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.