Back in 2007, I decided to do something drastic about my weight. I have fought it all my life and had grown very frustrated. I decided to have weight loss surgery and had the Lap Band procedure done. After the fact, it came out that the band was not all it was talked up to be. It mostly caused me pain and frustration. I spent more time choking and "sliming" than losing weight. Oh, you don't know what sliming is? Well, picture this, you have just put a piece of meat in your mouth and chewed it and chewed it. You swallow. It gets stuck because the band is too tight and the food can't go down. Your meat can't go anywhere, so your body tries to lube you up and get it out of there. You sit there and choke and start producing more drool than a toddler with overactive glands. You do this until you yak it up or it passes. Usually the yaking is the answer. Anyway, it didn't get me to where I wanted to go, so I had all the fluid taken out of it a couple of years ago and it has pretty much just been sitting in there doing nothing except giving me heart burn and some random pain on occasion.
The reason I'm sharing this with you is because it leads in to today's adventure of being Angry Pony. You see, I have decided to have the band taken out. I'm tired of the heart burn and other side affects. To this end, I have been working with the doctors, the insurance company and various other key people in the process for months. It has been exhausting, but after quite a bit of recent struggle, I had my surgery date all scheduled for next week. Hooray. Indeed. All I needed to do was meet my surgeon today for my final appointment. Or, shall I say the surgeon that is going to fill in for my surgeon because my guy is on vacation and one of his partners is going to take care of me. I can handle that, it's okay. I'm sure this guy is perfectly qualified.
I arrive at my surgeon's office ahead of schedule. I check in, sign all the paperwork, etc. The little medical assistant takes me back to his exam room. All seems to be going fine. I hear some scuttlebutt outside the door talking about my doctor. Seems he is not here. The medical assistant sends me over to get my blood work done because, after all, by the time I'm done the doctor will be there. I go to the lab and there isn't a soul in there, so I breeze right through and return to the doctor's office. Again, I am ushered into the exam room. My appointment was at 1pm. It is now almost 2pm and I hear someone say he will be here within 20 minutes. I'm staring at the door where there is a flyer that says, "Do you want to share the experience you had with us today? If so, log on to....." You should never leave me in a room for that long and have that be the only thing there is for me to read. Do they really want to know about my experience today? I doubt it.
Finally, the doctor shows up. He comes in and talks to me about the surgery. He wants to take my gall bladder out too while he is in there, but wants me to have more tests. Additionally, he would like me to lose 10 pounds before I have the surgery so that I can have it done in the surgery center vs. having it done in the hospital. He doesn't think I can lose it by next Thursday. I am pretty frustrated at this point because I want this done badly and I have already made all the arrangements. I said, "Isn't that what Colon Blow is for? I could clean this baby out." He was not a fan of this idea. I suggested I could also vomit for a few days. Again, he was not going for it. I felt sad and depressed. And then, Will, who was with me, noticed that the doctor had his finger all wrapped up and you could see a little blood coming through it. It had been hiding under my chart the whole time he had been talking. We both became alarmed. How did he do that? He claims it was an accident with a tool. What kind of tool? A scalpel? Was he taking someone's band out and, "Woops!" He said it was a wood working tool. Will seemed satisfied. I was not. I looked at him and then looked at Will and said, "Sure it was a wood working tool...sure it was..." My mind was reeling. I pictured this doctor...this surgeon...he is in his garage and then a tool slips and then he is dancing around cussing and saying "owie, owie, owie...oh God....oh God...." and then passes out. I'm sure that isn't how it happened, but it is how I visualized it. What if he slips on my guts? "Woops, there goes her spleen! Ah shit, I just slipped and cut her intestine...does anyone have duct tape? Nurse?" I'm suddenly a little nervous. I'm sure it will be fine, right? I mean he is cancelling my surgery date for next week, so now he should have plenty of time to heal and get that steady hand back.
Sad and disappointed, we left. It was time to go to my weekly therapy appointment. Since Will was with me, he tagged along to the session as well. The room was warm and the couch was soft. I felt him settle in next to me. I'm pouring my heart out. I hear his breathing change. I look over and he is sleeping. Hey! I'm trying to make sense of this world! If you could participate that would be great. I looked at the therapist and said, "you see what I am dealing with?" I slapped his knee and elbowed him. He's like, "what?" Seriously. Who falls asleep during therapy. I mean, I know it isn't him we are focusing on, but a little participation would be good. I just told him the other day about this kind of thing. The other morning, I was getting ready to leave for work and I was sharing some things that were bugging me and he is shining a laser light on the wall and is making it go all over the room and the dogs are chasing it. Um, HELLO, I'm talking here! This is why I have to pay someone to listen to me once a week.
So, I guess I'll probably have the surgery the following week. Maybe. Now, I just have to wait for the girl I like to call, "Schedule Bitch" to call me. It was bad enough we played phone tag earlier in the week and she didn't call when she said she would and then I had to hunt her down and then she told me I only had to lose three pounds by next week and basically lead me astray. They say she will be calling me, but rest assured, I will be on the phone first thing in the morning. She doesn't know who she is dealing with. You don't jerk fat girls around, they get mean. You'd think she would know this based on working where she does.
