I don't care how big they are. You will need them again, trust me.
I have two main pairs of fat pants. The biggest are black (of course) and made out of stretch terry knit (of course!). The second are some too-big blue jeans. Last Thursday I was very grateful for both pairs.
I hadn't been feeling good, and thought for sure that if I could just go to the bathroom, all would be well. You know how that story goes. Well, the bathroom was not my friend. I went to Wal-mart, school shopping for the kids with my mother, and thought to hit the pharmacy area to find some sort of medicine. I knew I had laxatives at home. So, I bought some anti-diarrheal. Figured I'd approach the problem from both sides, right? By now, the entire front of my torso was either stabbing in pain, or was so sore from being in pain that I could neither stand up straight or walk very fast. Walking, in fact, was a feat.
So I vowed that if it wasn't better by thursday morning, I would go to emergency. Well, it wasn't any better after a long sleepless night, and I went in. How I drove there, I have no idea. All I can recall about getting there was that someone saw me outside my car and brought me a wheelchair. I was standing there, clutching the car door, wondering how the hell I was gonna get from "A" to "B". But hey, if I keeled over in the parking lot of the emergency room I couldn't possibly be in a better place, right?
Long story short, I really had this thing all figured out before I went to the hospital. This was a kidney stone. HAD to be. I had all the right symptoms. I felt very positive that the doc would give me some pain meds, nicely tell me that I had to wait it out, pass the stone, and life would go on. Follow up with your doctor, miss. So I thought.
But my fave emergency room doc, Dr. Zuckerman (yes, just like the famous pig), sat down and informed me that "Ms. Benac, well...your a mess..." That was not a cool thing to hear. Turns out that something was possibly wrong with my gall bladder, I had an acute case of diverticulitis, and on top of everything, an ovarian cyst the size of a golf ball. When he told me they were going to keep me for "a couple days" I simply looked at him and said "WHAT???"
You see, this was NOT part of the whole kidney stone diagnosis I had done on myself. Damn.
So, in I went, and I was not happy. The Michigan Fiber Fest was in two days. I'd never be able to go. All of my saving and planning, down the tubes. What a total bummer.
It was a confusing time, to say the least. I waited to hear from doctors what on earth was happening with my body. Friday evening, I got up yet again to go pee, fed up with the damned IV and all the fluid it pumped through me. Of course, I had no complaints about the pain meds and antibiotics it also delivered! But sheesh, I was peeing like every half an hour. It was getting old. I had just gone, and the nurses arrived with a sheepish smile on their faces. "Do you think you could pee in a cup for us?" I wanted to snarl. But I was kind. It was only a matter of time before I could go again, anyway. The nurse said "well, it's just standard pre-op procedure, you know, they have to have a urine samp-...."
"Excuse me??" I said. "Back up a minute...did you say PRE-OP????" WHAT OPERATION?
The nurses got wide-eyed and looked at each other. "You mean, no one told you?" they asked. "Well, oh...we can't say anything else! The doctor hasn't been here?"
Noooo, no doc had come. No one except a charge nurse who had informed me that I couldn't eat anything because I might be having more "tests" that evening. Right as my dinner was being placed in front of me, it was wisked away. Buggers. But somehow the "test" had become surgery. and I had no idea for what. Well, soon I found out that they wanted to remove the ovarian cyst, and I was fine with that. Just wish I would've known. That would have been nice. I was in the hospital for a total of five days. I couldn't read, had no internet other than on my phone, and could do nothing but just lay there. It was worse than prison.
So, I now have two neat little incisions. One in my belly button, and one about three inches below it, each about one inch long. They are healing up very well. they glued them shut. Just amazing.
My fat pants have a place of honor in my life. When my tummy swelled up and hurt after surgery, my fat pants were there, in all their non-binding love for me. I'm doing fine now, and all my buddies and customers online were sending all the well-wishes they could muster. I felt them, guys! I really did! Thank you soooooo much!! You all made the pain and bitterness of missing the Fiber Fest a little easier to handle. Now it's back to life as I know it...