Attention: If you're a new follower. Start with the 1st post so you can get up to date! I wouldn't want you to miss anything.
OK. Now we all know how I got myself into this predicament, what made me consider this option and my first encounter with my idiot insurance company, let's move on to the actual consultation.
It was a Monday, of course. Remember, Dr. X only seems to work only on Mondays. I got a late afternoon appointment and was instructed to go to the Bariatric center at the hospital. Well, being mid freaking January it was a balmy 2 degrees with a nice 35 mile per hour breeze. Typical lovely day. And, you know it, this hospital is the size of a small town and I am getting there in mid afternoon. So after I found the area I was supposed to enter, I now had to find a parking space. I was lucky, yes lucky to find a spot as far a way from the door as possible. I actually had to stalk a mid size Hispanic family going back to their van and lay claim to their spot. Fortunately, I do not drive a black sedan. I think this family may have panicked and ran in 5 different directions if I did. I looked back and was able to make out the entrance in the distance. I was so far from the entrance, I actually thought about calling a cab to pick me up and take me to the door. But, I bundled up as best I could and started my own personal Iditarod trek to the building.
Now inside and thawing out, I had negotiate a labyrinth of elevators and hallways to find what would become the center of my personal universe. The Bariatric Center. Tucked down on the lower level between gastroenterology and the cafeteria was the BC. Seems a bit odd to me to have the fat ass department located between the Monday pizza special and the proctologist. I wonder if was just lack of space or a cruel joke?
I approached the desk.
"May I help you?". Hmmmm. This mid-life marm's voice sounds eerily familiar.
"I'm here to see Dr. X for my consultation."
"Did you come alone?"
"Why? Are you going to knock me out or give me some kind of drugs?"
"No. Just curious."
Curious, eh. Sure.
She then directed me to have a seat and wait to be called. Five minutes later I was following Nurse Ratchit through the doors to a desk in hallway full of examining rooms. She took my vitals and then weighed me in on he biggest scale I have ever seen. I found out that I weighed in at 113 kilograms, almost 17 English stone. I can't tell tell you why they used those measures, but 113 sure beats the American version.
She then led me into the exam room and had me take a seat. The first thing I noticed was the size of the chair! It was awesome. They had real fat ass furniture here! The seating area of my chair is at least 1 and 1/2 times that of a normal chair. What a great invention! I immediately wondered how I could swipe this thing to replace my deceased office chair. But that probably wouldn't go over to well. And really,did I want to carry this thing all the way back to my car across the windy tundra? I think not. Idea rejected.
"Did you fill out the medical history and other questionnaire that we sent you completely and truthfully?"
Truthfully? Is this jury selection or something?
"You bet I did." I said has I handed her my completed folder.
"OK. Mr. T, this is how we will proceed today. I will discuss your history and questionnaire with you first. Then you'll meet with our nutritionist and then Dr. X. After he leaves, I will come back and discuss your next steps if you decide you want to move forward with this procedure. Do you have any questions before we start?"
"Yeah. Where do you get these chairs?"
"I really don't know. They are built to accommodate our most portly patients."
"Very cool. If I could get a small truck full of these chairs and closet full of expand-o pants, I might just skip this surgery."
"Sir. You need to be serious here."
"Yes ma'am".
At this point it dawned on me that this is real. We're playing for keeps here. OK, time to focus. The nurse and I drudgingly reviewed my medical history from puberty to middle age ad nauseum.
"When did you first notice you were overweight?." she asked.
"Second grade. I cut a corner a little close in class and knocked a stack of milk trays on the floor with my ass. Kids were scrambling and grabbing all the chocolate milk they could hold. The nuns were pissed. Looked like LA in '92. It's known as the Great Milk Incident to this day."
She continued with the questions. Blah, blah, blah..... until finally I heard the word Nutritionist. She left the room and a few minutes, a bubbly young lady named Ms. K introduced herself as my nutritionist.
We did a brief history of my daily eating habits, my weekly alcohol intake and my current level of exercise. After the look of horror left her face, we proceeded to talk about what I will be eating two weeks before the surgery and four weeks post-op. After the look of horror left my face, I just looked at her and said, "Seriously? Three protein shakes and a chicken mcnugget without the skin for the whole day.?"
"Yes. you can do it."
"If I could do it, I wouldn't be sitting here in this fat ass chair."
She smiled and left me trembling waiting for the Monday only working, Dr. X. I was in truly deep reflection regarding this harebrained idea, when the door opened. In walked the cool and young Dr. X. Casually dressed in jeans and a lab coat, he made me feel a little easier just by the site of him. He held a plastic medical model of a stomach in one hand and what looked like an Ipod nano with a ear buds in the other. He shook my hand, pulled up a fat ass chair and rolled over a small table. He plopped the model on the table and I got my first close up look at the lap band. Yep, it wasn't an Ipod. It was a sophisticated medical device that costs more than my parents first home.
After a hearty handshake and a few pleasantries, he got to it.
"Mr. T, I have reviewed your file and your medical history. I think this is the right move for you. It is time for you to change your life and this procedure will do that."
I was ready for this. My semi retired former fat ass friend told me this is just like selling a car for this guy. He ain't saying no. He needs the business like everyone else. I asked him the usual questions about surgery. Then I asked him about my insurance. I explained that my personal care helper, Rajeeve, really couldn't help me and that I was flying blind. Then he said some real comforting words.
"You have PPO?""
Arrrgh.
But then
"I have worked the Howdowenotpay Company before. Depending on your plan, you should be good."
Well that was good enough for me. The cloud of paying $30,000 for an operation has been haunting me since I made the appointment call. At least I have hope.
"Nurse Ratchit will be coming in now to go over the steps you need to take to get this approval from your insurance company."
I interrupted. "Dr. X, if I decide now to go on this thing, how long until we operate? I'm free all week."
Another chuckle with an inaudible smirk.
"Mr. T. If you are diligent in getting your checklist done, it will probably be at least
three months."
Three months! Oi vey ..... I'm struggling to keep my focus on this already. This is turning out to be way more complicated than I thought. Have I bitten off more than I can chew?
I pondered for a moment as I shifted a bit in the fat ass chair. I had to make a decision now. Stop or go forward. I really have never encountered anything I couldn't chew. I have industrial strength teeth and also the thighs to prove. it.
"Send in Nurse Ratcit." I said with conviction. "Let's get this party started."
Dr. X gave me a little smile, another handshake and turned for the door. This is the last I will see of him until our pre-op chat three months from now. What the Hell am I going to do for three months?
Can you say farewell tour?
Check back soon and get a look at the "Checklist"
No comments:
Post a Comment