Had an appointment today at Northwestern. Don't get scared, this was planned. I went to see a dermatologist about my facial hair. Which means I had to get up and stay up this morning, then catch a bus (that was late, naturally) filled with cranky commuters and one fabulous artsy type. I wish I had snapped a picture of him. He was fucking glorious. Bleached hair, sunglasses, a fur vest, tight star print shirt, tight pants, and the most badass fucking leopard print high heels/wedges/don't know how to describe them. He made my morning. Anyway...
I got to Northwestern in plenty of time, filled out the paperwork, and waited to be called back. Nice place, with nice people. A far cry from some of the surly bastards that work at my local clinic. The dermatologist was nice, too, but she leveled with me. There is not much I can do for my facial hair to remove it permanently. I could try laser, which is mostly permanent, or I could try a pill (spironolactone). The pill is not without its dangers because I'm already on a hypertension medicine (spironolactone is used for that, along with getting rid of excess water and sodium), and it fucks with your potassium. It also isn't permanent, because once you stop, your beard starts coming in regularly.
Then again, I just read a huge long forum post on how awesome it is, so I'd do it anyway. Fuck you, testosterone!
After that appointment, I just wandered around downtown Chicago. I didn't have anything else planned, so I figured I'd hit up a few expensive assed stores, make the employees feel uncomfortable with my fat, under dressed, sort of bearded self, then grab a lunch. It was pleasant. Not too crowded, nice and chilly outside, and the air actually smelled decent. For once.
I popped into Macy's for a look around, but got bored, so I went into the mall next door and started window shopping. They had a food court with a fancy buffet, but it smelled fuckawful, possibly worse than Golden Corral. I looked at my phone to check the time and noticed I had missed a call. It was local-ish, and then I realized who it was. The Lap Band clinic. I plopped down in a chair and called them back.
While waiting for them to answer, I mulled over what they were going to tell me. I figured it was probably bad news. When I got through, the receptionist connected me with the lady in charge of helping the patients. She was her usual (un)helpful self. She said that the upper GI looked fine, and I told her that that was good, but it still didn't explain why I had the heartburn happen. She sort of got exasperated and asked me if I wanted to come in for an appointment. WELL NO FUCKING SHIT. So I'm supposed to go in next Tuesday and she will unfill the band, have me drink water to see if that will dislodge anything stuck (WTF?), and then refill it. Uh, okay.
This is my rant about her and the band. You have been warned.
Over the three years that I have had this band, this lady has chapped my ass. She has a fucking awful bedside manner, an accusatory way about her, and is just so generally unpleasant that I hate going in for what are supposed to be regular appointments. She was the one who got all bitchy with me back in May about gaining weight....before realizing my band had fallen apart again.
Yeah.
Needless to say, I dislike her immensely. I don't understand how someone with her attitude is supposed to be effective in this process. I get that they have to be pushy and make us focus, but she just turns me off of participating with their clinic at all. That's not to say I don't do stuff on my own. I just like steering clear of her and her lack of compassion.
I also don't like the way that they have handled my band and its multiple revisions. No one should EVER have to have three fucking revisions on a band. God only knows what will happen if something is wrong with it again. No doubt they'll beg me to keep it, because fuck the patient. It's all about the money.
Yes, that's how I honestly feel, and yes, I really do regret getting this thing now. Don't get me wrong, it has been marginally successful and has made me realize that I need to watch what I put in my mouth (shut up). But when you think of the four surgeries I've had, the bouts of attitude and bitchiness I've received, the incompetence at the beginning of this program, the stunning lack of information I was given.....it just really doesn't seem worth it.
I know if I wanted to, I could demand to have this taken out and have a different surgery. I'm not sure I want that, though. It's just trading one evil for another (to me, anyways).
I'm tired of being cut open, but at the same time, I really want this thing out of me. I'm scared that I will fail again without it, but I am not comfortable with it anymore. So now it's a matter of weighing the pros and cons of keeping this bit of plastic that sort of stops me from eating, but not really.
/end rant
Back to my day. After hanging up with Ms. No Help, I walked around some more until my side started aching. That usually means I'm hungry, so I went back down to the stinky basement and found a burger place. M Burger, to be exact. HOLY SHIT, WHY HAVEN'T I EVER EATEN THERE BEFORE?!?! The M Burger namesake was really REALLY close to an In N Out Burger, and I wanted to weep for joy.
So yeah. Go try this place if you're local or will be visiting. Decently priced (for Chicago) burgers. Their shakes looked good too, but I was straight full from the burger, and I didn't even finish all of it.
Guess that means a return visit.
I went home after that. Bloated from the food, which seems to be happening a lot lately, and I was just really tired. I didn't even go harass the people in Tiffany & Co.
And that was my day. Ta-da! Now I'm off to screech at my kid and walk the cat down the hallway. Don't ask.
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