So...
I eventually screwed up the chutzpah to call the surgeon's office. They require that I view their online seminar prior to making an appt for consultation (of which, I wouldn't meet w/the surgeon, but some other medical professional on staff).
The seminar consisted of six or seven videos. At the end of each video, I was required to take a "quiz." After I finished viewing all videos and taking all the quizzes, I then had to print up a "certificate of completion," which I then faxed to his office along with my registration form, and insurance card information. I was told I would hear back in 24-48 hours in regards to scheduling the consultation.
I faxed everything in on November 27th, nearly two weeks ago. Haven't heard a peep from them. It took every ounce of grit in me to even get "this far." Their inaction is unnerving me. And yet, I don't want to follow up. I'm resistant. I can intellectualize I "need" the surgery; however, I know the moment that the consultation is made, my life for an entire year is not going to be "my life" for an entire year. I get depressed thinking about all the appointments and demands put on me, both pre-op and post-op. I get even more depressed thinking about the post-op.
I'm miserable now.
I'll be miserable if I have the surgery.
I'll be miserable if I DO NOT have the surgery.
I continue to see my psychotherapist every two weeks (of which makes me anxious, because of scheduling all THIS time off from work, given how short-staffed my office is, and I do not see that changing any time in the near future).
Tuesday, December 08, 2009
Friday, December 04, 2009
Courage Is Under-Rated
I finally finished viewing the online seminar, containing 6-7 videos with accompanying quizzes.
I finally printed out the "certificate of completion" to verify that I saw all the videos and took all the quizzes.
I printed out and filled out the "registration" form.
I photocopied my insurance card, front AND back.
I faxed all this shit to the surgeon's office, with the expectation that within 24-48 hours I would receive a call back to schedule a consultation, of which I would not meet with the surgeon but someone else, perhaps a "liaison" of sorts. Perhaps a physicians assistant or a nutritionist.
Amount of time which has now elapsed since I jumped through all these hoops and faxed out the necessary paperwork: One full week.
My mind was made up to go thru with this surgery last year. Then dad died, and I gave myself a year to cope with the loss. The topic is now front-and-center and needs to be addressed. Sure, I could have had all this done last year, so then when the year was up, I'd be "on deck" and ready for surgery. However, I was barely functioning last year. If I could not manage to get my act together and remember to re-up for the flexible spending account for my medical reimbursement for 2009, I doubt if I would have been salient enough to jump through all these hoops.
So yes. It's a mind fuck. The surgeon's time is too valuable to deal with me directly on this level, so I have to jump through hoops and wait for them to respond. And yet, my time has zero value at this point. If I think about this any longer, I will probably explode with rage due to the fact that their inaction, their devaluing MY time and my effort and the sheer CHUTZPAH it took to do all this, to attempt to get this process started, only furthers the agony of my obsessing on how horrible it all will be: all the ADDITIONAL pre-certification firey hoops I will have to jump through; all the pre-op firey hoops I will have to jump thru; and all the post-op firey hoops I will have to jump thru. A year's worth of shit for me to swim through personally before I even see a GLIMMER of a normal-ish life.
It's a Hobson's Choice really. What choice is there to have? To go in and have my stomach surgically mutilated on the off-chance it will change this legacy of shitty health I have been born into VS not doing a damned thing and being just as miserable.
Life is a never-ending stream of suffering. It's those few precious moments of joy that fool me into thinking that life could be anything other than suffering. Because even when I experience the rarity of joy, it is fleeting, and I revert back to suffering. All of this is in vain. Life is the ultimate vanity trip.
I finally printed out the "certificate of completion" to verify that I saw all the videos and took all the quizzes.
I printed out and filled out the "registration" form.
I photocopied my insurance card, front AND back.
I faxed all this shit to the surgeon's office, with the expectation that within 24-48 hours I would receive a call back to schedule a consultation, of which I would not meet with the surgeon but someone else, perhaps a "liaison" of sorts. Perhaps a physicians assistant or a nutritionist.
Amount of time which has now elapsed since I jumped through all these hoops and faxed out the necessary paperwork: One full week.
My mind was made up to go thru with this surgery last year. Then dad died, and I gave myself a year to cope with the loss. The topic is now front-and-center and needs to be addressed. Sure, I could have had all this done last year, so then when the year was up, I'd be "on deck" and ready for surgery. However, I was barely functioning last year. If I could not manage to get my act together and remember to re-up for the flexible spending account for my medical reimbursement for 2009, I doubt if I would have been salient enough to jump through all these hoops.
So yes. It's a mind fuck. The surgeon's time is too valuable to deal with me directly on this level, so I have to jump through hoops and wait for them to respond. And yet, my time has zero value at this point. If I think about this any longer, I will probably explode with rage due to the fact that their inaction, their devaluing MY time and my effort and the sheer CHUTZPAH it took to do all this, to attempt to get this process started, only furthers the agony of my obsessing on how horrible it all will be: all the ADDITIONAL pre-certification firey hoops I will have to jump through; all the pre-op firey hoops I will have to jump thru; and all the post-op firey hoops I will have to jump thru. A year's worth of shit for me to swim through personally before I even see a GLIMMER of a normal-ish life.
It's a Hobson's Choice really. What choice is there to have? To go in and have my stomach surgically mutilated on the off-chance it will change this legacy of shitty health I have been born into VS not doing a damned thing and being just as miserable.
Life is a never-ending stream of suffering. It's those few precious moments of joy that fool me into thinking that life could be anything other than suffering. Because even when I experience the rarity of joy, it is fleeting, and I revert back to suffering. All of this is in vain. Life is the ultimate vanity trip.
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