The day the world stopped turning

Shortly after midnight on Sept. 11, 2001, I checked into Riverview Regional Medical Center. I had been vomiting bile for 36 hours -- a horrible turn considering that four days earlier I had walked a mile, helped paint Mom's porch and canned peas with my mother-in-law. Those seemingly routine things had extra meaning because I could actually do them. I had had gastric bypass surgery on Aug. 31, and I was feeling great.
Sunday morning, Sept. 9, I was preparing for church when the 2 ounces of pureed turkey I had for breakfast revolted. Throughout the day, things worsened. On Monday, I went back to the doctor, exhausted, sick, discouraged. She did a good job of convincing me that things would be fine. I don't think she could convince herself, though.
Hour after hour passed, and nothing changed. Finally, we decided to head for the hospital.
I was so dehydrated that it took three nurses and nine sticks to start an IV. The floor nurse stopped after the second stick and called for reinforcement. I don't remember his name, but he was an ER nurse with a Snoopy tattoo. He was so patient and gentle -- a little bit of comfort as stick after stick failed. The ninth time, he was able to find a vein in the top of my foot.
Night dragged into morning, and my family gathered. I remember once seeing my mother drop to her knees in prayer beside my bed. The doctor told us I had developed adhesions, basically strings of scar tissue in my intestines, and would have to have another surgery. She was trying to clear her schedule and would let us know when it would take place.
The television had been on throughout the night, and I was watching it, trying to take my mind off the pain, when regular programming was interrupted to show a plane crashing into the World Trade Center.
As the years have passed, we have often said the same thing about that time. The rest of the world was falling apart, and we barely knew it because ours was in danger of imploding as well.
I have two other memories of that day -- Dr. Thomas charging in when it seemed I was having a seizure; and waking up in the recovery room. Nearly 12 hours had passed between the two events, and my first thought was, "What the hell happened to me?" That was at 11:45 p.m.
Most of the next three weeks are fuzzy at best. I remember watching television a few days later and realizing that my friend and colleague on the college newspaper had lost a brother in the Pentagon attack. Kenny walked in to find me sobbing. The news was just devastating, and all I could say was, "That guy, he's my friend. He's a good person. He's my friend."
I spent 21 days at the "Riverview Hilton," went home for a few days, then had another seven-day stint. I have a scar from my breast bone to my bellybutton.
A few months later, I spent nearly two days getting potassium IVs. When the diluted solution would not help, I ended up getting straight potassium. It feels like having liquid fire run through your veins.
My hair became papery and brittle; my skin sagged. Last year, I became anemic and have to go every few months for a ferritin infusion.
That's the not-so-good stuff, the stuff anyone who is considering gastric bypass surgery should know about. And there are many other complications that could happen.
Here's what you should know: Gastric bypass surgery is not a quick fix to take off a few pounds. It's a measure of last resort that is risky and dangerous. Try everything else that is medically sound before you even think of this.
Would I do it again? In a heartbeat. Why? It was my last resort. In February 2001, when my blood pressure hit 200/112, a doctor looked me squarely in the eye and said, "If you want to live to see your daughter start high school, you will find a way to lose weight."
I did both. I've lost 200 pounds (from 430 to the 228 to 235 range). And this year, my baby girl started sixth-grade classes at the high school.
It has been a tough road. But today, I'm sitting here, sharing, waiting to get Daughter up for school. In contrast, my friend Roy and his family will wake today with the same loss they've dealt with for seven long years.
To the Williams family and all those who lost loved ones in the terror attacks and in service to our country, I thank you. Your sacrifice is worthy of our deepest gratitude.

Prom at the Pitman 2008

Prom at the Pitman 2008
Originally uploaded by erictwright

We partied like rock stars!
The Prom at the Pitman was a huge success. When we left at 10-ish, the crowd still was getting bigger -- and hotter! I hope the library folks will have a Halloween party at the Pitman so we can dress up again when it's a bit cooler. (Speaking of cooler, the one in the photo belonged to the folks at the table behind us.)

If you've been keeping up with the pre-Prom posts, you'll note that there were some wardrobe malfunctions before the big day. I won a dress on eBay I didn't really want -- which was fine, because the seller shipped it SATURDAY (one day after the prom). A shirt we ordered Kenny still hasn't been shipped. And the first suit we bought him has vanished somewhere in the house.

And then, I had a near-miss with the dress I'm wearing. I washed it and it faded. But it's amazing what a trip to the dry cleaner can do for a dress. Add a sash, tulle, tiara and nosegay corsage, and the prom fabulousness is complete. For posterity, I should note that my sash reads: 3rd Alt. Miss Faded Youth.

Kenny is working it in a Stacy Adams suit, Italian leather loafers with pointed toes and tassels, a tie, a cane and a hat. Several guys commented on how much they liked his suit. So does he, so expect us to be looking for a Halloween party.

Murphy lives at my house; trash talkin'

Yep, you guessed it. The washing machine ate my prom dress. Trying to dye it was futile. But I have a plan ...

On another topic, I'm going to go ahead and throw myself under the bus. I did a truly bizarre thing Monday, and it's too funny not to share.

