Date with the Doc

The Husband and I made our way over the Sierras to Delano yesterday for my six-month check up.

Usually, I hate waiting in a doctor's office. Not so when I go see Dr. Keshishian. It's always nice, sitting in their waiting room, watching the people that come in and out. You can tell who is trying to make their decision about whether or not to get the DS - they keep to themselves, are a bit shy, and are clutching their new binder of information. There are those new post-ops who have come in to get those motherfucking drains out - they're easy to spot with the wierd bulges through loose t-shirts and their support person helping them out. Then there are the successful and the not-so successful post-ops rounding out the crowd for the most part - all willing to tell you their story and poke fun at the things we all deal with.

This time, The Husband and I met up with a couple from Bakersfield that we had first met back at my three-month checkup when the wife had come in for her teaching session. She was there for her one-week checkup and to get those damn drains out. She was looking and feeling so good and radiant, it was wonderful to see how well she was doing. Already down 15 pounds, both she and her husband were equally happy to see where my loss was at and wanted to talk about how my journey had been so far and what she had to expect.

We comisserated about getting all the water and protein in during those first few weeks, and how much the drains cramp your style and how much better she would feel after they were gone. Our husbands talked about the ways they helped us out and the changes they saw in us. I warned her about the "hunger monster" that for me rears its head in the wierdest places and how we deal with it. We exchanged tidbits about vitamins and supplements, and the kinds of foods that seem to work well and what doesn't work at all. They are such neat people, and I hope that we keep in touch with them as time goes on. It's really important to have a support network between those of us who have had the same surgery so that we can commisserate and bitch and help and encourage each other along the way.

The highlight of our chit-chat was when the other husband asked to see my license. I showed them the photo of the woman that appears on it, and I can actually say that I am proud of my license now because that woman doesn't exist anymore. That, and my weight is actually just a few pounds above where my license claims it is. Hee! Gotta get a kick out of that.

After waiting a while, we got in to see Dr. K. He's pleased with my loss, pleased with my labs, pleased that I don't have a hernia. Pleased that I don't have terrible diarrhea problems. Not so pleased about my hemorrhagic cyst but that it isn't uncommon and that I needed to keep on top of it with the GYN, to make sure my periods weren't going out of whack as well, and to keep his office apprised of the situation if I needed surgery for it.

Then he asked me about food and how that was going. Did I feel that there was anything that I couldn't eat? Did I feel there were foods that caused problems? Did I overstuff myself frequently?

I answered him honestly: That for the first time in my life, I recognized that the food portions we are being served in this country are truly obscene. That I can't stand overstuffing myself like I used to pre-surgery because of the way it feels and I have developed a way to figure out when I am approaching "full." That it is perfectly fine to go out and have a nice dinner and desert, but that we have to keep ourselves in check and take home that doggie bag of stuff for the next two or three dinners instead of trying to eat it all right then and there. That it is perfectly OKAY to not finish everything on your plate. That it's okay to throw away leftovers. That it's okay to be picky and demand and then eat only the best of something. That it's okay to put ME and my nutritional needs first.

He just smiled at me. "I think you get it now," he said.

"I finally feel normal again," I replied.

"You were normal before," he said. "You just didn't know it."

Is is possible to be in "physician love" with your surgeon? Because I am with this one. And so is The Husband.

Thank you, Dr. K, for believing so much in this surgery and for the support system you provide for us afterward. You didn't have to go into this speciality, but you did, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart for the chance your surgical skill has given me at this new life I have. Thank you.

I won't let you down.

And more importantly, I won't let ME down.