
Internets, I'm distraught.
Remember how I told you my thyroid was wonky? And then remember how I told you my endocrinologist thought that it was just temporary? Yeah, it wasn't. I'm still all messed up.
And it wouldn't be so bad except that I can't have my tummy tuck if it's not being treated. And of course my endocrinologist is out of town until next Friday. There's another endocrinologist that I used to see that will be in on Monday, so I'm going to try to see him and beg him to give me clearance for the surgery. (I'm not exaggerating. I will beg. On my knees, if necessary.)
If he doesn't, I'm screwed. It means I might have to wait quite awhile (like, a year) for it and probably pay out of pocket.
I'm not a happy camper.
There might even be tears and four letter words involved right now.
Honestly, I don't even want to think about not getting it in two weeks. Last night I was out walking and I kept hearing a slapping noise. I realized it was my pannus (hi Lydia!) hitting my thighs as I walked.
I heard a story about a (crazy) woman who gave herself a tummy tuck. It's not sounding so crazy anymore.
Internets, think positive thoughts for me, O.K.? I need this tummy tuck. It's not simply cosmetic. As I told one person who criticized my decision to have it and called it purely cosmetic: Tie a 5 pound bag of flour around your waist and leave it there. For a year.
Gah. This frakkin sucks!
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