If you know me, you know a few things:

• I get shit done.
• I’m organized as hell.
• I’m either really great at delegating or a bossy bitch-whichever you prefer.

So when surgery day was approaching, I did what any Type-A, pain-weary, meal prepping, no-more-infections-ever-again woman would do. I planned everything.

My daughter? Handled. Where she needed to be, who was driving, backup drivers, color-coded calendar-done.

My house? Clean-ish. My room? Set up like a post-op princess palace.

My biggest fear? It was not, getting cut open again- I was terrified of another infection. If you’ve had one that overstays its welcome, you know it’s frustrating. It just can’t take a hint to leave and leaves you cussing. Yeah. One, this year, was more than enough.

I’d been eating super clean, after a strict routine that finally had my blood work trending in the right direction. So I prepped all my meals. And I asked my mom to help keep me fed while I was in the hospital. Just a few simple things like

• A simple salad with grilled chicken, blackberries, strawberries and a poppyseed dressing.
• Coconut yogurt mixed with my chocolate collagen protein for breakfast

Simple.Delicious.Clean

Then came surgery.

I was told it would take about an hour, maybe an hour and fifteen. Except when I woke up? I was sobbing, screaming in pain. They knocked me back out for another three hours-no visitors, no updates, nothing. Meanwhile, my husband and my mom were losing it. Chris had to leave to pick up our daughter before he even got to see me. My mom was still there when I finally came to. Nurses were helping me sit up, and I-God help me-asked to use to the restroom.

Their responses? “Go ahead”

What? No, I wanted to get up and walk my ass to the restroom. I wanted to use it like the proper girl I am, damn-it.

“You’re a fall risk. Just pee”

Do you have any idea how hard it is to pee lying down? It is even harder when you are slightly to the left. Imagine trying to pee while 3 nurses and your mother are staring at you. I swear it was the longest, most awkward piss of my life.

Also, let’s talk catheters. This wasn’t your standard “tube up the hoo-ha” model I remembered from my hysterectomy. This was a PureWick. No tube insertion. Just… a sponge you pee on that gets suctioned into a canister. I have never felt more confused and more thankful at the same time.

Then they wanted me to try and eat.

My mom shook her head the moment the nurse handed me the menu. “They won’t let me bring your food in” me.. “Huh?”

Because they need to track my fiber.

Ok… I’m a type 1 diabetic. I am recovering from surgery in the actual Heart and Vascular hospital. They were concerned about my fiber?

Let me tell you what was not on the menu:

• Organic anything
• healthy salad dressing- all containing seed oils
• Actual nutrients.

Instead, I got offered cheeseburgers, sorbet, instant oatmeal, sad looking eggs, Prepackaged, processed, high-carb, insulin-spiking garbage.

And guess what:

This was the first time all year I had to give myself insulin.

Because of clean eating, my blood sugar had been staying in the beautiful 70-130 range. But after just one meal, in the hospital? Over 200.

Let that sink in.

What I learned (a.k.a why I’m still ranting):

• Just because it’s served in a hospital doesn’t mean it’s healthy.
• Most hospital food is government-funded, prepackaged crap.
• Clean eating isn’t about being trendy- it’s about survival when your body is already fighting battles on the inside.
• You absolutely can advocate for your body, your food, your recovery- even when they make you feel like an inconvenience.

So next time someone tells you ” you’ll be fine, just order off the menu,” hand them a PureWick. Make them pee flat on their back and see how they like it.

Because honestly? You can survive the surgery. But you may not survive the cafeteria menu.