At 197 lbs, based on results, I wasn't doing what I needed to do to get or keep my weight under control.....exercising regularly or showing much willpower as far as what I was eating or portion size. One of my work clients had had the sleeve done last September and has lost over 100 lbs, which lead me to believe that by "forcing" myself to eat small portions (by cutting off most of my stomach), that may be the tool I need to achieve my weight reducing goals." In the USA, the procedure would have been several times the cost, and frankly, I would not be fat enough to qualify. In Mexico, the procedure was significantly less and I was just at the lower end of the BMI scale to qualify.
I researched my doctor in Mexico, got a reference, felt comfortable with the medical coordinator and had only joked with a few of my confidants that I was going to a "Mexican chop shop" for dramatic reasons. Little did I know how true those words turned out to be.
After 12 hours door to door, I flew down to San Diego and my driver was waiting for me. I had a backpack on me and a small roller suitcase which he did not offer to take for me. I was taken across the border to Tijuana (which, from what I saw...was as disgusting and dirty as I had imagined....I have traveled to 36 countries, so it is not naiviety on my part).
We pull up in front of this clinic....and what I would have LIKED to experience was someone who greeted me, asked me how my trip was, offer to let my use the ladies room and who would sit down with me, even for a couple of minutes to explain the steps that I was about to endure. INSTEAD, a man with no customer service skills took me in and took my height and weight measurements. Then I was whisked into an office where FOUR people very quickly poked and prodded me.....one taking my blood, one putting EKG things on my chest, one handing me papers to sign, some of which were in Spanish, with no offer to explain what I was signing and finally, and most importantly, one was there to take my Visa credit card and ring up the balance in PESOS, with my having NO IDEA what the exchange rate was and whether what I signed was what I agreed to. The surgeon came in to introduce himself and spent about 30 seconds with me.
I was then put in a room that was approximately 6-7 feet by 10 feet with concrete walls and no window....I literally felt like I was in a prison cell. I was on a plastic twin mattress with a thin sheet on it the entire time.
Finally 90-120 minutes later, I walked myself into the operating room, saw half of a face of the anesthesiologist who wasted no time and next thing I know the procedure is done. Although I don't remember this at all, one client's mom said that she saw me walking back to my room after the surgery.
I was then taken to another room right next door to the clinic, which was thankfully, much larger. There was one for me and one for another patient "N" who was there with her mom and other relatives. When I closed my door to block all their noise, there was no ventilation in that room, so I would sweat.
The entire time I was there, I had an anesthesia portage on the top of my hand (a needle that never went away) where my plasma bag would drip into and the nurses would inject antibiotics and pain killers regularly. Here is the part that was quite disturbing to me. I pointed out to the nurse that I was watching AIR BUBBLES about to go into my veins and that she was going to KILL ME. She said if they are small enough the body will absorb them. I pointed this out to her several times...and even to placate me, she should have had the skill set to avoid air bubbles making their way into my body. Clearly, because I am typing this, they did not kill me, but disconcerting would be an understatement.
While staying in that larger room for about 1.5 days, there were literally multiple times when HOURS went by where nobody came to check on us. I literally was texting my husband in the USA to try to call someone next door to send them in. As it turns out, there is a phone outside of my room....but I had forgotten that. I walked around with my metal pole on wheels, which carried my plasma bag everywhere I went. For 3 days, I had nothing but ice chips, 2 sips of Gatorade and finally, a brown popsicle as I left (tamarind flavor), which was actually a treat.
I flew in one day and flew out 2 days later, and frankly, it was total hell. The doctor spent a total of about 90 seconds with me (consious) in three very short meetings and never examined me. I am still hoping he is a skilled surgeon...I suppose time will tell on that end. Also, nearly all of the staff were friendly people, although only a couple of them spoke decent English. A TV and wi-fi were a God sends and I watched way too many ridiculous episodes of the Kardashians to pass the time away.
Had I known what I know now, I would have never done this. I hope I feel differently about it in a few months' time......but my strong recommendation to this facility is that you are dealing with mostly American ladies....and there is a certain expectation of common courtesy. I realize I am one person in a FACTORY of sleeve operation patients, but I don't want to FEEL that I'm in
a pig a factory. Spend a few minutes with me setting the right expectation of what I will be experiencing. Have the doctor meet and examine me one on one. Finally, do not leave the patients alone for hours on end without someone coming by.
The lesson learned in this? Buyer beware and despite the fact that I got references and did some research, this was way worse than I expected it would be. Again, I am hoping that in the long run I will be glad for the decision I made, but I am not feeling that way at this moment.
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