By December of 1999, I was getting very bad. I vomitted my meals on a regular basis. Dr. Aran had me taking my temperature on a regular basis throughout the day. This was eye opening, as I ran a low-grade fever almost all day long regularly. I don't remember feeling so desperate, as much as I was just in pain and wanted it to stop. I know people at work thought I had an eating disorder, as I often ran to the bathroom to vomit. What I know now is that the inflammation was so great, my food just wasn't going down! If it couldn't go down, it must go up.
My mom and sister and I go on an annual Christmas shopping trip to Dallas every year. It was on that trip that I knew I was not well. I spent most of the time sleeping in the car while they shopped and lost a couple meals while I was there. I already had an appointment with Dr. Aran the Monday I returned for an endoscopy. When he went in, my stomach was swollen shut. I could barely hold water down.
I remember coming to and seeing a very serious look on his face and my mom's face. They were talking quietly and I couldn't quite make out what they were saying. It was time for surgery and he wanted it in the next week at the very latest. I was a little goofy coming off the juice, so my head was still spinning. I was definitely in shock. I saw a surgeon before the week was up and my surgery was scheduled for the next Monday, December 14th.
When I met Dr. Melichar, whom I loved as well, I thought I was having exploratory surgery. My dad and sister met me at that appointment and I am so grateful they did, as most of the information went in and out. I was in a fog. When he described all that he was going to do, I remember saying, "Now this is laporascopic, right?" I thought he was pretty amazing to do that without cutting me open. He looked at me with very sweet and gentle eyes and said, "No, we have to cut you open." Of course, at 25 years of age, my first question was how big my scar would be. He pointed to his own stomach and said, "From here...to here." From his belly button, to the middle of his rib cage. Holy Hannah. This was the real deal. He went on to tell me that I would be out of work for 4 weeks and I couldn't lift for 6-8 weeks. That's a huge deal for an acute care occupational therapist. All I did was lift. In the next couple days, I prepared to be gone from my life for at least a month and braced myself for surgery.
I remember being nervous. I emailed a few friends that should know and was overwhelmed with the response from so many friends that the email had been forwarded to saying they were praying for me. That was the first time I remember feeling incredibly humbled and moved to tears that so many people from so many parts of my life were praying for me. It is hard to be on the receiving end. Very hard.
The morning of surgery, my mom and dad picked me up from my condo really early. I think I had to be at the hospital at 6am. I remember the moment like it was yesterday when my mom and dad dropped me off at the entrance while they went to park. I stood in the hospital I worked in, not as an employee, but as a patient...and future resident. As I was processing the moment, a co-worker walked by and said "Good Luck!" and I burst in to tears. My fear over took me from that moment on.
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