6 August, Nordclinic in Kaunas. At 13:53 I texted Katie: "im going down now." Surgery started at 14:15, Lithuanian time. A 360 degree cut around the belt line, plus the chest and armpits.
The next text went at 20:29: "im alive, will call when i can." By 22:30 we were on a video call, me eating dinner from the hospital bed. Roughly the same gap as the swim and the bike in Valencia, come to think of it. Better outcome.
I took a photo in the bathroom mirror before I went down. Then I found the one from the last time I stood in a hospital gown holding a phone up to a mirror. September 2022, the morning of the gastric bypass, 190 kilograms.
Same pose. Same nerves. Four years, 105 kilograms and one triathlon club apart.
That is the picture I keep coming back to. Not the scales, not the medical form. Two men in two mirrors, and only one of them knew what was coming.
Discharged two days later with a form that says "the patient felt well," which is accurate. The number I keep coming back to: just over seven kilograms of skin and tissue removed. That was the last physical piece of the 190 kilogram version of me. It is gone now. What is left is the shape the training built.
The honest report from a week out: I am doing far better than I expected. I braced for being flattened and instead I am mobile, up and around, surprised at how much I can do. The hospital and the staff were outstanding, start to finish, and I mean that down to the details.
Porridge, blueberries, a latte, and halibut with tiramisu on the menu. Nordclinic does not do hospital food.
And Katie flew over to get me home, which is the kind of thing you do not forget.
The next two months are unglamorous by design. Compression garment, lymphatic massage, dressings, no sun on the scars, walking as the only session on the plan. Patience is the discipline now.
Cervia is 415 days away. Overall: very positive. Onwards.