Tag Archives: life after death

6 Weeks: Getting Stronger **Graphic Images**

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These are suppose to be my ‘goal jeans’ but I can button em soooo I wore them out yesterdays. Bam! Holy booty batman. Size 29 low rise bell bottom jeans!

These last two weeks have seemed to drag on and pass too quickly all at the same time. Physically, I’m getting stronger. I feel a little better; a little more like myself each day. I haven’t been sleeping too well lately. I know I have a lot on my mind. Like I said in my previous post, March is an emotionally heightened month for me.

I can’t believe in just a couple weeks, I’ll be 30 and Paul and I would have celebrated our 4th wedding anniversary. It’s rough to think about. And still seems unreal. His picture sits on our mantle and sometimes I just look at it and kinda have a conversation with him. I don’t believe he is here in any sense other than my own memories and the memories of others; but there’s some type of comfort in ‘talking’ to him. I was doing my crunches the other day and I looked up and saw that picture: I was like bet you’d never believe you’d see me doing this so diligently. And I kinda chuckled. Then I was sad. I’m sad now.

Lisa and I just celebrated our 1st anniversary. Wow. Let that sink in. I can’t believe it’s been a year; in so many aspects. She is incredible. We have such a good time together. We don’t fight or argue. We don’t lack passion. She gets me. We just enjoy each other’s company. She makes me want to keep pressing forward and supports my healthier lifestyle (even when I don’t want to). We have already had so many adventures and both ventured outside of our comfort zones and never once regretted it. We are going to the Bahamas in less than 2 weeks and we are beyond thrilled. On the flip side, it’s been a year that I’ve been with someone other than Paul. It’s been 480 days since I saw Paul; since I heard his voice. I think he’d want me to be happy. In fact, I know he would. Despite knowing this, it doesn’t make it any easier. I miss that goofy guy.

I have had several follow ups with my physicians and had my concerns addressed. I spoke to my primary doctor about my weight (number) obsession and where I need/supposed to be. She told me that she thinks it is absolutely reasonable to get to a weight which would allow me to NOT have a diagnosis (i.e. overweight). According to the BMI, she would like to see me at 147lbs. I am currently weighing in at about 158. As per my plastic surgeon, I am ‘allowed’ to lose up to 12lbs without worry of disrupting my plastic surgery. And I have, approximately, 7-10 lbs of skin left to remove. Anyways, those are the numbers. I know a lot of you don’t agree with watching the numbers. But when we completely ignore the numbers, it’s easier to slip. It’s easy to add a lb here, a lb there until we have now packed on 20 lbs or more. I’ve done it so I know first hand. The scale is not a measurement of who you are. It is merely a measurement of how much you LITERALLY weigh. I choose to use it as an accountability tool; not as a means to define me as a person but, rather, as way to keep me on the track I worked so hard to be on. My dietitian and exercise physiologist have agreed that weighing weekly is a good way to stay on track. It works for me. So that’s what I plan to do.

6 weeks

My plastic surgeon told me that the skin at my elbows is normal and allows room for my elbow to bend. I didn’t really  believe him so I’ve been checking out EVERYONE’S elbows that I pass. And, more often that not, that skin is there except on the very skinny people. Weird. I’ve never noticed before. He told me to continue to take it easy on my arms, that they are healing still, and to pay close attention to my elbows as to not bump them. That piece of skin under my right arm is a ‘dog ear’ which is a fairly common complication with skin removal. He told me that it’s easily fixed in the office but would like to give my body 8 more weeks to heal. My right boob is so much better. The bruising is gone but it hasn’t completely settled down. It’s still sore and hurts. My t-rex arms are getting better. I can reach things a lot better now. I’m still numb on the lower half of both breasts and the backs of my arms. It makes it difficult to get comfortable. I still am having to sleep on my back and prop my arms on pillows to be comfortable. It’s difficult to explain. It’s not necessarily painful (on my arms; it is on my right boob) to put pressure on it; it’s just weird because it’s numb. Like, I can feel, internally, that pressure is being put on my arms but I can’t actually feel it superficially. It’s not a pleasant sensation.

