Counting Backwards

I saw the surgeon in early May; and so inspired was I by my decisiveness and motivation that I plotted my way to see all my required specialists in that month, so that I could conceivably have my surgery in June or early July if the timing worked out right with the insurance company.

I plugged away making opportunities with the cardiologist, gastroenterologist, pulmonologist, nutritionist, new internal medicine doc, and psychologist (is that all?) more determined than ever to get through whatever necessary unpleasantness was to befall me in my quest for banding.

The first appointments, not surprisingly, went well. It's easy enough to sit in front of a shrink and talk about your love/hate relationship with food and how it came about. It also helps that I have a lifetime of experience in sitting in front of shrinks. The nutritionist, Amy, was also a good experience, and my first in talking to someone who had a lot of relationships with fat people. She was positive, bright, but not overwhelmingly so. No saccharine-like bubbliness that becomes so annoying you wonder how she maintains it. I could see why she was the favorite of the support group at the hospital. I heard from both that I was an ideal candidate for the surgery and they each had no qualms in recommending me. After those, I was genuinely excited, and on the fast track mentally speaking. My biggest competition was myself, and not getting overly frustrated because I wasn't having the surgery TOMORROW. That's how it went for me for the most part. As soon as I made the decision to have this done, and exactly what type of "this" I was having done, I wanted it then and there. Consider it the instant gratification part of my personality I haven't quite grown out of. Coming to terms with that in the midst of medical bureaucracy and appointments was mind-numbing and frustrating beyond words.

The cardiologist was a breeze. Not entirely comfortable, but not painful. Then, after all, lying on your side in a paper gown and having an attractive, similar-in-age male moving your breast around with something that feels suspiciously like KY Jelly so he can access your heart better is never going to be a moment of ideal tranquility. He was professional, and kind. The kind of doctor you can only hope you get if you have to have one maneuvering around your chest with a plastic instrument.

The pulmonologist was also quick and easy. The most difficult thing was the timing, sitting in his waiting room for a cool hour + counting the minutes I had been absent from my desk was rattling. Now that I bring it up, that too was one of the more major annoyances of this whole ordeal. Doctor's offices are awful, and I mean AWFUL about getting you in on time for your appointments. I don't specifically blame the docs, but it's hard to be impartial when you know that each patient equals such and such amount of money to the practice and that they'll squeeze in as many as they can. At any rate, he was apologetic, and genuinely a very nice man. I have asthma, so the breathing in and out, and holding your breath is routine at this juncture in my life. After half an hour or so, I was gone with the pulmo's blessing.

The first GI (yes, first) was polite, but curt. Not the warmest of creatures. I was in his office for about 5 minutes and then ushered out. Turns out he only did endoscopy, and I had seen far, far too many episodes of ER to be stupid enough to believe I wanted that. Instead, he said I'd need something called monometry, and I'd have to see another guy. Hmm, and here I thought I was just going to this guy for an upper GI x-ray series. WTF? I wondered. I e-mailed my surgeon again (another little tidbit that my surgeon offers, his free time via e-mail to answer any and all questions- I loved this!) and he said that though it wasn't required, I should do the monometry to ensure they were working with a normal esophagus at the gate, should problems arise years down the road.

Then I made a tragic mistake, and looked up the fated procedure online. I am too reserach oriented for my own good sometimes. I'll spare some of the graphic details, but in the shortest words possible for a long-winded chic like me, the procedure involves inserting a flexible tube down your nose and into your esophagus. You are fully awake for this, and have to be to swallow the many sips of water needed once in place to measure the strength of your esophagus. Thankfully, there is lidocaine spray involved, and moreover I had an outright amazing GI doc do the procedure. He had phenomenally gentle bedside manner, and talked me through the whole thing. I am so grateful for that doc's ability.

More on the journey so far later....this one's gotten a bit long.