I was on my cell phone, talking to Mom and cleaning flotsam and jetsam out of the back floorboard of my car. Hubby and I were headed out in search of dye to try to rescue the prom dress.

We hit the Wall-to-Wall mart and parted ways. I reached for my cell to make sure it was handy. It wasn't. I couldn't find it in my purse, so I had Hubby call my number to see if my purse would ring. It didn't. We rinsed-and-repeated at the car. No dice -- and no phone.

And then it hit me.

We call Daughter and tell her to go outside to big garbage can, raise the lid and dial my cell.

Yep. You guessed it. The garbage can rang.

Thankfully, the can was nearly full, so we didn't have to send in a search-and-rescue team. Daughter plucked it smugly (I wasn't there, but I know she was smug) from atop a bag and took it inside. A little disinfectant, and it was none the worse for wear.

SUCCESS!

I found it. I found the dress. Three counties, at least a dozen stores and four hours of driving today alone. And, naturally, it was at the last place I stopped. The place that is 5 miles from my house.

I could regret the investment of time and energy, but I don't. I love thrift-storing, and I got to spend the day with hubby dear. I met some wonderful folks today, and I got to see a sister-in-law and brother-in-law that I haven't seen in a couple of years.

And now, I have it. The dress. THE dress.

I have redeemed myself, providing the washing machine doesn't destroy my find.

I'm keeping the details on the down low, because I want to see the look on each and every face.

But I will say this: It's shiny. It's UBER-80s. And I paid TWO DOLLARS for it!

See you at the Prom!

Prom prep, Part Deux

I found a prom dress -- unfortunately.

Given the absolute lack of plus-size formal wear available locally, I have, in desperation, turned to eBay. I bid on a dress, hoping against hope that I would be outbid. Alas, I won it.

It's a beautiful dress, if the picture is to be believed. And that's the problem. It looks classy and sophisticated -- not at all what I wanted to wear to the Prom at the Pitman. I wanted something ultra '80s -- poufy sleeves, lots of lace. Instead, I have a sleeveless gown (and, given my upper arms, that will have to be remedied). It's made for a grownup, not dress-up.

I promise I'm not overreacting. Carol described the dress as "very classy." The disappointment came through even in e-mail. Laura commiserated with me. I believe Eric cried "party foul."

I have a few more days to check out thrift stores. Don't count me out, folks. After all, I thrive on deadlines.

Choc-n-Guac

When two or more gather at The Gadsden Times, lunch is liable to break out. It's not uncommon for someone to wander through the lunchroom and find a table full of potluck surrounded by a motley crew of diners. We have an unofficial motto: If you cooked it at home, it's not leftovers to the rest of us.

After hosting a brunch soiree at Casa de Wright, Eric mentioned that he had food, food and more food just searching for some bellies. He brought it; we ate it. There were the remains of the five or six or seven (accounts vary) meats he had prepared, plus a delicious hash-brown casserole and some biscuits. Short work was made of most of it, but there were biscuits to spare.

Cue Lisa: It's chocolate gravy time!

So, the next day, chocolatey goodness, all warm and syrupy, was generously poured on the remaining biscuits. And then a miracle took place. There was extra chocolate gravy. This called for a battle plan.

By the end of the day, arrangements were made: Laura was in charge of facon; Carol, fresh off her decisive win in the guac-off, contributed fruit; Lisa brought more biscuits, plus link sausage, hash browns, cherries and additional chocolate gravy; and Andy and I chipped in cash. Eric was guest of honor, because he started the ball rolling.

So much food arrived that we had to annex a nearby table for the spread. Chairs were pulled in to the main dining table, but overflow seating was needed. The ebb and flow of conversation gradually but steadily gave way to sighs of contentment.

Ah, but no one is resting on his laurels. Before the dishes were cleared, another gathering was planned. We'll be sending Lisa north to Alaska, so a farewell lunch is in order. Makes me hungry just thinking about it ...

Perhaps one of these days we can all open a restaurant. The Choc-n-Guac will specialize in guacamole and all things avocado, but there will be just one dessert: Chocolate gravy on catheads. (If you don't know what that is, ask a Deep South friend.)

Prom prep

Some things never change. I'm getting ready for my third prom, and once again, I can't find a dress. Of course, I've only been to two thrift stores, so I'm not going to give up.
Kenny, on the other hand, hit paydirt last night. We're looking for 1970s stuff for him, because that's when he graduated. The Alabama Thrift Store in Rainbow City had the perfect suit. (Kudos to the Catoes for the tip to check there.) It's not the powder-blue leisure suit we were hoping for -- although we did find a powder-blue sports coat. Instead, we found a suit with a label inside from a store from Gadsden. It looks like the type of suit a '70s grad might have borrowed from his dad. We snagged a couple of ties, and I think he's pretty well set.
Just in case anyone can hook me up, I need a dress, size 22 or 24 (or bigger), that has lots of lace -- very Southern belle. The fuller the skirt, the better.
I guess I should explain why we're doing this. We're getting ready for the Prom at the Pitman, a fundraiser to help restore/renovate the Pitman Theatre in downtown Gadsden. The more, the merrier, so put on your fancy duds and come to Gadsden Sept. 5.