Arm progression
I’m super pleased with my arm incisions and my range of motion is improving.
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Going out for the first time since surgery. First time EVER to go out without a bra!!

I’ve stayed on track with exercising. I’ve done a minimum of 200 crunches every night for over 2 weeks. I’ve now incorporated arm training and squats (alternating days). It feels pretty good. I’m really hoping to get more consistent on my morning walks but I’ve just been so tired from not sleeping well that it hasn’t been happening like I’d like it to but I do plan on going tomorrow morning.

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Not noticing much progression but I’m feeling better.

Boobies on the Mend: 3 Week Post Op & Reflection

Oh man. Where to start? It’s a long week or so.

Let’s start with my physical stuff. So, my right boob has been concerning. On February 2, my supervisor went to take her jacket off, turned and accidentally ‘punched’ me in my right boob. If you recall, my right boob required more reconstruction than my left and has been more painful and not exactly aesthetically pleasing. When this happened, it knocked the wind out of me. I didn’t really put 2 and 2 together at my 2 week post op appointment when the medical assistant questioned the new bruising on the 4th. At work the following day is when I realized the two were linked so I called my doc. The bruising progressively worsened and they wanted to see me the following week. I had my 3rd week follow up this past Wednesday day. He squeezed and manipulated my breasts. It was awkward since I don’t have feeling superficially to below my nipple. He told me I had 2 hematomas and that he could feel that an internal suture(s) ripped causing the bleeding. He needed to evacuate it! He stuck a 2 in. 18 gauge needle through my incision around my nipple and moved the needle around, pulled back on a 20 ml syringe trying to find the pocket. He got out 5 mls of dark red blood. Nothing else. He felt again and said he need to try again but would have to go through the breast. Eek. He attempted 3 additional sticks. Ouch. Although I have no feeling on the surface, I do have deep sensation. I started to sweat and turned ghost pale. He wasn’t able to get anything else out, sadly. He told me to just watch it and that it’d hopefully resolve. He was concerned regarding the possibility of infection. Since my appointment, my bruising has significantly reduced and the color is now green so I’m happy about that. His assistant called me yesterday to check on me and my doctor is still concerned so he has started me on a round of antibiotics. Better safe than sorry.

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Current boobies! Bruising is SOOO much better today! The itching has begun! 2/14

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Otherwise, my incisions are healing well, I’m sleeping better (no more night sweats), I’m rarely requiring tylenol and the tape residue is ALMOST gone. My incisions are so fine and I’m excited to see the end result. The only source of pain is still under my arms. Constant bending of the incisions and chaffing is sometimes unbearable! My doctor told me it was my compression garment so I’ve tried just sleeves. Nope. I’ve tried gauze. Nope. I’ve tried bandaids which have helped the most buuuut then they chaff my actual armpit. Ugh. The struggle. Now, I’m using zinc oxide (baby butt paste which is helping). My 4 weeks is Tuesday and I no longer have to wear my compression sleeves unless I want to! That’s exciting and no compression garments does feel best on my underarms. Although, I still don’t have feeling to my incision sites to about a quarter inch on both side of it so it’s a weird sensation. And it makes me paranoid that it’ll rub on somethings so I’m now wearing long sleeves and I foresee me wearing compressions at work this week but we will see.

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3 Week Arm Incisions are faint!!
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The arm crease is the most painful. Still numb on the underside of my arm.

 

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Exciting! I get to wear a bra!

