Ta-Ta's For Now
Now, as I mentioned yesterday, the latest update on the breast reduction surgery.
I went in for a consultation with a woman who was considered one of the best in my seven cities. Some good news and some bad. The bad news is that the only way that my insurance will pay for it is if I have at least a year's worth of documentation from a family doctor or general practitioner that I have had ongoing health issues attributed to my breast size, and well, I don't have any of that.
For one, I don't have a family doctor. When I'm sick I go to Patient First, or in worse cases, the ER. I have never been one to visit a doctor for every little sniffle and boo-boo, let alone back and chest pains that have plagued me for so long that over the years I had just learned to suck it up and endure. I mean what exactly would be the use to go to the doctor and moan about it? "Well, ma'am, my professional diagnosis is that you've got big hooters. Go take a pill and leave your co-pay with the receptionist." Maybe I'm wrong, but I pretty much always imagined that this was something I just had to learn to live with. It really is no longer a matter of aesthetics (once the initial novelty wears off my breasts become less objects of erotica and more a neverending source of prop comedy). I just want to be able to sleep better. Bend over without groaning. Run without practically carrying one in each hand. Buy bras off the rack.
But the good news is that when I told them about how much weight I've lost over the past two years they suddenly got very excited. They said that if I can provide medical documentation of this weight loss for the insurance company, then it would prove that I have tried and succeeded in attempting other means to alleviate my back pain and something that significant means that I could possibly cut doctor's visits and referral down to only 6 months instead of a year.
So I guess that's where I stand at the moment. From here on out I suppose I need to start going against my nature and carrying my achy ass down to the Doc-N-The-Box and start the bitching. I don't know why, but I just know that it's going to feel foolish to do this. And damn I hate wasting my time going to a doctor over something that I had decided years ago would just be my lot in life. But that's just it -- the older I get the more I'm beginning to realize that it doesn't have to be.
I need external motivation, perhaps. I'll start hanging pictures of girls with perfect posture and C-cup sized breasts all over the house. Maybe I can get Joe to help me. I'm sure he wouldn't mind the new, uh, change in decor.
I went in for a consultation with a woman who was considered one of the best in my seven cities. Some good news and some bad. The bad news is that the only way that my insurance will pay for it is if I have at least a year's worth of documentation from a family doctor or general practitioner that I have had ongoing health issues attributed to my breast size, and well, I don't have any of that.
For one, I don't have a family doctor. When I'm sick I go to Patient First, or in worse cases, the ER. I have never been one to visit a doctor for every little sniffle and boo-boo, let alone back and chest pains that have plagued me for so long that over the years I had just learned to suck it up and endure. I mean what exactly would be the use to go to the doctor and moan about it? "Well, ma'am, my professional diagnosis is that you've got big hooters. Go take a pill and leave your co-pay with the receptionist." Maybe I'm wrong, but I pretty much always imagined that this was something I just had to learn to live with. It really is no longer a matter of aesthetics (once the initial novelty wears off my breasts become less objects of erotica and more a neverending source of prop comedy). I just want to be able to sleep better. Bend over without groaning. Run without practically carrying one in each hand. Buy bras off the rack.
But the good news is that when I told them about how much weight I've lost over the past two years they suddenly got very excited. They said that if I can provide medical documentation of this weight loss for the insurance company, then it would prove that I have tried and succeeded in attempting other means to alleviate my back pain and something that significant means that I could possibly cut doctor's visits and referral down to only 6 months instead of a year.
So I guess that's where I stand at the moment. From here on out I suppose I need to start going against my nature and carrying my achy ass down to the Doc-N-The-Box and start the bitching. I don't know why, but I just know that it's going to feel foolish to do this. And damn I hate wasting my time going to a doctor over something that I had decided years ago would just be my lot in life. But that's just it -- the older I get the more I'm beginning to realize that it doesn't have to be.
I need external motivation, perhaps. I'll start hanging pictures of girls with perfect posture and C-cup sized breasts all over the house. Maybe I can get Joe to help me. I'm sure he wouldn't mind the new, uh, change in decor.
posted by Melissa at 7:24 AM
3 Comments:
I've never gone to a doctor over back pain either, although I've been pretty lucky in that area (so far). I would be afraid they would think I was just trying to get pain pills. (Hey, that's not a bad idea, haha!!) Good luck, 6 months isn't too long, I know you'll be so happy you did. :)
That's exactly what I was thinking too. Doctors and pharmacists are constantly weeding out patients who are obvious coming in looking to hook up, and I was always certain I'd just be dismissed as another wild-eyed Vicodinwhore stumbling off the street looking for her next fix.
But I think I'm willing to endure 6 months of poking and boob-grabbing for the end results. I guess I'll give it a go on my next day off from work.
What's the latest buzz?Best Wishes, See Encinitas breast enlargement
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