the male nurse, it looked like the search was fruitless.  She agreed that she could feel something in my right arm but also wasn't sure.  I burst into tears out of fear and they suggested maybe I should come back another day when there are other doctors around to have a look.  I shook my head and asked them to give the right arm a go.  I laid my head back on the headrest and tried to take my mind off everything.  I felt a tiny scratch and then it was over, Rosie thought she had a vein but she needed to try and get blood out first.  When she connected a syringe to the end of the cannula I prayed that I would bleed and thankfully I did!!  I was so overwhelmed with relief, it was almost painless, I was scared for nothing!

They drew blood for a baseline reading and then I was instructed to drink the Lucozade within ten minutes, I was so thirsty it wasn't much of a struggle.  Every half an hour they came to draw blood until two hours had passed, then the cannula was removed and I was free to go!  An MRSA swab in the nose was the only other thing they needed from me and then I was handed a bottle containing two dexamethasone tablets which I needed to take and then have a blood test the next morning before 9am.  On Sunday night I took the tablets at about 11.30 and then in the morning I got my blood taken at ASDA.  It was so weird, after all the panic on Saturday about the needle something had changed in me.  I was no longer afraid of the needle, I knew that people COULD find my veins and that the pain was minimal, I felt cured!

A week later I called up Dr. Wong's secretary to see whether my results were back but she couldn't give results over the phone.  I also had decided to give the York support group a whirl so I called David Locker, the surgical nurse, to check dates and times.  The next meeting is on the 14th December so I think I will give it a go and hopefully meet like-minded people.  He was able to give me results from the blood tests, apparently my GTT was fine and the dexamethasone suppression test had come back normal.  When he was looking through my other blood tests he noticed that I was significantly deficient in vitamin B12 and vitamin D but that it was normal for people "like me" to have these deficiencies.  Nevertheless, he is writing to my GP to start some treatment.  Thankfully it is something that can be corrected and nothing else is wrong with me.

As I said in my last post, my gran was coming to visit and we had a really good time with her.  And yes, I did manage to break the news to her.  She wasn't shocked and said after seeing all the hospital appointments I'd been going to she had realised what was going on.  I also told my grandad and he was also supportive.  I think that's where I'm going to draw the line though, I don't think I'm going to tell anyone else.  When I start to lose weight and people notice I will have to decide whether they are the kind of people I want to confide in but at the moment I can't do it.  Now all I am waiting for is another appointment to see Dr. Wong and then for a date to be set for surgery.  I've had a few sleepless nights recently worrying about whether I'm doing the right thing and fear about being in hospital.  I know everything will be okay and these are just wobbles.  I've just got to keep focused.

Earlier this month I had my appointment with my surgeon but he wasn't available on the day so I met with his registrar instead.  It was a very brief appointment where she looked through my various results, reassured me that I'm in perfect health and had a feel of my tummy.  She told me that I had been accepted for funding on the NHS and I will now be looking at a maximum of four months wait for the operation.  It's all starting to feel very real now and I'm having to make the decision whether or not to tell my extended family and friends.  My parents and husband are all very supportive of my decision to go ahead with the surgery and have promised to stand by me all the way through.  My brother and sister, both younger than me, just want me to be happy and healthy.  I'm very close to my grandparents and have not yet broken the news to them but I really shouldn't keep them in the dark.  My gran is due for a visit next week so I will have to find the right moment to tell her, I know she will be worried for me.

In other news it was our two year wedding anniversary last week and we spent a few days in Manchester visiting the sights and museums.  All in all it was a wonderful trip away, but as with everything that involves me my weight always gets in the way.  Booking a trip away turns into a massive upheaval.  My weight and size becomes this all encompassing part of my life and I have to order everything around it.  I'm very big, but by no means ginormous and a lot of my worries are completely imaginary.  I have to make sure we have seats on the train located close to the doors so I don't have to push my bulk down the center of the narrow train.  I have to make sure that it's not at a table incase I don't fit behind it (we always end up getting allocated table seats and I've never had trouble getting in but that stupid niggling feeling is always there!)  Then there's the completely irrational fear of turnstiles.  When we got to Manchester Piccadilly station I was bursting for the toilet so we immediately went in search of some only to find that they were manned by turnstiles.  My stomach went through the floor.  I have never been stuck in a turnstile or even had trouble getting through one but the closeness to my body and the restriction makes me freak out.  I have terrible mental images of me getting trapped and everyone standing around laughing.  So I point blank refused to go.  I'd much rather wet myself than face the indignity of squeezing through one of those steel demons.

