Is Humiliation Part of the Treatment?
By voiceomt2002
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Just how much humiliation am I supposed to take? Today was a group session at the surgeon’s. You know what I learned? What an ass one of the surgeons is. That’s it.
After the weigh in, in which I gained a whole half-pound, we had the usual and repetitive lecture on how important it is we shrink our livers. I was feeling pretty good about my weight, actually. I’d had a full bladder and heavy winter clothing on, but the scale said only half a pound. I could live with that. I knew also I’d had a few too many macadamia nuts over the past few days and vowed to cut them out.
Finally, the surgeon appeared. He was as handsome as rumor had claimed. I had a hard time understanding his accent, since he was from South Africa. The Afrikaners I’ve known can seem to mumble a bit to our American ears. I’d had an Afrikaner teacher back in real estate school and I’d adored him, so I was prepared to like the surgeon, Dr. Cywes. How wrong I was.
After introducing himself and matching faces to files, he immediately turned to me and asked me if I felt my life was busy. I warily answered, “Yes.”
Then, without warning, he launched into what I can only call an attack, using me as the proverbial bad example of a patient who wasn’t on board with the program, addicted to carbs, and out of control.
I was shocked and humiliated. I protested that I’d only gained half a pound.
He thrust his finger at another member of the group. “She lost ten pounds.” He then went on with his lecture, now pointing out how I was defending myself and in total denial of my actions.
For the next hour, I swallowed tears and humiliation while he pontificated as if he knew me, accusing me of eating all sorts of carbs, ignoring the diet, and –the crowning touch—comparing me to a drug addict in need of a twelve-step program.
I was never so grateful when he finally ended his speech and swept out of the room like he could barely stand to be around us a moment longer. Baby, the feeling was mutual.
Worse, I found out one of the other women in the room had gained a pound and a half. I can only surmise that my file was on top and therefore most convenient.
All I can say right now is that I will make a special request that the other doctor is my surgeon.
I barely responded when another one of his staff came in and told me my paperwork was complete and the packet would be on its way to Tricare tomorrow. She informed the whole group that surgical dates are now being filled for January, so we can plan for late January or perhaps early February.
Lovely. Somehow, we must all remain on the liver reduction, low-carb diet through the entire holiday season. Are they insane? Why don’t I just move to a nice deserted island until January 1?
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