I sit on the hospital bed in my gown, after they’ve finally gotten an IV in my arm. Every person I see, I specifically tell not to tell me my weight. Most of them don’t even know my weight, but I don’t understand what my weight is doing and I’m still struggling with anorexia, even if I don’t “look like it”. I know I’m not at a point where I can handle it if one person slips up, and I acknowledge it. I’m finally not afraid to tell people what I need.
Nonetheless, I’m so excited. The surgeon walks into the room and looks at me, as I sit feeling so vulnerable in my gown. I can’t exactly wear my chest binder into surgery.
She looks at me. She tells me that she thinks my top surgery will go well. For “best results”, though, we could cancel today’s surgery, and I could come back after losing X pounds.
I’m shocked. I’ve been waiting for this day for so long. I told her at our initial appointment how vulnerable I am, how hard this is for me. “Everybody has something they don’t like about their body,” she told me. Dismissive. So dismissive.
I have the surgery. I have some complications, but my primary care provider understands that I need her to help me. We take care of things together as best we can.
I should probably see the surgeon again.
I don’t.