Going under the knife

I met with a bariatric surgeon yesterday. He seemed very serious and professional. His opinion was that I would do well because I am "not THAT old, not THAT big and not THAT sick." Silver tongued devil.

I left there with an oddly calm feeling. This is the first time I have gotten this far.

I've considered the surgery for years, but each time I attempted to move forward, something happened to stop the progression. Pregnancy, unemployment, lapse in insurance, or insurance plans that didn't cover it.

This time, everything seems to be clear sailing. Guess this is the time.

I've already gotten approval from my general doc. The surgeon has approved me. I've scheduled my appt with the dietician for this coming Monday, and all that's left is letting the psych guy into the depths of my crazy head. Once that's done, the surgeon's office will mail everything to the insurance co and schedule the surgery date.

I'm getting my gallbladder out at the same time. I wonder if Hub will ask the doctor for the stones for a keepsake. He has his kidney stone tucked away in a drawer, with my wisdom teeth and all the kid's baby teeth.

Don't ask me.

It's probably good that I waited until a year or so after my diabetes diagnosis. I've been saying my painful goodbyes to food for well over a year now. I've also gotten a taste of what its like to have to live every day of my life on handfuls of meds - something my doctor assures me will end if I have the surgery and lose the weight.

If all goes well, I will be much smaller by the time we take the kids to Disney World this Thanksgiving. How fitting . . . I'll be spending the most food-centered holiday doing something active and fun!

I'm hoping that is going to be a big sign of things to come.