Never, ever underestimate the power of Three

Especially when the three in question happen to be The Husband, The Mother and The Surgeon.

As I notated here previously, I have had an unpleasant visitor upon my body. One who at the drop of a hat can make my day miserable. But do I want to get rid of this foul beast, the one whom I call Fred? Well, not really because that would mean more surgery and I'm just iffy enough about more surgery until I have plastics.

Evidently, The Husband has gotten sick and tired (And Tired always follows Sick) of my bitching about Fred and wants something done about him. Preferably involving getting him to go away. Permanantly. And during a conversation a week ago Sunday with The Mother about her taking Thing One and Thing Two for the next week, The Husband happened to make noises to her that he was unpleased with my decision to keep on keeping on Fred and so thusly I got an earful from her. Something about my being an utter loon and shouldn't I know better with our family history of cysts, blah, blah, blah. Right.

So, being attacked in both the right ear (The Husband) and the left ear (The Mother) I gave in and said that yes, I would make the necessary appointments to see about removing Fred forever from my body and condemning him to wherever it is they send bodily waste, preferably next to the majority of my stomach that's in its little Ziploc baggie somewhere.

The trifecta came when during last Wednesday's visit with The Surgeon for my year follow up that hrm, maybe my wonky iron levels and hrm, perhaps my funky periods might, JUST MIGHT, MIND YOU, have something to do with Fred. Which means that yes, he must be gotten rid of post-haste thank you very much. Oh, and please start taking some iron pills already so you don't get anemic because the numbers if they continue their trend will lead to that destination. The Husband thought that The Surgeon wanted to slap me silly. It was very amusing.

I gave my usual grumble about how I had been wanting to wait to get rid of Fred until plastics, and The Surgeon said, "Well, why didn't you say so! We can take care of it all at once. After all, you really are at a good weight for it at this point." And the next thing I know, I'm being drawn upon with a black sharpie, pictures are taken, and an appointment made for the OB/GYN the next floor down to assess me is made.

Whew! Talk about a whirlwind!

In reality, this would be the best of all worlds. Get rid of Fred and possibly other parts of my female anatomy that I really have no more use for anymore, and thus have insurance pay for some things leaving us only to pay The Surgeon his fees for reconstruction. And maybe insurance will help pay there as well. Stranger things have occurred! And possibly slip in some boobies and do the arms as well.

Again. Talk about a whirlwind! I'm barely over a year out, and we're already talking plastics. Guess I've done good even and lost the weight in the right places even though I'm barely under 200 pounds. I didn't think we were going to be doing this for at least another year. Not that I'm complaining, mind you.

So Thursday I have an appointment with the OB/GYN in Delano and I have all my medical records about Fred ready to present for his opinion about The Trouble With Fred. He and The Surgeon have worked together many, many times in the past, so this would be old hat to the both of them. Plus I've seen The Surgeon's work when it comes to plastics, and for someone who didn't specialize in them, he does a damn fine job IMO. And the stuff that I've seen is on some of the first ones that he did them on. The man has only gotten better as time goes on.

Thursday will begin the plot for the demise of Fred (definite), the removal of skin (highly probable) and the lifting of some sad things sagging (probable). Not too bad, eh?