So I’m on this curs-ed three-week liquid diet before my Feb. 12th surgery. I just can’t quit talking about it, can I? I will tell you little concerning my last meal, in which I ate three chicken fajitas and an entire basket of chips and queso. But I will share in detail the proof of my struggle and determination that has come to bear itself over the course of this… this… this… hazing.
Today I’ve completed just over one week (almost two!), and it’s all I can do to stop from shaking down the vending machine for some Cheez-Its. Another temptation – the blasted M&M dispenser. I believe the profits (which are considerable when charging 25 cents for six M&M’s – an obscene gesture in itself) go to the Lions Club. I wonder how an organization as benevolent as the Lions Club sleeps at night knowing the treacherous ways in which they procure their money? I’d buy a big bag of my beloved M’s and keep them in my desk drawer, but we all know how that would go.
Anyways… you put in a quarter and out rolls about six M&M’s, gumball style. It’s notorious for shooting the candies onto the floor shotgun-style, and sending one to ponder the most primeval of thoughts. “Should I pick that M&M up off the floor and eat it, or should I lick the soles of hundreds of strangers’ shoes?”. Me, I’m the type to pick up my rogue M&M’s. And I expect you are, too. Otherwise you wouldn’t be reading this desperate wasteland of a blog. I figure my constitution can handle it, being that untitleddog has been known to sneak up on me and slip me the tongue when I least expect it. A mouth that has indirectly licked dog balls can handle a little street dirt.
Well, I am happy to report that I have hit a new low. For a moment, I considered picking up a STRANGER’S M&M – a solitary brown fellow – up off the floor and eating it. It could’ve been there for days, weeks, who knows. I walked away sans M&M, but you must know that I paused. After I left the scene, I even thought about walking back for it. Oh, the depths one will sink to when you have eaten Potato Buds every day for nine days straight.
I can’t possibly imagine that there are others out there who have survived the liquid diet ritual without thinking such heinous thoughts. So I conducted a little research. Turns out that most bariatric programs require a pre-surgery liquid diet of less than one week. Some don’t require it at all, saying that it is inhumane. SO WHAT IS UP WITH MY HOSPITAL REQUIRING A THREE-WEEK LIQUID DIET? Even death row inmates are given a last supper. The program coordinator just goes about her daily business, handing out these liquid diet orders just because she is skinny and I am fat and she can. She says it’s to help me lose weight before surgery, which will help make it possible to do things laparoscopically. To this, I say “You first, bitch. See how batshit YOU get when reduced to Jello, sugar-free applesauce and cream soups.”
Dear me. Have I gone too far? Have I crossed that line? I see that I have. Well then. In the immortal words of Tim Gunn… carry on!