I'm Fat.

There must be a class in Medical School where they teach young doctors to give that 'look'. It's a serious look...with the brow sort of crunched just a little. It's an eye ball to eye ball look. No kidding around, looking away, or mumbling. When you get that 'look', you just know the doc is about to tell you something horrible. I guess in Med School they teach them to 'just spit it out'; "just say it'.

And so he did. Dr. Frankenstein, standing there in a white jacket with his name on it, looked me right square in the eye, and in a solemn and measured voice, delivered the words everyone my age dreads hearing: "Bill, the problem is that your are just too damn fat."

Somewhat take aback, I replied testily "So what? You're ugly. What's your point?"

"Seriously", Doctor Frankenstein continued, "You need to lose about 15 or 20 lbs. before I can do the surgery."

"You'll still be ugly.", I thought to my self.

Having been down the surgery 'road' before, I did not fall for his misdirection. Hell, Stevie Wonder can tell I'm fat. Here's the deal...when they want to cut you open and root around with your insides, they want to give you something else to think about rather than how much pain you are going to experience as a result of their 'fix' of what ever you have wrong with you.

Case in point. A few years ago, when I blew out my ACL, tore my meniscus, and broke my tibia, it took a lot of effort to get the knee fixed. First, the doctors said I was too old, that people my age don't really 'need' and ACL. To me, an ACL isn't optional equipment. I play soccer. I ski. I run to the bathroom. So, I told the good doctor I wanted the damn thing fixed anyway. So we scheduled the surgery. I was in the ready room when the gass-passer hit's the 'stop button'. The anesthesiologist didn't like my blood pressure or my thyroid. It took two months to get the blood pressure and thyroid issues resolved. During this two month period, because I had a great deal of difficulty walking, and was in a fair amount of pain, I was focused on getting the blood pressure and thyroid in line for the day of the surgery. I wasn't thinking about the 'day after surgery'. I was so focused on getting the surgery done that I didn't ask the most important question. I just wanted the damn surgery done.

Note to self: Think about the day after surgery. That's a very important day because the hospital pain meds will be worn off, and you be using Percocets. Think about that day. Never let some doc fussing about your age, or your blood pressure or your thyroid distract your attention away from one critically important question: "How much is this going to hurt?"

Beware! "We'll give you pain meds." is not an answer. It's part of a grand strategy for an ambush.

Here's how it works. Following surgery, you are in more pain that can be described using the English language. They have cut open the front of you knee, and using power tools or explosives, they have removed the center third of the petalar tendon. They break out the ole Black and Decker drill and, usually using a worn out wood bit, they bore a hole through your femur and one through your tibia. Next they take a coat hanger or something, and they poke the sliver of tendon through both of these holes to create a new ACL for you. You wake up, with your knee immobilized in a big ass brace that has two hinges right at knee level. Take special note of how to lock and unlock the hinges. If you fail to lock the hinges, movement of even .01 degree in the knee will bring you to new heights of unimaginable pain.

They give you "Pain Meds". Percocets, they are, and they have two distinct effects. One is to relive pain, and the other is to shut your guts down. I ate them like popcorn. The pain relief is marginal at best, but the cessation of the colo-rectal function is complete and absolute. Everything in your digestive tract stops moving just prior to its 'leaving the building' so to speak. You still get hungry. You still eat, but Elvis isn't leaving the building, if you know what I mean. Because you are looped on Percs, you don't notice for 3 or 4 days that you've apparently and miraculously been impregnated, and that what ever you are going to give birth to is going to be big. Anyone who has given birth to a large piece of firewood will never take percocets again, and the medical theory is that you'll remember the pain of childbirth instead of the pain from the surgery. It's an evil strategy.

So, now Dr. Frankenstein wants to open me up like a butterflied pork chop and rearrange my innards. He's doing that doctor 'look'. He's very serious. He's offering to gut me, for a price of course, and I suspect there is a lot of pain involved in this.

"How much is this going to hurt?", I ask, trying not to sound scared.

"We'll give you pain meds, but you've got to lose 15lbs.", Dr. Frankenstein replies.

"How much is this going to hurt?", I repeat, not falling for the misdirection.

The doctor isn't playing around. He goes for my jugular. "The easiest way for someone your age to lose weight is to cut down on your drinking.", he says without blinking. He expects this to shake me, for my love of bourbon is legend, but I don't take the bait.

"How much is this going to hurt?" I press on.

"Hurt? Not much.", he finally replies.

"Really?" I exclaim, with obvious relief.

"No...not really.", he smiled, "I can give you some pain meds."