Return to Sender

During my college years my best friend was a brilliant and artistic person, outspoken and strong-willed, but who constantly struggled with weight concerns. One summer they lost over 100 pounds, only to gain a fair portion of it back over ensuing months.

Later I came to understand just how typical this is, and I worked for a time in a hospital setting with bariatric surgeons and their patients. Now I am convinced that at this time the best treatment for many morbidly obese people is surgery; indeed, when I see a very large person, what I say to myself is not "that person needs to eat more sensibly," but instead I think that person needs surgery.

Many people do not understand this, and continue to think that diet will work for the morbidly obese. To such people I recommend this: go on a 1200-kilocalorie-per-day diet for the rest of your life, then get back to me. Good luck, and have fun.

Having said all that, some people are just fat obnoxious hate-filled pigs.

Like the patient in the corner room, whose call light was always on, whose family had continual little hissy fits over the most mundane things, whose nurse (thankfully not me) made every effort to please them and meet their needs only to get no appreciation for any of their efforts.

This patient was an unhappy sloth who saw it as their remaining life's goal to make as many other people also as miserable as possible, and after many decades of practice they had become quite proficient at this. And their younger family members, whose upbringing had convinced them that such ugliness was normal, played right along with it.

A sucking vortex of meanness and abject misery, plain and simple.

The day before yesterday was the patient's day to be discharged to whatever bright shining hell-hole they lived at, and the nurse was so happy in thinking that the patient would not be there in that corner room the following day. They rejoiced openly.

But on the way out to the stretcher van that was to transport the patient to their residence, the patient fell off the gurney and fractured a shoulder. They also probably broke a thumb, but the fear of a broken hip was ruled out on X-ray. The patient was re-admitted to the hospital and ended up in the very same room, much to the dismay of the nurse so assigned.

Paydirt. The mother load. Ka-ching.

Now the ugliness of their family misery was compounded by revengeful greed, and of course they've got a case.

Later that day I saw a couple strange-looking creatures, like the space lizards in Zathura only a little smaller, poking around until they finally found the patient and entered the room.

While they were visiting the patient did not put on their call light.; not even once, for about a half-hour. Then they wordlessly walked out and down the hall, eyes straight ahead.

Lawyers.

The surgeons decided that the patient was not a candidate for repair, so the plan was to discharge them the next day with a sling for their arm and shoulder. Naturally "I'm so glad I have tomorrow off" was the nurse's constant refrain.