So, here I am a day after surgery. Guess what! I made it through in tact. With a few scars, a little less hair and a lot of learning to do.

The day went as planned. I arrived at seven thirty as instructed and was in my gown, support stockings and rather fetching paper knickers by eight. The formalities were taken care of - a couple of signatures were needed on well-guarded legal papers ensuring I wasn't able to claim for damages in the unlikely event of me failing the post operative "aliveness test". One point I would like to raise here is that the "unlikely event" was suddenly presented to me as 1in 1000; a dramatic increase of odds from the original 1 in 1666.6 recurring that I was originally quoted. Was this a method of getting people in then telling the truth so they were less likely to back out? Had the surgeon's month since seeing me last gone so drastically wrong? Either way - I was in my paper panties and nothing was going to get me out of them!

Following the sombre surgeon's sojourn, I was introduced to the man who was in the responsible position of anaesthetising me. A very nice chap with the most god-awful dress sense. I get the feeling it was some kind of patient amusement tactic. Making me believe that, I may well look like a transvestite mental asylum patient in a floral backless dress that flashed tight disposable panties, but at least I didn't look as silly as him. Or maybe he was just partaking of his own drugs.

I was led down the hall to the room where I was to be sedated and knocked out. This is where my innate coward pushed aside my bravado and made his way to the forefront of the stage. There, laid serenely in front of me, was what I can only describe as a mortuary slab with a green blanket. I looked back at the pendulous double swinging doors as they eased closed and surveyed my opportunities for a semi-clad escape. I was laying down before I could work out whether the doors would open outwards or whether a mad dash through would do the anaesthetist's job for him. The peer pressure of being so dressed on front of three professional people allowed a few more moments of assumed nonchalance to reappear through my devastated pride. I lay down and looked up.

As I considered the six nostrils floating above me, an oxygen mask was put over my face. Panic time! I desperately searched through my arsenal of puerile wit and innuendo so I could disarm the team into such fits of hysterics that I could take flight, or at least delay this trip for a few more minutes.

My hand was prepared for the drugs and a cannula inserted. I didn't have much time!

Eureka! I created a joke. One so funny that they would be in stitches before me! I made my pre-emptive strike...

As the first two words of my epic joke were muttered...I found myself rather confused about the fact that I seemed to skip right to the end, miss the middle, miss the punchline and awake sobbing in the recovery room. Here I would like to assure all readers that it's perfectly normal for emotions to run a little high whilst waking up from the anaesthetic. And that I am indeed a little girl.

I had read as many stories about the post-surgery pain that I could. All searches that I had made under "no pain after surgery" had assured me that there would be very little to none at all. In fact, I was so annoyed by the discrepancy in these stories and fact that I wiped the tears from my face and questioned the nurse on whether they had actually had to do open surgery instead of the promised laproscopic one. She reassured me that everything had gone smoothly and requested more tissues for me from her colleague.

Eventually I pulled myself together and allowed them to wheel me back to my room. All the way wondering if something wasn't quite right. Had my searches for "no pain after surgery" been misleading?

As the hours passed by slowly and the pummelling leg massagers pummelled, I really got to grips with the pain I was feeling. After being sneered at by one nurse for not having the experience to understand true pain until I was able to give birth, I queried my tolerance to other feelings outside of my own comfort. Was I just "being a man" and not handling it at all well? I came to the conclusion, yes - I was.

The pain, initially described as 9 out if 10 (10 probably feeling one step away from the gates of hell) was re-evaluated in my mind as the anaesthetic wore off, as merely "heavy discomfort". Apparently they pumped my abdominal cavity full if gas so as to spread the organs and make surgery easier. A little like the stories one hears of brattish children using straws to inflate frogs before popping them.And this was what was causing my distress.

Imagine being forced to drink a litre of very fizzy Pepsi in ten seconds. That feeling of just before you erupt in a thunderous belch - held in place by someone tying up the opening of your stomach. Or that feeling when you under chew and rush swallow something far to big and indigestible for your narrow pipes - like a tough piece of steak. As it makes its way slowly down to the stomach neck - then momentarily fools you into thinking these are your last moments on earth. Immense and intense agony for people with a pain threshold such as mine - passable and manageable for others.