Anyway, this was my day in a nutshell. This is why I don't have hope. You get hope and then some doctor with a bloody finger takes it all away. And then your husband falls asleep in therapy. Makes the hopeless little pony angry.
The reason I'm sharing this with you is because it leads in to today's adventure of being Angry Pony. You see, I have decided to have the band taken out. I'm tired of the heart burn and other side affects. To this end, I have been working with the doctors, the insurance company and various other key people in the process for months. It has been exhausting, but after quite a bit of recent struggle, I had my surgery date all scheduled for next week. Hooray. Indeed. All I needed to do was meet my surgeon today for my final appointment. Or, shall I say the surgeon that is going to fill in for my surgeon because my guy is on vacation and one of his partners is going to take care of me. I can handle that, it's okay. I'm sure this guy is perfectly qualified.
I arrive at my surgeon's office ahead of schedule. I check in, sign all the paperwork, etc. The little medical assistant takes me back to his exam room. All seems to be going fine. I hear some scuttlebutt outside the door talking about my doctor. Seems he is not here. The medical assistant sends me over to get my blood work done because, after all, by the time I'm done the doctor will be there. I go to the lab and there isn't a soul in there, so I breeze right through and return to the doctor's office. Again, I am ushered into the exam room. My appointment was at 1pm. It is now almost 2pm and I hear someone say he will be here within 20 minutes. I'm staring at the door where there is a flyer that says, "Do you want to share the experience you had with us today? If so, log on to....." You should never leave me in a room for that long and have that be the only thing there is for me to read. Do they really want to know about my experience today? I doubt it.
Finally, the doctor shows up. He comes in and talks to me about the surgery. He wants to take my gall bladder out too while he is in there, but wants me to have more tests. Additionally, he would like me to lose 10 pounds before I have the surgery so that I can have it done in the surgery center vs. having it done in the hospital. He doesn't think I can lose it by next Thursday. I am pretty frustrated at this point because I want this done badly and I have already made all the arrangements. I said, "Isn't that what Colon Blow is for? I could clean this baby out." He was not a fan of this idea. I suggested I could also vomit for a few days. Again, he was not going for it. I felt sad and depressed. And then, Will, who was with me, noticed that the doctor had his finger all wrapped up and you could see a little blood coming through it. It had been hiding under my chart the whole time he had been talking. We both became alarmed. How did he do that? He claims it was an accident with a tool. What kind of tool? A scalpel? Was he taking someone's band out and, "Woops!" He said it was a wood working tool. Will seemed satisfied. I was not. I looked at him and then looked at Will and said, "Sure it was a wood working tool...sure it was..." My mind was reeling. I pictured this doctor...this surgeon...he is in his garage and then a tool slips and then he is dancing around cussing and saying "owie, owie, owie...oh God....oh God...." and then passes out. I'm sure that isn't how it happened, but it is how I visualized it. What if he slips on my guts? "Woops, there goes her spleen! Ah shit, I just slipped and cut her intestine...does anyone have duct tape? Nurse?" I'm suddenly a little nervous. I'm sure it will be fine, right? I mean he is cancelling my surgery date for next week, so now he should have plenty of time to heal and get that steady hand back.
Sad and disappointed, we left. It was time to go to my weekly therapy appointment. Since Will was with me, he tagged along to the session as well. The room was warm and the couch was soft. I felt him settle in next to me. I'm pouring my heart out. I hear his breathing change. I look over and he is sleeping. Hey! I'm trying to make sense of this world! If you could participate that would be great. I looked at the therapist and said, "you see what I am dealing with?" I slapped his knee and elbowed him. He's like, "what?" Seriously. Who falls asleep during therapy. I mean, I know it isn't him we are focusing on, but a little participation would be good. I just told him the other day about this kind of thing. The other morning, I was getting ready to leave for work and I was sharing some things that were bugging me and he is shining a laser light on the wall and is making it go all over the room and the dogs are chasing it. Um, HELLO, I'm talking here! This is why I have to pay someone to listen to me once a week.
So, I guess I'll probably have the surgery the following week. Maybe. Now, I just have to wait for the girl I like to call, "Schedule Bitch" to call me. It was bad enough we played phone tag earlier in the week and she didn't call when she said she would and then I had to hunt her down and then she told me I only had to lose three pounds by next week and basically lead me astray. They say she will be calling me, but rest assured, I will be on the phone first thing in the morning. She doesn't know who she is dealing with. You don't jerk fat girls around, they get mean. You'd think she would know this based on working where she does.
Anyway, this was my day in a nutshell. This is why I don't have hope. You get hope and then some doctor with a bloody finger takes it all away. And then your husband falls asleep in therapy. Makes the hopeless little pony angry.
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