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I had my first therapy session post operatively. It was much needed and very over due. I feel like I word vomited all over her the moment my booty hit the couch. I’ve been struggling. My anxiety has been on high. Feeling a bit depressed. Feeling upset that I’m upset. And isn’t that some shit? Not only to have these feelings but to, also, have feelings about the feelings. It’s a bitch! I’ve been missing Paul more intensely. I feel guilty. I feel alone. It’s all a bit over whelming really. In my session, I said multiple times “I’ve wanted this as long as I can remember and these feelings are absurd. ABSURD!” Her first response to me “how about you give yourself permission to feel the way you feel?” I sat back. Sighed. And thought ‘well isn’t that a novel idea?’ Ha ha. It’s literally never occurred to me. And I let that thought soak in and I said ‘okay’. As she summed up what I said, the series of events is very overwhelming and the thought comes to me ‘well holy fuck dude. That’s kinda like a lot’. And Lisa has told me most of these things but I guess there’s just something about the third party, impartial somebody saying it that makes it stick. She reinforced that my mind, my heart, my body has been through a lot in this past year. She told me that I’m now having to grieve the loss of my ‘body’ while in the midst of grieving over my husband. It’s okay to be upset. It’s okay to say I’m not where I want to be. And in the moments of chaos, it’s hard to realize that it won’t always be this way. I won’t ALWAYS feel this way. I won’t ALWAYS feel out of control. Eventually, it will pass. She also brought up the point that I’m not as active as I’m used to being which effects my mind and body. I’m a very independent person that is temporarily at a point where I’m having to ask for help and not in a big way…in the small ways and that has an impact. Man oh man. I needed that reality check.

My mom gave me this little sign over a year ago that says: “You can do ANYTHING. You just can’t do EVERYTHING”. I think I have to realize and accept my limitations. I have to learn to be okay with them as they are a part of me and make me human.

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The Best Moments of YOUR Life

Close your eyes. Imagine all of the best moments of your life. Name the best two. Now, if you had 30 seconds to live or relive what would they look like?

This was the exercise my amazing charge nurse did with the four of us nurses in my department about a week ago. Answers varied from triumph over traumatic violation to children to marriage to the feeling of God. All heart warming. All brought tears to my eyes. Thirty seconds to relish in the hug of a child; 30 seconds to thank a stranger; 30 seconds to sit with your dad.

I sat there with my eyes closed. Floods of images came to mind. At the forefront: my grandparents, Paul, our wedding day, our first date, conversations with my brother, closing on our home, sky diving, day drinking in Austin, the day my brother asked me to be his best man, drinking and dancing with Lisa in my kitchen, graduating nursing school, my mom’s tumor is found to be benign, cards with my family, Tennessee, Vegas with my mom, making out in the McDonald’s freezer, skipping school to hang with my bff, my Papa teaching me to drive in his 89 Chevy, Cruise to Mexico. So many.

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The Christmas we spent at the hospital after my brother had grand mal seizures. It was stressful and scary but we were all together. This was the day my brother gave me the sweetest card and asked me to be his best man.

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When my turn came to share my 2 best moments, I was so choked up I could barely get the words out of my mouth.  The first I picked wasn’t my wedding day; although it was a great moment and truly one of the best. The very best day of my life was a series of moments really…the ones within the two weeks of first meeting Paul. On June 12, 2010, I started talking to this wonderful man that kept me chatting then on the phone until like 3am. We had our first date on the 13th. I remember the butterflies in my stomach as I walked out of Bank of America in my bright pink sun dress. It was a windy day. I walked towards the blue Trail blazer and climbed in. He was buckled in his seat belt. Blue stripped shirt. Goatee. A smile that beamed from ear to ear. “What’s up”. And my world was forever changed.  Within two weeks, this girl that was ‘never getting married’ talked to her brother on the phone and told him how she was going to marry him. What a wonderful time.

The next best day of my life came just a couple weeks ago. I’ve told you of the unforeseen panic attack of my first shower post op. I’ve never felt such panic but in those moments came the best moment. Lisa. It’s a blur getting from the shower to the bed, those probably 10 steps. But me lying on the bed. Naked. Panicked. The world spinning. Eyes closed. “It’s okay. I’m here. You’re not alone.” And then I was calm. Eyes still closed, I thought about the last time she said that to me “you’re not alone”. Those are powerful words to me. They evoke this emotion in me. And stir me up. And make me cry but not in a bad way. Although, I have loads of people that love and support me, I feel alone. And the next best moment of my life is her. My next chapter of happiness. The fact that I’m not going to live out my life alone. Sure I cherish my memories and I always will, but I don’t have to live out my life with just those memories. And, that, that is wonderful.

