OK, this entry is a little long-winded, but bear with me. I will get there eventually.

The day my rheumatologist first brought up the idea of bariatric surgery was a hard day for me. Not so much because of that particular appointment, but because of the one after it. I had to drive to Dayton, see my rheumatologist, waste several hours, then go to my first appointment with a pain management doctor. Dayton is quite a drive, and for me to come all the way home only to turn around and come back right after would have been ridiculous. So I spent some time eating lunch, playing on my cell phone, and looking at the clock every two minutes until it was time to see the PM doc. In the meantime it had started to rain. Anyone who has fibromyalgia will tell you that the rain usually makes you hurt worse, and I'm no exception. Plus all the time spent sitting in seats of varying softness and comfort levels had really put my back in severe pain. When it was finally time for my appointment, I was ready. Really, really ready.

The nurse spent about an hour taking a full medical history and asking all kinds of questions about my pain. My fibromyalgia is fairly well controlled, but the sciatica from my slipped discs is not, and that was the reason for the visit. My rheumatologist suggested injections to help make me functional again. Anyway, I had included information about my fibromyalgia in my history because I felt it was only right. Fibro has its own set of complications, and if they didn't know about it, that could alter my course of treatment. But I did make sure to tell the nurse that I was there for the sciatica, not the fibro.

I waited another 45 minutes for the doctor to see me. When he finally came in, he flipped open my chart, scanned through it, and started talking about my fibromyalgia. He suggested I start taking Lyrica for the pain. I had already discussed this with my rheumatologist, and she had decided against it because it has a high tendency to cause people to gain weight, and I told him that. The next drug he mentioned was Savella. This is the only drug I am allergic to. I had tried it and was hospitalized twice because of rapid heart rate, sky-high blood pressure, and uncontrollable vomiting. It stated this clearly in my chart. It was then that I realized that this guy really didn't give a crap about helping me. Somehow we came around to discussing the fact that my rheumy had suggested WLS, and he gave me a long lecture about how it "wasn't an easy way out" etc. etc. and how I should just basically buckle down and try Weight Watchers. Then he told me that he thought I would be better suited for a different pain management program and that he would refer me, and left the room.

Immediately I started to cry. I couldn't help myself. I had spent all day in pain, waiting for this man to help give me some relief, and all he did was lecture me and walk away. I tried to hide my tears from the nurse who came to give me my paperwork, but she could tell I was very upset. I made it out of the office, out the door and to my car before I broke down in uncontrollable sobbing. I texted my boyfriend about what had happened. He texted back some expletives about the doctor, but didn't call me. I was glad he didn't because I was crying too hard to talk anyway. I literally cried the whole 60+ miles home.

When I got home, I called my mom right away. She could hear the hurt in my voice and started asking me all kinds of questions. I told her all about the PM doc and my awful experience while she aww-ed and poor baby-ed me until I felt a little better. Then I briefly mentioned the rheumy bringing up bariatric surgery. That set her off. "No. No. No. I'm sorry, the answer is no. You are not doing that." I was a little bit shocked by her reaction. I couldn't handle any more emotional upset, so I quickly got off the phone and went to bed.

The next day, I called her again. I gingerly brought up the WLS again, and she explained that she had seen an episode of Dr. Oz about it and that she wouldn't have me doing that. I didn't see the show, but she told me about it. Apparently there were several women on the program who described "the horrors" of surgery. One woman showed a day's worth of food, which I guess was about 3 tablespoons of mushy stuff. There were mentions of huge amounts of excess skin and serious malnutrition. The woman's digestion was so disrupted my the operation that she had to take enzymes for the rest of her life just to digest her food. My mom had been so appalled by the show that she said she would not let me have surgery. I explained to her that I was actually considering it, and that the lap-band did not have all of those issues associated with it; some, but not all. She seemed surprised that I would even think about doing such a thing. "I would think that surgery would be your last option." Well, mom, what do you think it is? Have you not seen me struggle with my weight for all these years? Have you not heard me cry about how uncomfortable I am with my body? Have you not thought about how much pain I am causing myself by basically carrying around another full-grown person with me at all times? And did you not also watch my dad die a slow and miserable death brought about by the same thing?

I have since given her a lot of information about the lap-band procedure vs. the other surgical options available. I have shown her how it is safer and equally as effective if used properly. We talked about how, since my stomach will remain intact, my digestion will not be altered nearly as much. She has begun to come around to the idea, but she still has huge reservations. I will be bringing her to my informational seminar in January so she can hear exactly what the surgeon has to say. She was relieved that I will have to do 9 months supervised diet per my insurance company. I think she feels like she has at least that much time to change my mind.

In the end, it really is my decision. I am a grown woman and do not need my mom's permission to have the surgery. But it would comfort me greatly to have her blessing. I know she would support me no matter what, but the idea of making such a life-altering decision without her full backing is scary to me. I guess I have nine months or so to change her mind.

Thanks, Dr. Oz.