I need surgery. For five years I have known that I need to get surgery on my belly. Various doctors have talked to me and told me to get it done. A full-term twin pregnancy left me with with “severely separated” muscles and a hernia. Recently, doing a crunch in the gym, something twinged painfully and I thought my insides were coming undone.
Last fall when I re-entered the corporate world as a clinician, I elected to put a large chunk of my pre-tax salary into a use-it or lose-it account to cover medical expenses.
I reasoned that if I tucked away that much money from my paycheck that my desire not to waste the money would propel me past my fears of going under the knife.
I reasoned wrong.
Here it is, 2012 is half over, and I have not moved forward with my surgical plans and I have plenty of excuses not to get it done. I am beginning to wonder, am I really going to lose all my money because I haven’t any courage?
Not only do I need my stomach repaired before I completely burst open, but I would like to get LASIK so I can lose the nerdy glasses that I hide behind – it’s totally psychological – my idea that I am hiding, but still. I am afraid to get the procedure done, and afraid not to have anything to hide behind.
In an effort to reassure myself LAKIK is safe, easy and a wonderful thing to do, I googled for people’s experiences. There I learned about doctors botching surgeries, people’s vision being distorted, permanent eye damage and even the risk of going blind! Holy shit!
Thinking that maybe I should hold off on Lasik, I googled abdominoplasty pictures and recovery. There I found pictures of women with drains and tubes coming out of the freshly operated on bellys, horror stories of the pain and the feeling of being sewed back together so tightly they “can’t breathe.”
I thought maybe if I added in a boob job with the tummy surgery that it would serve as an incentive to get the work done; and of course Dave was supportive, “You deserve it,” he told me. Visiting the plastic surgeon’s office, I tried on different sizes of boobs. In stead of looking in the mirror seeing a buxom beauty, I saw myself as top-heavy and fat and asked the nurse for a smaller pair. “Those are the smallest ones we have," she informed me. "We rarely use those.”
Oh dear. Why must you make everything so difficult, I asked myself. You have really got yourself in a pickle now.
Maybe I should use the money and check into a chemical dependency rehab in
or HI or CA. Not that I have an addiction, but I am sure I could fake one, and then it would be like a vacation. There are treatment centers have serve lovely meals, offer massages and meditation times, all set on a private beach, not to mention the meetings with the therapists in which I could talk about myself guilt free, the opportunity to sleep in without children pestering me, and the fantastic psych drugs that may be prescribed. I could probably afford at least a few days rehab with the use-it or lose-it money tucked away for medical expenses… Florida