So I mentioned in my last post that I'd be attending the support group meeting that the Bariatric Services folks hold every Tuesday night. It's at those meetings that I weigh in and have my weight sent to my counselor. As I've mentioned, it's supposed to be a blind weigh-in, meaning my counselor doesn't want me to get caught up in numbers. The usual suspects weren't around to weigh me so I asked the nutritionist who was present to weigh me. I told her the situation and she said she would certainly get the information to my counselor. But then I begged. I begged her to tell me the number. I assured her I only wanted to know because I needed to know when I was nearing the 50 pounds lost that Dr. Richard required before surgery. She hesitated at first, but finally relented. "You better call Dr. Richard," she said. "You're down 45 pounds."
I wasted no time. I called my coordinator Wednesday morning. She said "let's go ahead and schedule your surgery." So, after years of waiting, this surgery that I want to change and save my life is actually going to happen. August 12th is D-Day.
I don't guess it's any surprise that I'm as scared as I am excited. Suddenly I'm a kid going to the pool and dying to jump off that high dive. Then, with my toes clinging for life to the very edge of the high dive, I'm amazed at how much higher it looks from up there than it did when I was at the bottom of the ladder spewing bravado. I'm suddenly more focused on the numbers that tell how many people die as a result of this surgery more than I am the dozens of success stories I've encountered. I'm suddenly more focused on staples in internal organs that can come loose than I am how quickly weight will come off. Did you see all the stories on the news about people that are aware of what's happening to them while they're supposed to be under the influence of anesthesia? Remember Junior Mints in someones body cavity on Seinfeld?
I tend to put out those fires of doubt by thinking about the jeans. The jeans that I went to put on last Sunday only to find out that I can't wear them anymore. I'd only worn them once but now, after just 45 pounds of weight lost, wearing them puts me in danger of indecent exposure. I can take off the shorts I'm wearing right now without unzipping them. Oh my God! When I'm driving there's room between my stomach and the steering wheel! There's enough good happening to throw a bucket of cold water on the scary! Staples coming loose? Child's play! Anesthesia?? Hell, Doc..give me shot of whiskey and a stick to bite down on it and let's get this over with!