This week my surgeon's office called to touch base with me since we're right about halfway through the Interminable Wait. The insurance handler type person mentioned that hey, I might as well go get a psych consult in case they need it for the approval. See, my insurance's clinical policy bulletin on WLS is vague and open-ended, with lots of room for interpretation. And while it is a pretty short list of requirements, my history of past episodes of depression severe enough to be medicated means I get to go get my head shrunk before I get my belly shrunk. (Ha. so clever!)
So now I'm waiting to hear back from the behavioral health people to find out who I need to go to. I'm wondering exaclty what this is going to entail, other than me proving that I really am stable enough to behave after the surgery.
In other news, this entry over at Big Fat Deal (which is informative and smart and funny and run by three of the most awesome women I know) has me thinking a lot about The Fat Club. You know the one...the one where we can call each other fat but no one else can. It's the one my friends and I have laughed about in the past. The Fat Club is where it's okay to have a big ole booty and where one may on occasion poke one's belly while providing funny sound effects (ahem). We can call each other fat and not get our feelings hurt because we're all in the club. We're all right there, with our fleshy bellies and our mounds of boobs and our thighs of thunder. And we laugh about it and talk about how our menfolk love the curves and we have ourselves another martini.
And we all think we're beautiful. Because we are. Quite frankly, I've been out with Weetabix and Mo Pie and we are a whole pile of Hot Fat Chicks who Do Not Give A Shit what anyone thinks, and not a single person in our path has been able to deny our hotness.
But let me tell you. If someone from outside The Fat Club calls me or one of my friends fat....oh, it's on. Feelings are hurt, shame is thrown around, and quite frankly, it sucks. Because outside of The Fat Club, fat is still a bad, bad word, a harsh, angry, hateful word.
I once had a random homeless guy yelling at me while I sat at a light because he didn't like where I stopped my car. The worst insult he could come up with was to repeatedly call me a fat bitch.
My husband almost killed the man because he got so angry on my behalf. No word should ever make him that angry.
So yeah, I think we need to expand The Fat Club out. Spread the word and proselytize a little bit. Stop describing ourselves as Rubenesque or full-figured or zaftig and just claim it. Fat. Own it. Say it. Make it mean the same whether it's spelled with a "ph" or an "f".
And the next time someone calls me fat, I'm going to do my damnedest to remember my own words and simply reply "Yeah, and?"
So now I'm waiting to hear back from the behavioral health people to find out who I need to go to. I'm wondering exaclty what this is going to entail, other than me proving that I really am stable enough to behave after the surgery.
In other news, this entry over at Big Fat Deal (which is informative and smart and funny and run by three of the most awesome women I know) has me thinking a lot about The Fat Club. You know the one...the one where we can call each other fat but no one else can. It's the one my friends and I have laughed about in the past. The Fat Club is where it's okay to have a big ole booty and where one may on occasion poke one's belly while providing funny sound effects (ahem). We can call each other fat and not get our feelings hurt because we're all in the club. We're all right there, with our fleshy bellies and our mounds of boobs and our thighs of thunder. And we laugh about it and talk about how our menfolk love the curves and we have ourselves another martini.
And we all think we're beautiful. Because we are. Quite frankly, I've been out with Weetabix and Mo Pie and we are a whole pile of Hot Fat Chicks who Do Not Give A Shit what anyone thinks, and not a single person in our path has been able to deny our hotness.
But let me tell you. If someone from outside The Fat Club calls me or one of my friends fat....oh, it's on. Feelings are hurt, shame is thrown around, and quite frankly, it sucks. Because outside of The Fat Club, fat is still a bad, bad word, a harsh, angry, hateful word.
I once had a random homeless guy yelling at me while I sat at a light because he didn't like where I stopped my car. The worst insult he could come up with was to repeatedly call me a fat bitch.
My husband almost killed the man because he got so angry on my behalf. No word should ever make him that angry.
So yeah, I think we need to expand The Fat Club out. Spread the word and proselytize a little bit. Stop describing ourselves as Rubenesque or full-figured or zaftig and just claim it. Fat. Own it. Say it. Make it mean the same whether it's spelled with a "ph" or an "f".
And the next time someone calls me fat, I'm going to do my damnedest to remember my own words and simply reply "Yeah, and?"
1 Comments:
Hmm. I have no idea if your insurance was like mine, but the big mental health thing they wanted to see was that you would be compliant with your new eating regimmine. I shit you not.
I think I blogged about it back in August or September over at lessflabmorefab. Send me an email if you want more info - I even have a sample letter someplace. It's all about jumping through the hoops. I'm just glad they didn't make me do WW for a year like they seem to now.
*S*
Post a Comment
<< Home