And the 30 seconds I’d live over? The last moment I saw Paul. In that hospital room. Our last hug. Our last I love you. I’d hold him tight and I’d tell him that he was my world, that I loved him more than imaginable and I’d thank him. I’d not take those 30 seconds for granted. I didn’t know I was at the time but I guess I did because when I look back on that moment, that hug, that I love you–it was an every day I love you. Ya know what I mean?

I loved this exercise even though it made me cry. And lying here, typing this, I’m crying. I think back on the Jillian Michael’s event that I went to recently when she quotes Thoreau’s: The Mass of Men. We lead these lives that we really don’t want. I love my job but not one of my memories is the best day of my life a work day. It’s always an experience, a loved one, a feeling. So I want more of that. More love and laughter; less worry and waste. I hope you work towards that as well.

Early in our relationship. First trip to TN
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Drinking and dancing in my kitchen

Where’s my satisfaction? Where’s my happiness?

**Right boob update: so the mystery is solved. I had forgotten that 3 days ago, a co-worker accidentally punched me in the right boob. I was following behind her and she went to take off her jacket and **whack** right in the right boob where all the bruising is! It knocked the wind outta me. I’m thankful that we figured this out. And don’t be hard on my co worker–it was totally an accident, she’s amazing! She even drew on my boob to outline the bruise so I could track it’s progression/regression!

“Wow” “I don’t even recognize you” “You look amazing” “You have done so much”. These are all common compliments I get from a multitude of people. I wanted to take a moment and just thank everyone for all of the support. I truly appreciate it.

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Size 7/9 jeans. Low Rise.

 

Today, I visited my old floor. I transferred about 4 months ago. It always feels like home when I visit even though there are so many new faces. When I visit, I always hope for some juicy trauma drama gossip but my weight loss and surgery usually are the topic. I’m sure that’ll change over time. I enjoy talking about my journey; it’s been a long one. I love talking with these wonderful women who have known me since 2013 and have seen me at my heaviest and they were there when I started my weight loss journey and when Paul died, they were there to pick to me up. They have shown me unconditional love and compassion and support and I’m eternally grateful to these wonderful ladies. So, it should not come at any surprise that they are all just so absolutely supportive and positive towards me and the progress that I’ve made with my health, weight and body transformation.

Today, I was met with all smiling faces and kind words. I have been just a bundle of emotions  since the beginning of the year (well, really since November 12, 2014–if I’m totally honest) and it has peaked since having surgery. I’ve touched on it a bit in a previous blog but this plastic surgery has really messed with my head. I was fully prepared for pain and recovery; I wasn’t prepared for exhaustion and mental torture. Okay, maybe that’s a bit dramatic, but, at times, that’s exactly what it feels like. I was all ready to knock this plastic surgery out and get to where I want to be but I’ve had a reality check.

I’m struggling with my identity and who I see in the mirror. I will never forget: standing in the shower. Naked. Lisa standing by to help me get my bandages/dressings off. I felt the water run down my body. I look to my left and, in the mirror, there she is; that girl. Frankenstein girl. Incisions. Perky boobs. Thin arms. I can see a her rib cage. And the room spins. I’m dizzy. Disoriented. My hearing is muffled. I’m slightly nauseated. And, for a second, I thought I’d pass out. Lisa helped me to the bed. I can’t remember the steps between the shower and my bed. And I laid on my back, on my bed, eyes shut. And I hear her calm voice, “it’s okay. I’m here”.

