Prologue or Who Am I
My name is insignificant but my story is not.
At 39 years old, weighing 173 kgs (381 lbs; 27 st.), with heaps of health problems and a one-year old daughter, something had to be done. I had long lost my mobility and was registered disabled. I was unable to work, unable to go out and enjoy life and unable to get medical or practical help from the State. All the doctors who had seen me had dismissed me proclaiming there was nothing they could do until I had lost a significant amount of weight.
Just before Easter 2006 I got seriously ill and was transported to my local A&E (ER for the American friends) via ambulance. I had my baby daughter with me. It then became apparent that, unless I was well, I could not take care of her. After suffering the humiliation of vomiting all over my clothes and shoes as I sat helpless on the A&E bed with my daughter crying woefully next to me, my head thumping from the worst migraine anyone's ever experienced, I had to give my daughter up to my sister's care until I got better. That week I spent in hospital was very emotional but upon discharge I was determined to change my life.
I booked our passage to Greece, which is my homeland. I needed a rest and time to get better. Whilst a guest of my mother's, I came across a manicurist whose cousin had done the lap band surgery. 'Fancy that!' I exclaimed, 'I am waiting to see a consultant in London about the very same thing!' The manicurist put me in contact with her cousin and I got the details of the surgeon who had operated on her. Having nothing to lose, one afternoon I picked up the phone and made enquiries. My heart was beating fast and my pulse was racing. I couldn't believe I was actually doing this. It was the single bravest thing I had ever done in my life!
When mom got home I hurried to tell her the news full of joy but she was not supportive. I told my younger brother but he was not impressed, either. I felt deflated and depressed. Always, whenever I had wanted to do something important, they posed objections. But would it really be better to stay fat? I had so much trouble with my knees and was unable to walk indoors. I was getting some injections straight into my joint and each cost me 100 euro. Was that the only future I had to look forward to?
I rang my aunt Nina and she agreed to come with me to see the consultant. The rest is history. I saw him, asked him the questions, he was impressed by my medical knowledge. I spoke to other patients of his in the waiting room, saw their scars, heard their stories and left feeling reassured that there was a way out of my problematic life.
Later on I arranged to see another consultant, this time at the big hospital Hygeia. He was abrupt and rough with me and I was not impressed at all. He insisted the only surgery I should be having at my weight was gastric bypass. I refused it because I knew the dangers it carried. I needed something less drastic, less invasive, completely reversible and non mutilating. The seeds of doubt had been planted in my mind, however...
Finally, the evening before my departure for England I saw another consultant who shed lots of light in the haze of information I held. He was young, agreeable, informative, kept eye contact, was gentle, was not trying to avoid answering questions - I was besotted! But he wanted 2000 euro more for the same operation, even if he realised that I am not a rich woman, not in employment and have no private insurance.
I went back to England hoping that the NHS would approve me having the surgery abroad if it could not be held in the UK in good time. But the British consultant I saw at the Royal Free wanted to do an open surgery with bypass on me. I was heartbroken. Why did these surgeons insist on doing something mutilating? Hadn't I already done enough harm to my body without inflicting greater harm to it? He gave me the name of another consultant at the Whittington Hospital who was doing the kind of operation I wanted to do. I spent the following weeks trying to arrange a consultation but to no avail. Finally I decided I was wasting my time in England and made myself another ticket for Greece, determined to have my surgery there.
It was hard to make up my mind which of the two surgeons to select. The first one seemed to be a bit in a hurry to perform as many surgeries as possible but he had more experience, had dealt with more morbidly obese patients and was cheaper. The second one I felt I could trust implicitly but raising another 2,500 euro (after the first surgeon dropped his financial demands by 500 euro) would have been so hard. I decided to go with the first surgeon and met him on 4th July to make the necessary arrangements. He gave me advice on my anticoagulation treatment (as I was on warfarin since April) and pencilled me in for 7th July 2006.
I left his surgery feeling elated and a bit apprehensive.
