If you wanna feel better about your family, just read about ours...

Starring: a dad, a mom, a son & daughter-in-law, a daughter & son-in-law, a teen, a tween, 1 grandson, 3 granddaughters, 3 dogs, and a whole lot of love.

Family Story Pic

Family Story Pic


Tuesday, August 2, 2016

Cry Booby- Part 2

Thursday, July 7th

So yeah. The day before my scheduled surgery on the 1st, the doc's daughter goes into labor. He hightails it outta town. Boob job, cancelled. Along with a month's worth of massage clients, a month's worth of Zumba classes, all planned around my husband's week off to care for me post-op...poof. Gone.

Sorry 'bout your luck. Nothin' we can do.
Well, except MAYBE when discussing the date of my surgery, you actually TELLING me this might be a potential conflict, because I assure you, I would've said, "Oh, hell no" and chosen a date in June, since I was, you know, altering my entire life around this for months. But, hey, whatever. So, I did what any woman in my position would've done. I burst into tears.

Here's something you need to know and you'll understand why later. I don't cry. My default emotions are pissed and rage. Ron's is happy humor. So when I skip past pissed and rage and I'm crying, my husband bolts past happy humor and snaps into pissed and rage. We're a super fun combo of spontaneous emotional combustion.

The next several hours were spent with me on the phone. First, with the office manager to find out when my doctor could reschedule my surgery. August 30th?! (Piss and rage.) Her attempt at talking me down was to share with me that "as it turns out, the wrong implants came in anyway, so see? Everything happens for a reason." (Piss and rage x 10.) So I called a new surgeon's office and scheduled a consult for July 12th. Then went back to the office manager of my original doctor to request a full refund, where she encouraged me to try the associate doctor in their practice, Dr. O'Neil, and then raved about how excellent he is. So I called Ron at work, who suggested I go ahead and see the associate doctor since everything with them was already paid in full and it'd be less hassle than starting over with a different office. So back on the phone with the office manager to make an appointment with Dr. O'Neil on Tuesday July 5th, and then back on with the new office to cancel the appointment I'd just made with them on the 12th.

Follow all that? Basically, it was 3 hours of emotional flailing, while exposing my manic to strangers, via telephone. A good time was had by all.

Whether or not I got a boob job boiled down to 3 factors.
1. Will I feel comfortable with and trust the associate doctor?
2. Will everything be considered already paid in full? Every.Thing.
3. Will he be able to get me in for the surgery within the next 2 weeks, which still allows for enough healing time before my full load of Zumba classes resume from Summer break on August 22nd?

So on July 5th, we headed to my appointment to get those questions answered.
1. First up, the doctor. I LOVED HIM. His thoroughness and attention to detail were unbelievable. He did a full examination and took measurements. See, those seem like important steps. He also asked thought provoking questions, such as, "Are you happy with your areolas?" Um, I've never really thought about it, truth be told, probably because they've been facing the ground the past 10 years or so. Outta sight, outta mind, you might say. His game plan was different than my original doctor's and I felt a whole lot better about it. An anchor cut around my areola and below my nipple with no mention of losing said nipple(s), and according to my desired outcome and his measurements, 500 cc's would be too big of an implant for my frame, so the size range he'd choose from would be 350-400 cc's.
(So, ladies, if you see a plastic surgeon for a boob job, and he's not all over you with a marker and measuring device, find a different doctor. Seriously. This is not something that should be eye-balled.)
2. As for the money aspect, he explained that his charges would coincide.
3. Scheduling wise, they'd have to check and get back to me.

Okay, 2 outta 3, but if they couldn't get me in before July 22nd, that would close the door for me. Regardless, I left there knowing that for whatever reason, I was NOT meant to have that boob job by my original doctor on July 1st, and I had to leave open the possibility that God didn't want me to have this boob job at all.

Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe a boob job isn't something that God cares about one way or another, because, come on, He's got bigger things on His plate. (Ew, that sounded bad.) But I'd much rather assume He cares about every single thing, right down to my cosmetic surgeries, and hear Him tell me it didn't matter to Him one way or another some day, than to trust myself to pick and choose the areas of my life where He does or doesn't want me to seek His will. Make sense?

So the next day when the office manager called, I was expecting to find out a date for surgery. And I did. Tuesday July 19th. Perfect. THEN she informed me of the "unavoidable extra costs" that totaled $326.00. And I burst into tears.

Let's review. That's 2 times in a matter of 5 days that this 1 woman made me cry.
Enter Ron, whose eyes had already shifted and he'd snapped into 'bad cop' before he even dialed her number. She had no idea what was coming. I can't tell you exactly what was said, but there was a lot of scary yelling that escalated to a "SCREW YOU!" when he thought she'd hung up on him, except she hadn't. Awkward.

She replied with, "The doctor will call your wife later. Not YOU."
Sorry, lady, but he's what you get if you make me cry. Try pissing me off next time, you'll love him.

I didn't really expect a phone call from the doctor, but rather a restraining order for my husband, and on top of that, I'd now been screwed into a corner and forced to play 'good cop.'
Dammit, man, I suck at good cop.

And to be honest, the idea of pleading my case to the nice doctor scared the crap out of me. But as promised, later that night, he called and left a message and gave me his personal cell number to return his call. (Risky on his part.) Unfortunately, we were in a movie at the time and it was after 10pm when we got out, so I sent a super polite text explaining my not wanting to disturb him at that late hour and told him he could return my call at his earliest convenience.
See? Me's nice. Me's considerate. Me's worth writing off $326.00 for...

Allow me to take a bit of a detour here. I had a huge revelation that night and shared it with Ron. When it's a matter of defending him or any of our kids, I'm all in. Don't start none, won't be none, and by the time I'm done, you'll wish to hell you hadn't started none. But when it comes to defending myself, I go almost paralyzed with intimidation, because who am I to ask anyone for anything, because I don't deserve anything, because I'm kind of a hot mess, therefore, unworthy of defense. (The things Satan likes to whisper in my ear, even as in this case, I've done absolutely nothing wrong.) So Ron said just what I needed to hear: "Then don't defend you. Defend me. I've been wronged here, too. I want those boobs as badly as you do."

There it is.

So that morning, I waited for the phone to ring and I prepared myself to defend Ron while I listened to a sermon about the importance of memorizing, believing, and obeying scripture. Then I popped over to my YouVersion Bible app and was immediately led to this: "For God's spirit doesn't make us timid, but rather gives us power, love, and self-discipline." 2 Timothy 1:7. (Typed that from memory, fyi. Boom.)

I'm sure you're right if you're rolling your eyes that God had no intention of that verse ever becoming a pep talk for me under these circumstances. But it did. And then the phone rang.

Granted, I almost hyperventilated in the first 60 seconds of explaining to him all of the ways this procedure has already cost us. But once I calmed down and overcame the urge to pass out in a pile of my own vomit, we had a very productive conversation that boiled down to this conclusion:  This situation wasn't his fault and he shouldn't have to pay anything from his own pocket. BUT, same goes for us. I wasn't asking him to front the financial burden of this circumstance outside of his control. BUT, I wasn't willing to ask my husband to, either.

Then he offered to talk with the other doctor and the office manager. (Oh lawd..., not her...)

There are no guarantees and I'm not expecting any. I left it with thanking him for taking this next step on my behalf, and informing him that I had a pre-op appointment established for Monday July 11th and surgery penciled in for the 19th, so simply to let me know soon so that those could be cancelled and avoid wasting any more of his time if this didn't work out.
See? Me's grateful. Me's respectful. Me's needs new boobs...

Friday, July 8th
The doctor's office called. They're covering the $326.00.
BUT, if there's any added expense for the different implants the doctor is ordering, that'll be on us.

So this was still not set in stone...or silicone, as the case may be. I had an appointment to see the doctor on Monday July 11th to discuss implants.

To be continued. Again.