One of the most hurtful things about being overweight is the critical stare that some people fix you with.  The loud whispers behind hands and the heads whipping around for a gawp at me, sometimes it's more than I can deal with.  I feel like a circus freak, a walking amusement for everyone around me.  I get so sick of being the sore thumb in a crowd.  On the night of our anniversary we decided to go to our favourite italian restaurant for a nice meal.  We were lucky when we arrived there was only one table for two left, we sat down ordered drinks and waited.  My back was to the window, husband infont of me and the restaurant behind him.  Over the divider I could see a blonde haired woman looking directly at me, it made me feel uncomfortable but I shrugged it off, blaming it on me being paranoid.  Then I saw her talking to her friend, seconds later she whips around and looks me up and down, then the next friend and the next.  My face flushed and I tried to look away, my eyes prickled with tears.  Then I could see her jutting her chin inwards and making a disgusting face with double chin, a grotesque masquerade of me.  I'm not a violent person, never have I ever laid a finger on another human, but in that moment all I could feel was unrelenting, shaking anger.  I wanted to walk over to her and pour my champagne on her head, slap her, pull her hair, make her feel as hurt as I did.  Instead I folded.  I asked Mark to cancel our order and we left.  Only when we left did I allow myself to release the pent up aggression and I sobbed my heart into Mark's chest.  I must have promised myself a million times to never allow another person to hurt me and make me feel horrible, but yet again I let someone dehumanize me.  I felt like an animal.

Some days I just want to shut myself in the house and never leave.  It's the only way I can guarantee that no one is going to hurt me, but that isn't practical in the slightest.  I have to go out everyday and try and put a brave face on, hold my head up high and pretend everything is fine.  Torment can break a person and my mask has so many chips in it I'm surprised it still holds together.  I know that this operation will help me.  I don't want to be thin so that people notice me and think "Oh, doesn't she look nice" or "Isn't she pretty."  I want to be thin so that I can disappear, melt into the background and be able to go out without fear.

Due to some unforeseen circumstances I had to cancel my appointment and reschedule it for yesterday so that my mum could come with me but of course nothing goes smoothly and her car broke the day before so I had to go it alone.  I got the bus into town with my husband and then made my way over to the hospital at 8.30am.  My appointment wasn't until 10.15 but because of the infrequent bus service to my village I had to go in much earlier.  I took a book along with me and settled down at Costa with a large hot drink ready to while away the hours until my appointment.  As soon as I was really getting into my book my mobile rang and it was my mum saying the hospital were looking for me, I was supposed to be at the appointment for 9am.  I knew I had checked the letter thoroughly and it definitely said 10.15 but it turned out that the second letter hadn't been posted to me.  I dashed upstairs to the Cardio unit and explained what had happened and it turned out I was supposed to be at ward 27 on the other side of the hospital!  I frantically ran down the corridor, tossing my half drunk Costa into a nearby bin and made it to the ward.

A lovely woman nurse greeted me and was completely understanding about the mix up.  She led me into a room where I was welcomed by an anaesthetist and another man.  The nurse took me to the bed and drew the curtains around me while she hooked me up to the ECG.  She was brilliant and didn't make me feel embarrassed at all, she even let me keep my bra on.  Then the exercise bike was altered to my height and on I got.  A blood pressure cuff was placed around my right arm and then a mouthpiece attached to a computer was placed into my mouth and a clip on my nose.  I must have looked a right sight!  I was told to begin cycling at a pretty slow pace and the resistance would slowly increase.  I can honestly say that there was barely any resistance at all during the whole time I was on the bike, it was really easy.  After about ten to fifteen minutes my private area was crying out for mercy so I pulled out the mouthpiece and begged to stop.  Obviously they had heard it all before because they laughed and said it was a really bad saddle!

