Current weight: 320 lbs.
Current mental status: Perfectly sane, apparently.
I had my final visit with the Good Doctor this week, but I'm still mulling over the funniness in my surgically repaired melon, so more on that later.
However, I did visit the head doctor today (and not in a good way). That is, the psychiatrist, for my psych evaluation. Seems you to have to be of sound mind before having a sound and bariaticly toned body.
Going into this, my friend Marc (name again cleverly disguised to protect his identity) told me, "Stay on script. Don't venture into that nightmare past of yours. Don't tell her any of your after 10 p.m. stories. Stay on topic!"
SIDE NOTE NO.1: I take an annual golf trip with three of my buddies. Through the 10-plus years of our trip, I've regaled them with tales of darkness from my childhood, escapades with the ladies, and general disturbing thoughts and opines. Some of these yarns were told at roulette tables or casino bars after I might have had a few too many watered-down cocktails, but some have been told at restaurants and bars while sitting amongst the fine people of the Mississippi Gulf Coast. All of them, though, have been meet with horrified response from those outside of our little quartet. So, the above mentioned Marc instituted the 10 p.m. rule, in that I can't tell any of said stories until well after the sun has gone down and those that might otherwise be offended have already shuffled off to the protective confines of their homes far out of ear's length. SUB-SIDE NOTE: I'm fairly confident, though, that Marc would say that there have been plenty of times that those out and about after 10 p.m. have still been offended.
Anyhoo, back to the head doctor. I did, in fact, stay on script and on topic, wandering astray briefly to touch on my previous, short-lived issues with emotional eating, which I can see might be of concern to a doctor evaluating someone wanting weight loss surgery. Likewise, apparently nothing on the 50 forms I had to fill out asking about my emotional well-being during the past two weeks must have raised any red flags.
And being that I'm writing this and have not been carted off to the loony bin (because I can only assume that they don't allow computer access at the funny farm), I passed with flying colors and have been declared mentally fit to deal with the emotional calisthenics that might accompany massive amounts of weight loss. So long as the co-pay check doesn't bounce. HA!
SIDE NOTE NO. 2: Just got off the phone with Marc, who says he finds the findings suspect and is going to launch an investigation into the credentials of the just visited head doctor. Ah, good times, Marc. Good times.
So the expansive set of hoops carefully but precariously set up before me to jump through have been reduced to a scant few. Only ones remaining are the cardio stress test hoop and the nutritional evaluation hoop, which I will posit on soon.
Word to your mother.