My Life in Mayonnaise

Mayonnaise is my favorite term for describing stuff that is just blah. Not much zing. Not bad, but not good. You put it on your sandwich so it's not dry, but there's really no taste. I've used the term to describe men, sex, jobs...and today.

At the risk of turning off my two followers who actually read this thing--I will try not to make this all about the hernia. Again. But I had to go to another --yes-- another doctor in the ongoing saga of "name the alien in Lynn's stomach". Today's wheel of fortune doc actually provided some pretty good blog fodder, which always excites me. Not unlike the Gynecologist I went to a couple weeks ago who stood in the corner of the room after examining me. He actually talked to me about my uterus from 4 feet across the room. (Was it my vagina that scared him or the fact that I ripped him a new one for making me sit in a paper dress alone in an exam room for 40 minutes?) Regardless--today takes the cake. Literally. Lots of cake, and cookies,
Ho-Ho's, you name it.

So it seems like the time has come to cut open my gut and see what it is. But I'm not sure this dude I saw today will be the one to do it. I was referred to a surgeon by my primary care dufus of a doctor who reminds me every time "We're the same age!" (Why this is important to my overall health, I'm not sure.) When I walked into the surgeon's office, I saw several large people--okay--obese people-- sitting in large double-seater chairs. I thought, well he's gonna look at my tummy, maybe they all have tummy issues? They do. Or they will. Seems this surgeon's claim to fame is surgically placing rubber bands around people's stomach in an effort to slim down fast ala Carnie Wilson. As I sat there and read People Magazine's "Beautiful Body" issue (Huh? Here?) I felt strangely good about myself. And my thighs.

They called me in to the room where I sat and waited for "rubberband man" to examine me--and lo and behold--I quickly realized, you can hear every single word coming out of the patient in the next room!  I nearly fell off the table. "Well I love mayonnaise. I just can't give up mayonnaise. And Peanut butter." Doc: "try Greek yogurt instead." Hopeful woman "What's that? Does it smell like Mayonnaise? I'm trying. I just have certain vices--things I need to eat. What else is good?"

At this point--the room is getting warm--and I"m thinking maybe it's time to escape? "Nuts?" the doctor asked her? I almost answered "why yes, I think I am for sitting here." (just so they could hear me) Patient X whom I saw in the waiting room, clearly post-rubber band said in closing "Well just 90 more pounds and then I can get the plastic surgery right? Get all this skin off?!! Then I'll be a skinny 130!" They laugh together.

So by now--I'm thinking--wow. Really, really wrong doctor to touch me and my mystery alien. Some wanna-be Hollywood plastic fat doctor in Sacramento. I stood up and opened the door of the exam room to leave--only he was standing there reading my chart. "Uh, Hi. Uh, it's really hot in here, I needed some air." (lie) I sat back on the table. Thankfully the fat-sucker was followed by a cute young intern who also got to see my bare tummy as I got two, count-em, two shots of Novocaine, so the not-cute doc could poke and prod without me screaming. At that moment--I wish I only had to have a rubber band put around something. At least you know what fat is and how to fix it. And I wish the cute intern could do it.

So I left the strange office with a nummby--I mean a numb tummy-- thinking I should either go home and do 5,600 crunches because nothing would hurt--OR go to a bar, get liquored up and insult someone's girlfriend. A punch in the stomach probably would have felt good. Something to wake me up from the mayonnaise day I was having. It's finally time to move on from this town and the life I thought I was making here with the guy and the job. And now that I realize this--I'm slave to a health plan.

Later that evening, I was chatting with a TV pal---telling him how I don't think I can get hired and I'm not connected anymore...when he  interrupted me and said "You need to get out of there Lynn--you're turning into a head case. And of all the women I know, YOU have never been a head case." MUSTARD! That's what I needed. Some spicy mustard. More like wasabi actually. In fact--his words hit me so hard not even the Novocaine would have protected me from that kick in the gut. And it's exactly what I needed. Trust the surgeon--find out what it is--quit your safe job and move on outta here. Before Mayonnaise starts to taste really, really good. Or I start washing my hair in it.