The nurse took me back behind the curtain and removed the sticky patches and then I took a seat and waited for the verdict.  The anaesthetist sat down and began to explain that there were serious risks to the operation and that they have had people die during this surgery in this hospital and the reason they do these tests is to see how someone's body holds up under stress so they can tailor the aftercare for them.  I began to panic because he was focusing so hard on the risks and was starting to think that my heart maybe wasn't in such a good shape after all.  He then said that although no surgery is without risk, I am a very low risk case.  Apparently my heart and lungs are in brilliant condition!!  What a relief!

After thanking everyone I left and dashed back over to the cardio department for my next appointment.  I wasn't sitting long before a man called me, took my height and weight and then led me into his office.  I was ushered to sit in crazy space-age pod while he took my pulse and checked my notes.  Here I went through a series of breathing exercises into a mouthpiece which feeds information back to a computer.  It was all very straightforward and simple.  For the last test the door of the pod was closed which was so strange, it sounded like being underwater.  I had to pant into the mouthpiece with my hands over my cheeks and then an obstruction would cover the tube and I had to breathe against the restriction.  This was repeated several times and then I was released from my chamber!  The man was really happy with the results and said my lungs were functioning on the higher end of the normal range.

Now that all the breathing was out of the way, the cardiologist gave me the oximeter I was going to have to wear overnight to measure my pulse and oxygen saturation to see if I have sleep apnoea.  It's such a tiny device which is attached to a Velcro wrist strap.  When I went to bed that night I strapped it around, clipped the peg to my finger and then put some tape over the wire to make sure it didn't tangle up in the night.  The unit has a nightlight feature which I couldn't help but keep checking throughout the night!  When I woke in the morning it was still attached firmly to my finger so I was very impressed.  I just need to return the unit tomorrow for them to analyse the results.

The only tests I have remaining now are the glucose tolerance test and the dexamethasone suppression test, which I've been told will happen at the same time, but I haven't yet had an appointment set for these.  My appointment with my surgeon is on the 4th of November so I guess that will be my next big update.

A month after my initial appointment with my GP I had an appointment with a surgical nurse who will be working alongside my surgeon.  He was a really lovely man, I felt completely at ease with him.  He discussed my options and explained which procedure would be best suited to me for the amount of weight loss I need to achieve in order to be healthy.  I was given a lot of paperwork to read through and then I was told of all the tests I need to undergo before I can be cleared for surgery.  After my appointment with David I needed to get blood taken which was going to be screened for all sorts, seven vials were taken in the end!

The first test I needed to do was a 24 hour urine test.  This involves collecting all of the urine I pass within the 24 hours, decanting it into a massive plastic bottle and then returning it to the hospital the next morning.  Let me say, men have got it pretty easy, no messing around with cups and jugs for them!  The next day I disguised the pee bottle in an unassuming brown paper bag and hurriedly handed it over to the lady in sample taking.

Yesterday I had my second test and it was a biggie.  The dreaded gastroscopy.  Both of my parents have had gastroscopies for various reasons and they were both in agreement, it was the worst thing they have ever had done.  I'll admit, I was terrified, but I put on a brave face.  The paperwork I was mailed by the hospital told me to fast for six hours before the test and not to drink anything for two hours before the test.  My appointment was at nine in the morning so the last thing I ate was my dinner the night before and at 6.30am I had a big gulp of water to keep me going.  During the drive to the hospital I began to feel nauseous so I tried to keep my mind off things.  The traffic was horrendous and we got to the hospital with minutes to spare until my appointment and we still hadn't found a parking space so I told my mum I could do this myself and let her park up.

At the endoscopy unit I was greeted by a friendly man at the reception desk and then I realised I had forgotten my admission form!  He said it didn't matter and took some details down and I was ushered into a waiting room with several other nervous people.  People were coming and going, some in hospital gowns, others in wheelchairs, I had absolutely no idea what to expect and all the while I was just praying that everything would be okay.  Eventually my name was called and a lovely nurse took me into a side room to take my blood pressure and tag me.  I have no luck with electric blood pressure cuffs, they always just continue to inflate until my arm is literally blue and still refuse to take a reading, so after the cuff had exploded a second time the nurse decided to give it a rest.  She talked me through the procedure and reassured me that the ladies in the endoscopy room were really lovely people.  I was then led to another waiting room where I was left alone for about ten minutes before another woman peeped around the door, this was it.  Once we went through a set of double doors it went from being a waiting room to being a full-on hospital environment.  The only hospital admission I have ever had was a tonsillectomy when I was five, so I'm not used to the whole medical thing!