My journey had began!
At 39 years old, weighing 173 kgs (381 lbs; 27 st.), with heaps of health problems and a one-year old daughter, something had to be done. I had long lost my mobility and was registered disabled. I was unable to work, unable to go out and enjoy life and unable to get medical or practical help from the State. All the doctors who had seen me had dismissed me proclaiming there was nothing they could do until I had lost a significant amount of weight.
Just before Easter 2006 I got seriously ill and was transported to my local A&E (ER for the American friends) via ambulance. I had my baby daughter with me. It then became apparent that, unless I was well, I could not take care of her. After suffering the humiliation of vomiting all over my clothes and shoes as I sat helpless on the A&E bed with my daughter crying woefully next to me, my head thumping from the worst migraine anyone's ever experienced, I had to give my daughter up to my sister's care until I got better. That week I spent in hospital was very emotional but upon discharge I was determined to change my life.
I booked our passage to Greece, which is my homeland. I needed a rest and time to get better. Whilst a guest of my mother's, I came across a manicurist whose cousin had done the lap band surgery. 'Fancy that!' I exclaimed, 'I am waiting to see a consultant in London about the very same thing!' The manicurist put me in contact with her cousin and I got the details of the surgeon who had operated on her. Having nothing to lose, one afternoon I picked up the phone and made enquiries. My heart was beating fast and my pulse was racing. I couldn't believe I was actually doing this. It was the single bravest thing I had ever done in my life!
When mom got home I hurried to tell her the news full of joy but she was not supportive. I told my younger brother but he was not impressed, either. I felt deflated and depressed. Always, whenever I had wanted to do something important, they posed objections. But would it really be better to stay fat? I had so much trouble with my knees and was unable to walk indoors. I was getting some injections straight into my joint and each cost me 100 euro. Was that the only future I had to look forward to?
I rang my aunt Nina and she agreed to come with me to see the consultant. The rest is history. I saw him, asked him the questions, he was impressed by my medical knowledge. I spoke to other patients of his in the waiting room, saw their scars, heard their stories and left feeling reassured that there was a way out of my problematic life.
Later on I arranged to see another consultant, this time at the big hospital Hygeia. He was abrupt and rough with me and I was not impressed at all. He insisted the only surgery I should be having at my weight was gastric bypass. I refused it because I knew the dangers it carried. I needed something less drastic, less invasive, completely reversible and non mutilating. The seeds of doubt had been planted in my mind, however...
Finally, the evening before my departure for England I saw another consultant who shed lots of light in the haze of information I held. He was young, agreeable, informative, kept eye contact, was gentle, was not trying to avoid answering questions - I was besotted! But he wanted 2000 euro more for the same operation, even if he realised that I am not a rich woman, not in employment and have no private insurance.
I went back to England hoping that the NHS would approve me having the surgery abroad if it could not be held in the UK in good time. But the British consultant I saw at the Royal Free wanted to do an open surgery with bypass on me. I was heartbroken. Why did these surgeons insist on doing something mutilating? Hadn't I already done enough harm to my body without inflicting greater harm to it? He gave me the name of another consultant at the Whittington Hospital who was doing the kind of operation I wanted to do. I spent the following weeks trying to arrange a consultation but to no avail. Finally I decided I was wasting my time in England and made myself another ticket for Greece, determined to have my surgery there.
It was hard to make up my mind which of the two surgeons to select. The first one seemed to be a bit in a hurry to perform as many surgeries as possible but he had more experience, had dealt with more morbidly obese patients and was cheaper. The second one I felt I could trust implicitly but raising another 2,500 euro (after the first surgeon dropped his financial demands by 500 euro) would have been so hard. I decided to go with the first surgeon and met him on 4th July to make the necessary arrangements. He gave me advice on my anticoagulation treatment (as I was on warfarin since April) and pencilled me in for 7th July 2006.
I left his surgery feeling elated and a bit apprehensive.
My journey had began!
posted by Tania at 8:13 AM
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