I’ve worked so hard and made a lot of sacrifices to get where I am today. I feel like my whole life has built to this point. I loved Paul; I love Paul. I will say it over and over because it is always true and pertinent. Although, as most know, it was never my ‘dream’ to get married or to have a family. Don’t get me wrong, I just want to be clear; I’ve said it many times: he was the dream I never knew I wanted; he was a love I never knew existed and, not for one second, have I ever regretted any moment we had together. That aside, you know what my dreams were? I wanted to be a successful career woman, self-sufficient and THIN. That’s what I wanted. Maybe it seems a bit shallow, but having been the fat girl for as long as I can recall…I wanted that. I wanted to look like the ‘regular girls’. I wanted to feel comfortable in my skin. I wanted to travel and not think about my hips squeezed into an airplane seat. And, now…I have that. Where’s my satisfaction? Where’s my happiness? That’s what was supposed to happen, right? I’ve shed the weight. I’ve met every one of my weight loss goals. I’ve got these perky boobs and slender arms. My god man; it’s, literally, all I’ve ever dreamed it could be.

My former co-worker and I were chatting. She said some things that really shook me. She described her impression of me, of first knowing me. (I’m paraphrasing) ‘To look at you, you were this shy, timid girl and now I see this confident girl that shines’. I was taken aback because I don’t know when that happened. I guess although I have these mounds and mounds of self-doubt that there is something under there. I just gotta dig it out. So, that gives me hope. Maybe I can’t see it quite yet but others do and that gives me hope.

It really is a constant battle; between what you think you want, what you actually want and what actually is. I’m so thankful for all these wonderful people in my life. Without you, I don’t know where I would be.

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Love after death and bigotry: Love chose me; I said yes. It’s not your place to judge.

 

Love chose me; I said yes. It’s not your place to judge. 

I’m from a religious family. All my life I’ve heard how homosexuality is wrong. I’ve never agreed. I’ve always believed in love. I’ve always sided with equality. I’ve always been loudly in favor of the freedom of choice. And when I found myself in a relationship with a person who brightened my life on the darkest of my days; who accepted and celebrated my love with Paul; who quickly became my best friend and love interest; when that person was a woman; I tolerated and even walked on eggshells for others’ religious convictions. After a few conversations and encounters over the past couple days…I reject the bigotry of my family and friends. We can agree to disagree. Have your convictions. But have them silently. Because at the end of the day, I still believe…if you can’t say anything nice; don’t say anything at all.

All my teenage and adult life, my father has been absent. My father is an intelligent man and a wise man in many ways. My father has devoted the last 10+ years to ‘Yahweh’. He rejects Christianity but in many ways he is just like those certain Christians that we all have encountered. He has preached time and time again about how wicked homosexuality is and how Yahweh hates it. My sister is homosexual and don’t get me started on the struggles that she has had to endure on her own journey along with those she’s faced with my father. To his credit, he has tried in the best way he can to be tolerant. I have walked on eggshells with him. I try just not to mention it. But in recent events, he has made efforts to give the appearance of acceptance. And at the first opportunity, he is quick to point out his efforts. Today was no exception. He told me today that he has done more for me in terms of accepting my ‘choices’ than he has with anyone else because he loves me and that credit should be paid given his beliefs. While I recognize his efforts, I reject the pedestal he is perched upon! Accept me; don’t accept me. I don’t really care but don’t you put on a show of tolerance and expect me to bow at your feet. It’s not going to happen.

