When I went to my last pre-insurance-approval class (is- Support group) I was told to wait until Tuesday and then call to see if the doctors had all gotten my paperwork to Dr. W. So, dutifully I call and was told that everything was kosher and that it had gone to the insurance lady, Mary, last Friday. So...sitting here, cruising the 'web, eating some pasta, watching about dinosaurs and just chilling. NOT. Okay, so the first few things were true, but I am not calm and collected! I'm about to have absolutely NO nails left. I am, in fact, biting my nails so badly that it looks like I have a nervous tick and the nice men in the white jackets are gonna take me to a padded room. Also, as a side note, I was totally expecting something different from the Support group. I had this weird image that we would all be sitting in a circle on rainbow poofy chairs talking about our feelings, our emotional eating problems, and our mothers. Something very touchy-feely. Not that there is anything wrong with touchy-feelyness, per say, but I would rather remove my own stomach with a dull, plastic spork then talk about such things in front of strangers. Well the rainbow poofy chairs were long tables, metal folding chairs, and a whiteboard. And the only touchy feeling talk going on was about vitamins, minerals and how best not to starve ourselves of vital nutrients.

So, I have all these questions whirling through my head. What if the insurance blip I had to take care of a few weeks ago didn't go all the way through the bureaucratic nine levels of hell to be attached to my file? What if the doctor's office didn't properly file my new insurance information in my folder? What if BCBS's computers suddenly become sentient and we all start living some variation of "The Terminator"? Somehow I don't think Dr W would do surgery in some broken down building while hoping to escape from a rabid AI. Okay, so maybe that last one is a touch out there...

I know that after the surgery I will be getting rid of clothes like crazy. I thought I was ready to get rid of my favorite shirt that I have had for years. I had even made plans to get said shirt in smaller incarnations. Whenever I wore this shirt I got sooo many compliments and it was the supreme of cool. Yet my Led Zepplin shirt was taken from me before it's time. Not because I have lost so much weight that it was now a tent and merrily off I went to buy another. No. It was insidiously taken from me by my dryer. I pulled it out and somehow small holes had ripped through the shirt. It had gone straight from "I can wear this out in public" through "I can wear this to the gym" to "only in my house. Alone. With the blinds closed." *sigh* Poor Led Zepplin shirt.