Thursday afternoon after fasting for over 24 hours and being a starving deranged mess I finally went in for surgery to look at my insides. I awoke to pictures of my guts that made no sense to me.  Here is what I learned:

After my hysterectomy my insides were possibly not put back exactly right, which means my colon was put away near my cervix.  Scar tissue grew from my cervix to my colon and then attached those to my remaining ovary.  All of that attached to something else (I don't know what) and the result was a crushed colon and ovary and a relocated cervix.  They also found that my colon had attached itself to something that pulled it into my appendix and smooshed my appendix up against the wall of my insides.  Thus my appendix was "very irritated and angry."

I was not crazy.

They removed a ton of scar tissue from my colon and surrounding areas.  My ovary was able to be saved (yay!), my colon was able to be put back where it belonged, uncrushed and with room to function, my cervix was detached from other body parts and was put back where it belonged, my appendix was removed, and I should be good as new. The doctor described it as a "necessary tune up."

That clear part is more recent scar tissue.  The white part on the right side is old scar tissue that was holding my colon up against something that it didn't belong against. My doctor said the way my colon was smashed was causing me to not be able to digest food, causing it to sit inside of me for days and thus causing the swelling and bloating.  He also said had he not gone in when he did my appendix would have ruptured from the pressure of my colon being pressed against it.

I awoke to find three incisions instead of two.  One of them is right in the center of my tattoo.  My doctor did not do that one, the other doctor did. My doctor has always cut around my tattoos.  I am pretty sad, I hope it heels okay.

My biggest frustration is that I woke up the morning of the surgery weight 162. I was so close to my second goal weight of 160 pounds.  I was in the hospital for maybe a total of six hours and I left there weighing 169 pounds.

WHAT THE FUCK!

So much what the fuck.

I went into the hospital with my stomach looking flat, the shelf above my C-section scar was starting to smooth out and flatten, I was starting to get kind of skinny. I was beginning to like myself. Look at it, my stomach was flattening out.

Now I look like this

Lets close up on those bruises

I need to mention here that my surgery was on my front.  It was below my belly button.  It had nothing to do with my side.  Yet somehow my side is bruised. Badly.  It hurts.  My ribs hurt.  My front hurts from the inside like I had surgery.  My side however hurts like I got punched.  I'm super annoyed. I hadn't seen this yet when the doctor called so I couldn't ask him what in the fuck happened to my side, but something happened. 

The worst pain of all so far has come from the CO2 that they blew inside of my body.  At random times the air will move up to my shoulder tip and try to escape.  This is the most excruciatingly painful thing ever.  I hate this part of the heeling because it just comes on out of nowhere, with zero warning and stays for about four minutes.  I hate it.

Lets look at my front now. 

I am horrified.  I'm swollen, and bruised, and so fat.  So so fat.  I feel like I took about thirty five steps backward from where I was when I left the gym on Wednesday.  I've never come out of a laparoscopy (this is my 4th) with this kind of bruising.  My doctor did ask me if I felt beat up when we talked, and when I said yes the only thing he would say is, "I'm sorry that was the other doctor not me."  Again since I didn't know how bad the bruising was at that point I didn't ask more. Now though I want to know why my whole body is so bruised and fucked up.

Rationally I understand I just had surgery and I'm going to swell and maybe gain a little weight.  Irrationally I can't help but think all of my hard work has been undone.  I have to relose those seven pounds I struggled so hard to lose this month.  I have to work so so hard to flatten my stomach out again.  I can't even work out for 14 days.  Fourteen days.  I'm going to get so much fatter in fourteen days and lose my cute little arm muscles, and my legs are going to get fat again. 

I've spent my recovery trying to do the right things. Drink my protein shake in the morning. Eat reasonable portioned lunches and dinners.  I've only had ice cream one time and that was the day I came home after I had vomited up my entire stomach contents.

I am excited to see if I suddenly have a normal functioning body that digests its food the way it should.  I'm counting down the days until I can get back into the gym.  I'm ready to recover and get on with the show.

In the mean time my husband has been the bestest care taker ever.  He's brought me food, and let me lay in the center of our bed with the sheets folded around me just perfectly, and all six pillows behind my head.  He's let me text him pictures of bells when I needed him to bring me a pain pill or some gum. He's gone out to get me special lunch and basically been wonderful.

I've been staring at my awful pedicure for the last three days and I'm wondering if it would be pushing my luck to ask my husband to remove my toenail polish and give me a shiny new pedicure.  Hmmmmm.  He's at the grocery store now perhaps I will ask him when he returns.