Superhero Strength

I’m sitting here, near tears and almost shaking. August 10th. Tomorrow-4 years to the day, I entered the hospital for heart failure.

I’m emotional because tomorrow, I meet the doctor who will save my life.

I hate doctors. Doctors want to help people? I guess. My experience has been: few doctors actually want to help people and are mostly in it for the money, power, prestige. Most doctors would scoff at that. “I coulda been a lawyer if all I wanted was money.” This is what I imagine they would say as they rip off their surgical mask with wind superheroic-ly blowing through their hair and scrubs.

I guess it depends on the doctor, why they do what they do. There are as many kinds of doctors with as many kinds of skills and temperaments as there are McDonald’s employees. Sometimes you get a good one, sometimes you get a person having a bad day or ignorant of what to do. Regardless, doctor or McD’s cashier, they’re both doing a job that I can’t and don’t want.

Who voluntarily says that they want to be a doctor of fat people? Not many. I’m guessing the number is approximately equal to those who study proctology. But I guess my doctor/surgeon wants to help overweight patients since he’s been doing it for over 10 years, almost 15, maybe more. He’s saved more than 5,000 patients with bariatric surgery. Saved their life, in most cases. 5,000. Can anyone reading this say that they’ve saved 5,000 lives? That’s a superhero.

So, I guess I’m a little nervous to meet my superhero surgeon face-to-face.

I want so much to succeed. I want to meet my goals that I’ve had for over 4 years. I want to get healthy. And so much is riding on this surgery. Quality of life, length of life, complete healing. I don’t know if most doctors realize how much they’re helping? Do they know how fragile their patients are? Can they feel how desperate they are? Do they know the true power they hold? Do most patients tear up at the promise of help?

I’m scared I can’t live without food. That I’ll hurt myself because I’ve hurt my body for 43 years; in little, drawn-out ways and in big, stupid ways. Please, God. Help me stop hurting myself. I want to so desperately be the person you created me to be so long ago. I want to fulfill my promise. Your promise. Help me. Help me be focused on what’s right and help me stand up for help, for myself and others. Help me be a superhero.

I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. And a doctor who’s willing to help.

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