On the flip side, my heart was touched by my mother in law, a very conservative Christian. A wonderful woman. A woman with a huge heart. She of all people is allowed to take pause. I knew that me announcing that I was pursuing a relationship with a woman within the first year of my husband’s, her son’s, death would be a bitter and difficult pill to swallow. I did not push her. I did not say anything directly to her. I allowed her time. I had no expectations of her. I was fully prepared for her to shun me; for her to not accept me. This weekend she left me in awe. She was so very honest with me. She shared with me how she had a difficult time coping with the news last year. She told me she had to unfollow me on Facebook for a period of time. She went on to tell me that she reflected and she realized that I wasn’t disrespecting Paul. She saw what a positive force Lisa was in my life. She saw how Paul’s memory and our love still lived on. She recognize what a wonderful person she must be to accept that in her life and in our life together. I was truly humbled. Here in front of me sits the mother of my late husband. A mother who should have never had to ‘bury’ her son of only 30 years; a conservative Christian mother. She told me that she could never condone my choices but that she accepted me and loved me. She told me she wanted to know her. She told me we would always be family. And I love her more deeply for this conversation. I recognize how hard this was for her to arrive at. I love her more for never making me feel ashamed, for recognizing that she had to step back and do some soul searching. And I love her for being able to have her convictions and to still be able to love and support me without making it feel as though she’s doing me a favor.

Love, life, death and grief are hard to juggle. They are even more difficult to explain. There is not one day that goes by that I don’t think of Paul. I don’t ever foresee a day where he won’t be a part of me. He has forever changed my life and who I am and I will love him forever. Love does not end when death rears it’s ugly head. My life did end the day my husband died but I did not die. I could have but I chose not to. I chose to go on and to make a new life. I have a big heart. And I’m able to love him and love another. I’m able to keep my memories and to make new ones. I’m able to grieve and to laugh. I don’t have to choose between the two. The grief of losing a spouse is never ending.  You learn to adapt. I’ve chosen to adapt. You can’t know unless you’ve been here. I feel fortunate to have found someone who accepts all that I am; all that I’ve been through; a person who wants to make my life brighter but allows me my darkness; who wants to celebrate this life with me and to make it better. Who be it to say that it is wrong just because she is a woman? Who be it say that it wrong because I’m a widow?

I hope that everyone finds love like these; a love that changes you-that enhances you. I hope that everyone gets to experience the look in these pictures.

My Story: my weight struggle, gastric Bypass and my husband’s death…

 

Senior in high school 2003 I hadn’t stepped on a scale in a long time Estimated weight 230lbs
After a break up and living on my own, my weight soared. Estimated weight >300lbs
2009 About 250 lbs

 

2011 280 lbs
My wedding day March 17, 2012 The happiest day of my life. Weigh was about 285lbs.

My entire life I’ve been the chubby girl, the overweight girl, the shy girl. I never knew what it was like to shop in the non-plus size section of a clothing store.  I didn’t know what it was like to enjoy physical activity.  I didn’t know that food played such a large part in my life until I started my weight loss journey in May 2014.

I was the yo-yo dieter. All or nothing—starve myself and exercise incessantly or binge at every meal and sit on my butt all day. Drop 50lbs; gain 60.  I didn’t know moderation.  I remember us as a family gorging ourselves at family dinners. Everyone ate until they were miserable.  This is how I thought you were supposed to eat.  I loved food. I still love food. Food was my crutch in every way. I was happy-I ate. I was sad-I ate. I was bored-I ate.  Food probably was the best friend I ever had-it never let me down.

First picture together 2010

I met the love of my life, Paul  , in the summer of 2010. I was the thinnest that I had ever been in my adult life. I was 225lbs for all of one week. Our romance and love story began. He was absolutely everything I never knew I wanted. I knew instantly that he was different and he was going to be very important to me. I knew I was going to marry him within 2 weeks of knowing him. And such the way it usually goes with dating, we drank—we ate—always in excess. I was the absolute picture of ‘fat and happy’.

But in 2014, I found myself in a place where my weight peaked at 341lbs. I was constantly out of breath. I avoided activity for fear of what I’d look like, not being able to do it, etc. I missed out on a lot. Paul and I dreamed of traveling but it never happened. Sure money played a part in it but, more so, was the fact that I didn’t think I’d fit in the airplane seat. There were all these things I wanted to do: travel, sky dive, horseback riding, roller-coasters, marathons—none of which I could because I was too heavy, too out of shape. I found WeightWise (http://weightwise.com/). I looked into Gastric Bypass. I was skeptical but I was overwhelming surprised by their program.  It was everything I needed. And so I started my journey. I made dietary changes. I got active. I told all my family and loved ones.

