Too Fat To Help

"Okay, ma'am, you're going to roll over from your bed onto the operating table." 

"Roll over? Is it because I'm round?"

Crickets.

No one appreciated my fat joke, so it was only common sense to double down and make an even worse joke. Slapstick; crawl over to the next bed kind of joke. 

Tough crowd at the theatre.

Was it because I'm genuinely not funny? Were they experiencing secondhand embarrassment as I fumbled my whole schtick?

Or were they nervous due to my physician's cumulonimbostratus flavoured, catastrophic report of my health and how I could die any time during surgery. 

I went with the latter. 

This procedure was never something that I thought would be dealt with so swiftly, by a virtual stranger. See, I had previously entrusted my whole reproductive system to a person who found it easy to say that my pain is normal. Someone I had to see more times than one usually sees this type of physician. She gave up on me and my pesky pelvic pain. How dare I cry from endometriosis pain...

One day, after dreaming of surgically removing my whole pelvis and stitching my legs directly onto my chest to avoid the pain inflicted by foreign objects inside my womb, I relented.

I called a helper to find me a new cookie physician, be it a man or a woman. I'd take a bear at that point. For, my sexist self previously thought that a female gynaecologist would be so much better because she'd understand the references I'd make in relation to pain. 

I was painfully incorrect and I paid for it with my sanity. 

I found him. The new cookie doctor. Initially, a severe looking fellow, who turned out to be just who I needed. 

Within a week of meeting, this man had removed the source of my troubles without so much as mentioning that I needed to lose weight before he considers surgery. And he can smile. A lot. 

Do I need to shed weight for my health? Yes, absolutely. I'm starting to form an orbit around me

Did I need to shed weight to get help from a skilled gynaecologist surgeon? As it turns out, I didn't.

The scariest part of this surgery was losing the use of my legs without warning. I was still horsing about on that table after receiving a spinal block, when I suddenly felt like half a human. I asked that we reverse the anaesthesia because I wasn't ready. There were scattered giggles. They probably thought I was still speaking in jest. I wasn't. I was terrified.

Beneath all this fat, I am human.