The CUDAMON

We did everything they asked us to do. Even the stuff our insurance didn't require. Six months of physician supervised weight loss? Done. Stress test? EKG? Done and done. Pulmonary consult? Done. Psychiatric evaluation? We're officially sane enough for surgery. My wife and I are both trying to get the surgery. We had hoped to space it about a month apart, so one of us would be healed up enough to take care of our toddler by the time the other went under the knife. I've gone first, about a month ahead of her. All along the way, we collected the documentation from these visits, scanned it in and forwarded it to the staff member at Peachtree Surgical and Bariatrics in Atlanta to whom we were assigned at our first appointment. They were recommended to us by several people who had Dr. Titus Duncan perform their surgeries and who have had good outcomes. We were excited. We felt we were in good hands, and we trusted the practice that specializes in this type of surgery. I wanted not only a surgeon who could do this in his sleep, but a practice that knew exactly the types of information insurance companies wanted to see to approve the surgery. So, on Oct. 18, when I finished my last physician-supervised weight loss visit, I was excited to scan in the last of the notes and send them to the staff member at Peachtree Bariatrics for submission to insurance. And I heard crickets. So, the next week, I followed up with them. I e-mailed. No reply. I called. No call back. I grew concerned. I finally contacted my insurance company to see if the paperwork had been submitted. Half a dozen transferred calls later, and no, it was not. They had nothing on file. Talk to the practice, they said. I begged the receptionist not to transfer me to the same person who had been handling my account. So, she sent me to that woman's supervisor. I explained the situation, and she said she'd look into it. She called me back. It had not been submitted. More bad news: it could be 30 days to receive approval, even if they submitted it now. Another week passed, and I decided to check in with the insurance company once more, just to be sure they had my paperwork. Who knows, my wife said, maybe they'd even let me know if it'd been approved by some miracle. The lady at the insurance company was apologetic, but no paper work had been submitted. It's been three weeks since I finished my pre-surgical requirements, and the surgeon's office won't give me the time of day, won't return my calls or e-mails and evidently won't even send my paperwork to the insurance company. Today, I spoke with another staff member who let me know the supervisor I spoke with previously was no longer with the office. Great. Also, she couldn't tell me anything about whether or not my insurance had been submitted because the staff member assigned to my case -- the one we've meticulously sent our documentation to over these past seven months -- had not put any notes in our file. So, who knows? At this point, I have to assume the practice is a reflection of the provider. If they can't keep up with the documentation that we've sent them or even just forward it to the insurance company, how can I have faith in them actually cutting on me? Or being responsive if something goes wrong and there's a complication? They own their own surgery center, and I was excited at the prospect of having this done as an outpatient procedure and recovering that night at home. Now, I seriously wonder what would happen if things went south on the operating table? How would they respond? What would they do? So now I'm panicking. I'm scared. I've got to find someone else who's willing to do this on the quick. It's terrifying to come to the conclusion that you have no faith in your surgeon because of the people with whom he's surrounded himself. The practice promised they would call me back today. If the contact to whom I've submitted my stuff doesn't call me back, the receptionist said she herself would. But it's almost 5, and I've lost hope. Deciding to do this was not easy. I've tried it the "regular way" so many times. I've been obese all my life. I've never known what it's like to fit comfortably in a chair. And it was with a great deal of consideration that I decided to embark on this journey, growing ever more comfortable and at last excited about it. But Peachtree Bariatrics has snuffed out that spirit. So please, if you're in Atlanta and you're ready to start this journey yourself, let my story here serve as caution. You will go through a lot of work and a lot of expense, and in the end, they won't even answer their phone.

Thank you, everyone. It's so frustrating because we went to them eight months ago and explained what we were trying to do. Their staff was on board then, but this place has clearly become a trainwreck since then. I feel like I'm cold calling practices asking them if they want my business and begging for a surgeon to cut me, which is not how I expected this to go. Sent from my SAMSUNG-SM-G930A using the BariatricPal App

What, being rendered unconscious and allowing a man you barely know to filet you open and excise a considerable portion of your insides is leaving you feeling a bit uncertain? Why? Seriously, there are risks associated with every medical procedure. My wife has had two c-sections, which is major, open abdominal surgery. I have my reservations, but I can't wuss out after what she's been through. I could die from this procedure, or from something else. In your line of work, you're touched more often than most with life's fragility. You've seen people have the rug of life jerked right out from under them in the blink of an eye, from an SUV that swerved over the double-yellow line to the unattended space heater that claimed a family of three. Faced with that every day, I can imagine you're one who's hesitant to take anything for granted. You've seen too much go wrong too fast. But also worth considering is the kind of life you have now, and the kind of life this gamble might lead to. I have trouble sitting next to strangers in theaters because the seats are too small. I haven't been on an airplane in years. I can't take my kids to an amusement park because I can't shove my butt into the rides. The life I have now is pretty limited. Granted, it's not as limited as some -- I can buy my groceries without having to use one of those little electric scooters, and despite my size I'm still pretty athletic (much to the chagrin of my knees and ankles) -- but there's so much I can't do and that people presuppose I can't do. I want to open the door. This surgery is the key to that. I've tried for years to do it every other way -- pills, diets, exercise -- and all I've gotten out of it are some shirts that are too tight because of my temporary weight loss and a bunch of frustration. All surgeries have their risks. And this is a pretty serious one. So you have to gauge your fortitude to proceed. Personally, I think it's worth it. And I think you realize that as well, or you wouldn't have come this far. Godspeed, brother.