May 2014 Peak weight: 341 lbs

In the months leading up to my surgery, my husband and I listed and sold our current home, built and then closed on our brand new dream home. We both had very solid jobs and our future was bright. I was slowing losing weight and becoming healthier. He had, also, quit drinking. My husband was very supportive. He was so happy and up for a promotion at work.

Day of surgery Last picture Paul ever took of me 295 lbs

November 12, 2014 was a Wednesday. Paul and I got up super early and drove to the hospital. He was rather nervous. I was excited. My mom met us there. While in pre-op, my surgeon came in and instructed Paul to be my water Nazi, to line up medicine cups, fill them with water and make me take a shot every 5 minutes after surgery. I remember my mom telling Paul ‘take a look at her ass. It’s the last time you’ll see it’. We laughed. My surgery took a few hours longer than anticipated. I arrived in my room where mom and Paul were waiting for me. They took care of me. I had terrible nausea. Paul lined those medicine cups up and did just as he was instructed. I’d never seen him look so concerned since he was the happy go lucky type. I wanted to walk. He was nervous about it. He wanted me to stay in bed. But he escorted me around the hallway each time I got up. He got me ice packs. He was perfect. He was tired and wanted to go home. My mom was staying the night with me since he had to work the next day. Before he left, he filled my ice pack one more time. He hugged and kissed me good-bye. His last words to me ‘Drink. Drink. Drink. Walk. Walk. Walk. I love you, baby. I’ll see you tomorrow’.

Day 1 post op

If only I had known that that would be the last time. I would have held him longer. I would have…

There’s no sense in talking ‘what ifs’. They will drive you crazy. I hadn’t heard from him that next morning or afternoon.  I was worried. After being discharged, I called around to try to find out if anyone had seen or heard from him. I remember having this just nauseating feeling in the pit of my stomach. I remember telling my mom that I knew something was wrong. Once I spoke to our friend that he worked with and him saying ‘No. He wasn’t at work today’. I knew that he wasn’t okay. My sister agreed to go check on him. Our friend agreed to go check on him. My mom’s friend agreed to check on him. Our friend called when he got to the house. I walked him through how to get in our garage. I asked how many cars there were. He says ‘two’. Oh my god. I can’t even describe the sick feeling I had. I knew. I heard the alarm say ‘garage door’ as he walks through the house I hear him ‘Paul? Paul? Are you here?’. The phone dropped. The call ended.  I screamed at my mom telling her I needed to get home right at that moment. I’d never seen my mom drive that fast. I kept saying…’He’s dead, mom. I know it. I just know it’. We were speeding down the road when the phone rang. When I heard ‘Jessie, is your mom there…” in this voice that was trying so hard not to crack. I swear my heart stopped. I knew…I knew right then. I pulled at the door but it was locked and mom pulled over as she talked on the phone. I fell out of the car. I screamed ‘He’s dead. He’s dead. Noooo.’ I pounded my fists on the ground and I pulled the wet grass with my bare hands. My mom pulled me up, tears in her eyes, trying her best to console me. I have no idea what she was saying. I punched the dash board and screamed. That whole ride is a blur. I remember just mom and I sobbing. We pulled up to the curb across the street as there were cop cars in front on my house. The officer kneels down ‘Ma’am. Mrs. Ashworth. Do you know what has happened?’.  ‘Yes, my husband’s dead’.  He and my mom’s friend practically carried me in.

He had had his favorite meal: Papa John’s ham and onion pizza and a cookie and a bowl of ice cream. ESPN was still on the T.V. Mollie was curled in his arms; his phone on the charger on the night stand.

My husband died the same night I had my Gastric Bypass. How cruel this life can be. Paul’s life ended where my new life began.

And so my real journey began…

Day of Paul’s Memorial Size 20 pants