Yesterday was the meeting with my surgeon. Since it took me THREE hours to go 65 miles, I was late for the appointment, and was terrified they were going to make me reschedule. The receptionist took pity on me, however, and I was seen almost immediately. The doctor who came in wasn’t the doctor I was expecting, but I liked him anyway. He took a quick medical history from me (I don’t get why they do that EVERY time I come in. Isn’t all the information in the file already?), and then got down to business. We started talking about my weight, and how it’s not ideal, and that I need to have a BMI of 30 or less (I’m currently 30.8, according to him). I must have made a face when he mentioned the BMI, because he paused and asked me what I was thinking. I explained my loathing for the BMI and how it’s not fair, and doesn’t take in to account muscle mass, body type, age, gender, etc. I was amazed when he totally agreed. He used Shaq as an example. According to the BMI, he’s about a 38, which is morbidly obese. However, when you look at him, you can see that the weight is muscle, not fat, and therefore he gets a pass. I, however, am not all that muscular (I am, it’s just buried under the fat), so therefore I need to lose weight. He agreed that I’m not obese, as the BMI says I am, but I am overweight, and that’s a slight problem. So until I lose 10-15 more pounds (preferably 15), he’s not clearing me for surgery. I was devastated. I nearly started to cry. The reason I can’t donate is because I’m too fat? Are you kidding me? He said all I had to do was lose the weight and then call them and they’d schedule surgery. He made it sound like no big deal, but inside I was dying. I felt like I’d totally let Kelly down.

Then he starts in on all the bad things that could happen during surgery. Infections, hematomas, lymph leaks, death, etc. Quite the upbeat conversation. That part doesn’t really bother me. I could just as easily get hit be a truck on the way back home after my appointment, and I told him so. He tried to tell me that it’s different. I don’t have to have surgery, and put myself at risk for these complications, but that I have to drive home. I disagreed. I don’t have to do anything. Every time I wake up, I make a choice to get up, drive to work, do my thing, and drive home. I don’t HAVE to work, but my life is a helluva lot nicer because I do. He paused for a sec, thinking about it, and then said I was right (yay me!). So he finishes his spiel, and says to hang on, because the chief surgeon wants to come in and meet me. While I’m waiting, I send Kelly a text: "Too Fat. They won’t clear me for surgery until I lose 10-15 pounds. I’m so sorry."  It didn’t go through, since I was in the underground portion of the hospital, which just upset me more. I stood up to pace in the room, and as I turned around, the doctor came back. "I checked your CT Scan again, and you are very skinny on the inside. So I’m changing my decision and I’m clearing you for surgery." I’m fairly certain my eyes bugged out of my head. Skinny on the inside? Is there a greater phrase than that? He said he still wants me to keep trying to lose weight before the surgery, but they won’t postpone it if I don’t. HOORAY! I nearly tap danced out the door and back up to the main level. I was so grateful that the text to Kelly hadn’t gone through. I wouldn’t have wanted her to go through the emotional roller coaster I was just on. I called her and told her the great news, and she was just as excited as I am. (Still feels weird to be excited about a surgery, by the way). Our transplant coordinator is trying to schedule us for the beginning of March, or even late February if possible. So I have a month to drop 10-15 pounds, just to prove that I can do it.

Surgery, here we come!