We turned off the corridor and I was in the endoscopy room.  The room was massive, space-age looking actually.  A bed was in the middle of the room and the massive scope took up at least a quarter of the available space, along with numerous computers.  The nurses were so gentle and caring.  I was asked to remove my sandals and then I laid down on the bed.  The endoscopist came to me and talked me through what she was about to do, everything felt very calm and I was trying to keep myself together.  I was sprayed in the mouth several times with a spray which smelled like bananas but tasted like battery acid.  My tongue became numb and suddenly my throat felt like it wasn't my own, I willed it to swallow but it wouldn't do as it was told.  The nurse reassured me that I was in fact swallowing but I couldn't feel it.  I was rolled onto my side and the nurse at my head tucked a blanket under my chin and placed a mouth guard between my teeth.  I closed my eyes and tried to keep my breathing under control.  Through my closed eyelids I could see a rainbow of colour moving towards my face and I knew it was the scope.  A few seconds passed and I was doing okay, until the scope reached the back of my throat.  I began to gag and I was sick a few times but the nurses just kept soothing me and used suction to remove the fluid.  It's a really disconcerting feeling to swallow down on something which is completely solid, it feels so completely foreign and your body knows it's not normal.  I could breathe completely fine but teamed with the gagging it was much more difficult.  Every time I opened my eyes I could see the hands of the endoscopist pushing the tube into my throat.  After a few moments I managed to get into a rhythm and just hoped that this was almost over.  They told me they were taking a biopsy and then out came the scope.

I was so embarrassed at being sick in front of the nurses I kept apologising over and over again but they were so lovely and told me that most people try to pull the scope out so I had done very well.  They didn't find anything untoward during the investigation, which was very reassuring.  My mascara had smeared all down my face from the gagging and I looked a right sight but the nurses helped me clear myself up.  After thanking the nursing staff again I was taken to a recovery room where I signed my discharge papers and was forbidden from drinking or eating anything for half an hour when the feeling in my throat returned. 

For the rest of the day I had a bit of a sore throat and I was burping a bit because of the air they put in my tummy but that was what I expected.  Although my description of the gastroscopy may seem very frightening, and I suppose it was, I would still have another one done if I really had to.  But here's hoping that was my first and last!!

On Thursday I have my lung function and exercise test so I will update with details after I have finished.

Deciding to have weight loss surgery is never an easy option, it's certainly not something that you just decide to do on a whim.  You don't just wake up one morning and decide that you are going to go through with it, it's a culmination of years of struggling and trying and failing, years of ridicule and isolation and the realization that if you don't do something soon, your life is going to slip before you.

I first began to get overweight in my early teenage years and it has continued until this day.  I am now twenty two, married to my wonderful husband, I guess my life should feel pretty much complete right about now.  But it doesn't.  My weight makes me the point of ridicule whenever we leave the house.  All I see when I'm out is the critical glare from the public, I hear the loudly whispered insults behind peoples hands and all I feel is despair.  I don't want my husband to have to go through this, I don't want him to hear these things, most of all I don't want to embarrass him.  I can hear him in my head right now telling me not to be silly, that he would never be embarrassed of me, but the truth is that it must get wearing for him.  There must be times where he longs for an outing to be a straightforward affair.  When we are out I slink from shadow to shadow in order to hide myself from the world, all I want to do is blend in with everyone else.  I have suffered from crippling depression for years, a good portion of it is due to the way people treat me.  A person can only take so much abuse before it starts to destroy the soul.

Three months ago I made the big decision to be referred by my GP to a bariatric surgeon with the hope of being able to have weight loss surgery.  Making that appointment with my GP was one of the most terrifying things I've ever done.  Thoughts swirled in my mind, was he going to laugh at me, was he going to insult me?  Several times in the days leading up to my appointment I thought about cancelling it, I couldn't imagine me being able to get the words out in front of him.  In the end I had absolutely nothing to be worried about.  I explained my situation to him, listed all of the methods I had tried to lose weight and explained how it affected my day to day life and myself emotionally.  He was truly caring and never once did I feel unwelcome.  As I left the doctor's office I felt a release of some kind, this was the beginning of everything.