Two years ago, I found myself wearing a medical gown in a suburban outpatient surgical center, being prepped for general anesthesia and thinking to myself “I’m going to feel really stupid about this if I die.”
Because my surgery was completely discretionary. I was there for endoscopic gastroplasty, a relatively new form of bariatric surgery in which a laser scope is inserted down your throat and your stomach is stitched-up from the inside to become a smaller organ.
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