Self-Stabbing: A Cautionary Tale

I wasn't sure if I would blog about this, because I know my reputation for being boring and uptight responsible will take a major hit. But since I started this blog to keep track of the whole band saga, I can't leave this part out.

About three weeks ago I had a fill, and it was a tough one. I was too tight, as Gilly wisely pointed out when I mentioned that I threw up way too often. But I have an appointment scheduled for next week so I was hoping to just hang on, maybe drop a few extra pounds and see my surgeon just before we leave for the Bahamas next week.

I had several consecutive days of throwing up every day, sometimes twice. This is really rare for me - when I get sick, it's usually once every month or so, around ovulation or my period. That's it. But just as I was about to call my doctor, the damn thing opened up and I was able to eat with caution. Definitely enough to get the nutrition I needed, although probably not enough solids. Anyway, was planning to get the unfill when I go in on the 20th.

Then on Tuesday I got sick in the morning, and things just got worse and worse. I was in the middle of preparing for a cocktail party and kept having to run to throw up. I was shaky from not having been able to keep anything down, miserable and beyond anxious about the party.

My doctor's office is usually tough to get into, and time was of the essence. While I was heaving into the toilet, I looked up and saw a baggie with a syringe and needle. My surgeon had given it to me to take when I travel, after I told him that my mom and sister are nurses. He gave me rudimentary tips to pass on to them, and reassured me that in a pinch he thought they'd be fine taking some fluid out because it's not that hard.

Here, friends, is where the wheels came off.

All logic went out the window. I was desperate to loosen my band, there were people downstairs getting my house ready for a party, my kids were about to come home from school, I was expecting 70 guests in a few hours. I washed my hands, swabbed my abdomen with alcohol and started stabbing. I laid down (like my surgeon does it), but couldn't hit the target. I stood up. Still no luck. I swabbed and swabbed the little pinholes of blood, feeling more desperate every time and occasionally stopping to throw up again. Good times.

Finally, even I realized this was a really bad idea. I called my surgeon's office; he was out of town but his partner agreed to meet me. I was hugely relieved.

Then I started panicking, because it was pretty clear that someone had been messing with my port. I figured I'd get Worst Patient in the World status if I told the truth, but I rarely, rarely lie. I would like to tell you it's because I know lying is wrong and it's a moral boundary that I don't care to cross. The truth (ha, see how I did that?) is that I don't lie because I am terrible at it, almost always start sweating before I have even finished telling the lie, and end up blurting out the truth before the other person has had a chance to say a word.

But this time I had no intention of telling this doctor I had never met before that I had repeatedly stabbed myself in the stomach with a syringe. Instead, I told him my mom was visiting, she gave it a try per the other doctor's tips and didn't have any luck.

Guess what? He didn't actually care. He's a jolly Greek guy, very sweet, listened to my explanation, took a look and started giggling. He told me when he was a resident they used to call it the "showerhead," lots of little pricks in a circle when someone's trying to hit the target and misses over and over. Heh.

He unfilled me, a lot, to give everything a chance to calm down. I went from 5.7 cc's to 4.2 cc's. So now I feel better and I'm able to eat, which is both a blessing and a curse. I go back to my regular surgeon on Tuesday to get back to a more reasonable fill level, but lower than I had been before.

Through all of this, I have not lost a single pound. I can't say I'm loving my band right now, I really can't.

However, by some grace of God, I don't have MRSA or any other godawful infection from my mishap with the needle. Take it from me: Don't try to unfill yourself. I won't be doing it again, that's for sure.