This cause me to get very little sleep last night and I had to sit upright throughout. I also subjected myself to a truly dreadful film with Matt Damon and Thandie Newton. I was unsure at that point with was more painful to sit through.

Today is a slightly different story. The abdominal gas is still present but now displays itself in "referred" format. The gasses press hard against my diaphragm and cause my shoulder and back to hurt. The muscles that I am using to move my excessive bulk about that are compensating for my temporarily retire stomach muscles are not used to carrying the majority of my weight and are, in turn, screaming back at me for subjecting them to such torture.

I am able to drink clear liquids far more easily today and I can feel myself getting much better with every hour that passes. Touch wood, all will be back to normal fairly shortly.

I am due to be on liquids until Monday then pureed food for four weeks. I am quite a fan of baby food - so don't think this is going to be much of a problem. After then I will move on to small portions of solid foods for the rest of my days. No bread, pasta or rice or anything that could block the passage way through my newly partitioned stomach. A regime of watching exactly what I eat will be in order from now on along with a healthy dose of exercise. The edge of my hunger will be abolished from when I have my first band fill in five weeks time, in which case it will give me that helping hand that I have been missing from previous efforts.

All in all, I would say that I don't particularly want to go through surgery again (mainly because I am pathetic with pain, but slightly because of the disposable panties) - but I am very much looking forward to being able to explore a new kind of life in the coming years.

I do believe I now deserve a co-codamol / Voltarol cocktail!

For those of you who are starting to read these posts from outside the Lap Band community and want to know I little more about what I have had done, you can follow this link which sums everything up pretty nicely: Lapband.com - About the LAP-BAND® Adjustable Gastric Banding System

If you would like to see the stories of others who have gone through the procedures, their trials and amazing successes, please visit http://www.lapbandtalk.com or http://www.ukgastricband.co.uk

Originally posted at: Lap Band Blog

Great to hear all this. I am having this done on 3-9-09. I am a little nervous and after reading this, I am a little more nervous but glad to hear anything anyone has to say. I can't wait to hear more from you, and following your progress.

djzlady96

P.S. I have never birthed children either, so I guess I can't understand that pain.

Never fear - I am told my pain receptors are far more sensitive than most people I know - on top of that, you won't have the downside of being a chap - see how we handle having a simple cold?! I do believe I have been as pathetic in the past as to use the words "flu", "shooting migraine" and even "bastard tumour" instead of the phrase "a little sniffle".

All the best for your surgery next week - it won't be nearly as bad as I liked to moan!

Glad you made it through Ben...what doesn't kill us makes us stronger...LOL. What happened with the humor defense?...you've got to be ready man! I'll have to get my escape jokes ready now! I've been through 3 childbirths and two surgeries, but no external incisions...I'm starting to get nervous too, but you sound like my DH...he suddenly got the 'flu' everytime I went into childbirth mode...I was on to him by the third one. -BG

Ben, you survived! It was a pleasure to read your blog and your view of the procedure. I will be experiencing the surgery in 24 days, here in Arizona, and I am looking forward to my new beginning. I have a really high pain tolerance so I have no reservations about it. I wish you the very best in your journey.

You are inspiring! Thank you! The humour you use to relate your stories makes me feel so much more comforatble about what I will be going through as well.

Thanks Ben! :cursing:) Dawn

Thanks for your comments fellow (and soon to be fellow) bandies!

Always good to know someone is reading this veral diarreah!

Are you for real? I am so sorry it was so painful. I just went through my surgery on the 27th of April. I have to tell you that I have a high tolerance for pain, so I believe that we are at the opposite ends of the threshold. I wish that I had your ability to dramatize in words the vary essence of the each moment of the "ride to the operating room" the way you do. Bravo!Bravo! You gave me an experience that I did not have. I was cool, calm, and collected the whole time. One question that I have for you is; "What do you do on roller coasters?"

4luci - I envy your abiliy to take pain so well - I had a slightly uncomfortable hang-nail incident last week. I nearly passed out.

Rollercoasters = unnecessary tears = avoid at all costs for fear of embarrassing myself.