I'm currently sitting on the floor of Beth Israel Deaconness Medical Center, with my laptop on my, uh, lap. So, hi.
Things went smoothly this morning - Bob was taken in with no issue - colored on with a gjnormous Sharpie marker and more slightly pornographic photos were taken, as were pinches of fat photos were taken. The plastic surgeon was duly impressed with Bob's lack of FAT. His skin is nearly entirely devoid of fat, as he's lost most of it.
Although he is still technically "overweight" with a BMI of 27, he will roll out of the operating room probably not overweight. His pannus and thighs had quite a bit of excess lax skin and tissue on them, and as part of his procedures, he gets some really cool liposuction. (I was unaware of this. Wicked neat.) The way the doctor described it - Bob will be super-taut and like I remarked:
"We could totally flip quarters off of your six pack, eh?"
Okay, more later - perhaps some blood and guts.
Update: Six hours later, he is alive and shaped like a Supahmodel. We haven't seen him yet, but he's just had the breathing tube ripped outta his throat and he'll be headed to recovery. The surgeon says that Bob's results will be super - because he really was fat-less. The plastic surgeon also said that his abdominal muscles were very stretched out, more than the typical post-WLS'er, and he was able to get great results. (I've yet to see, but I'll letcha know.)
Update again: Eight, nine or ten hours later, we finally saw him. He was alive, in pain, thirsty and cranky, but "fine." I didn't take any photos or anything - as he was just misery and wanted nothing more than his cup'o'ginger ale and his cell phone. I tried to peek at his belly, but only got a full on view of the catheter *quiver*. We only visited a short time, because I left three out of four kids home with Papa, and we attempted to get home via train. Yeah.
PS. My poor sheltered ten year old is blemished, having seen a man urinate himself in the train station, and I threatened to "move her to the city to get some culture, geez!" We misread the train schedule and spent a good two hours in the station watching the world go by and eating salted soft pretzels, with the 10 degree wind blowing in the doors.
I'm currently sitting on the floor of Beth Israel Deaconness Medical Center, with my laptop on my, uh, lap. So, hi.
Things went smoothly this morning - Bob was taken in with no issue - colored on with a gjnormous Sharpie marker and more slightly pornographic photos were taken, as were pinches of fat photos were taken. The plastic surgeon was duly impressed with Bob's lack of FAT. His skin is nearly entirely devoid of fat, as he's lost most of it.
Although he is still technically "overweight" with a BMI of 27, he will roll out of the operating room probably not overweight. His pannus and thighs had quite a bit of excess lax skin and tissue on them, and as part of his procedures, he gets some really cool liposuction. (I was unaware of this. Wicked neat.) The way the doctor described it - Bob will be super-taut and like I remarked:
"We could totally flip quarters off of your six pack, eh?"
Okay, more later - perhaps some blood and guts.
Update: Six hours later, he is alive and shaped like a Supahmodel. We haven't seen him yet, but he's just had the breathing tube ripped outta his throat and he'll be headed to recovery. The surgeon says that Bob's results will be super - because he really was fat-less. The plastic surgeon also said that his abdominal muscles were very stretched out, more than the typical post-WLS'er, and he was able to get great results. (I've yet to see, but I'll letcha know.)
Update again: Eight, nine or ten hours later, we finally saw him. He was alive, in pain, thirsty and cranky, but "fine." I didn't take any photos or anything - as he was just misery and wanted nothing more than his cup'o'ginger ale and his cell phone. I tried to peek at his belly, but only got a full on view of the catheter *quiver*. We only visited a short time, because I left three out of four kids home with Papa, and we attempted to get home via train. Yeah.
PS. My poor sheltered ten year old is blemished, having seen a man urinate himself in the train station, and I threatened to "move her to the city to get some culture, geez!" We misread the train schedule and spent a good two hours in the station watching the world go by and eating salted soft pretzels, with the 10 degree wind blowing in the doors.