Well, I had my second appointment with my bariatric surgeon today. It clocked in at under ten minutes, which is impressive considering I had to drive there, park, fill out the same forms I filled out last time, and sit in the waiting room long enough to memorize the wall art.
Here’s how the conversation went, roughly:
Him: What are you doing to prepare?
Me: [Things I am doing to prepare.]
Him: Any questions?
Me: No.
Him: See you next time.
And scene.
I’m pretty sure the only reason that appointment existed is because somewhere, deep in the bowels of an insurance company, there’s a checklist with a little empty box next to “Patient has had a second surgical consultation,” and today I helped a surgeon put a tick in that box. I’m basically doing unpaid administrative work for Blue Cross.
How We Got Here
This whole adventure started a few weeks ago. I’ve been through a whopping four appointments now, which, in the bariatric world, means I’m approximately 3% of the way through the pre-surgery obstacle course. Let me catch you up.
Appointment #1: The Surgeon’s Pitch. This was the real one — the one where actual medical information was exchanged. My surgeon looked at my whole situation and recommended the SADI-S, which sounds like a boy band from 2003 but is actually a procedure where they rearrange your internal plumbing in a way that is, apparently, very good for people like me. I nodded a lot. I said “mmhm” at what I believe were the appropriate moments. I left feeling like I had a plan.
Appointment #2: The Dietician Group Class. Ah, the group class. This is where you learn about protein, and then learn about protein again, and then, just when you think you’re done, you learn about protein one more time. Two things about this class will live in my memory forever.
First, there was the woman whose phone kept going off. And look — it happens, phones ding, we’re all human. But after the first interruption, when every head in the room swiveled toward her, you’d think she might, I don’t know, silence the phone. She did not. It went off approximately six more times. I started to wonder if she was running a hostage negotiation from the back row.
Second, there was the guy in for a revision surgery because of reflux issues, who took it upon himself to really drive home the “eat slowly” rule. His chosen teaching method was a vivid description of what happens when you don’t eat slowly enough — specifically, hugging a toilet at a restaurant because your new stomach has objections. I will say this: I have never been more motivated to chew thirty times. He should be on the payroll. Forget the pamphlets.
Appointment #3: The Physical Therapist. This one was mercifully brief and consisted of a very nice person explaining that I should, in fact, move my body before and after surgery. Groundbreaking stuff. I nodded some more. I have become a world-class nodder.
Appointment #4: Today. See above. Under ten minutes. Box ticked.
The Vibe
At this point I’ve resigned myself to the fact that the next several months of my life are going to look like this: someone in a polo shirt with a clipboard asks me if I have any questions, I say no, they sign a piece of paper, and somewhere a server farm in Nebraska registers that I am One Step Closer. I’m not mad about it. I’m not even frustrated, really. I’ve just accepted that I am now a small cog in a very large machine whose primary function is generating documentation.
The surgery I actually want is at the end of this tunnel, and the tunnel is apparently made of appointments. So I’ll keep showing up, keep nodding, keep not having questions, and keep my phone on silent like a functional adult.
More updates as the checklist demands. Until then — chew slowly, and for the love of God, put your phone on vibrate.