This sharepost is part of a series about total body contouring plastic surgery that My Bariatric Life underwent following massive weight loss.
To say that I had been stressed would be an understatement. I phoned my surgeon twice in hysterics and tried to cancel the surgery over relatively minor things. And when I had to get an MRI, I began crying when shown the mask that need be placed over my head and the narrow coffin-like tube into which I would be placed. I had to be sedated.
That was the last straw for me, and I finally made a conscious decision to let go. My emotions had been spiraling out of control. It took me an entire day to process the letting go. My stomach was in knots the entire time, even through a two-hour pampering at the salon. My decision coincided with the elimination of all caffeine from my diet and my PCP doubling my dosage of an ACE inhibitor. I got off the wild ride on the emotional roller coaster. Or so I thought.
My PCP and Endocrinologist assured me that I was safe for surgery. The tests came back normal aside from my cortisol levels being high. So the Endocrinologist planned to screen me for that when I returned from my surgery.
High cortisol levels may explain why I was freaking out: "With this “˜haze’ of hormone that is always high and active in your bloodstream it creates a nightmare existence for you. It is an emotional haze, too. It’s not in your head, it’s zeroed in and targets your entire emotional structure. And unless you are on top of this uncontrollable anxiety emotional state, you live a life in Hell. And so do the people who are associated with you.”
I was calm during my vacation in California, until just four days before surgery when I received an email from my plastic surgeon’s practice. They did not have my medical clearance or EKG. My surgery could be cancelled. Well, that email put me back on El Toro again. I went batshit crazy and lashed out against the people who were trying to get me through surgery.
I did get through surgery, but to get to that point was hard. The situation got more difficult to deal with, and I was afraid I’d have a panic attack in the OR. I made my surgeon and physician’s assistant aware of this at my pre-op consults. It was hard but I had to discuss the traumatic event, which my surgeon knew about, but the P.A. did not. It was equally difficult for me to tell my surgeon that his innocuous emails and phone calls to me had been bringing on panic attacks. Even though I trusted him with my life, I was concerned that I might have a panic attack the next day as we prepared for my surgery.
But that evening a calm overcame me and I slept like a baby.
Living life well-fed,
My Bariatric Life
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