As I waited, I could smell the freshly mopped floors. It was pretty early, around eight-fifteen in the morning. I could also hear a lady across from me humming in a soft voice. It made me feel at ease. Outside the waiting room, a man who looked three times my age barged in and began causing a ruckus about a vending machine not working.

“I put four toonies inside that thing, and not one cookie came out.”

Well, maybe he should have known it was broken after putting in the first toonie, I thought. There was also an elderly woman with her walker, wandering around the waiting room asking where her mother was. It hurt to see. I didn’t need a university degree to know what was going on right in front of me. Waiting rooms were rough.

I thought the weird part about being there was that I was alone. I was too embarrassed to tell my mom about it. I would never mention anything to my dad, either. I had to make the appointment myself from my family doctor. I needed his approval before I could see a surgeon. I got it. My family doctor had told me that I had lost all that weight too fast and that I was unhealthy. He told me that I lost weight quicker than my body could keep up with or adjust to. That was why I had so much excess skin.

I eventually got called into the surgeon’s office. It was well past eleven before I heard the secretary at the desk yell, “Forty-seven!”

I stood up and waved to her.

“Right this way.” She got up and walked me to the surgeon’s office. Once we got there, she passed me a nightgown and told me to put it on.

Hospital nightgowns are awkward. They have nothing covering you from behind, so I kept my boxers on and took off my shirt and pants. I sat there and waited, feeling very vulnerable. It wasn’t long until the doctor walked in. He was a young man who looked like he should have been an actor in a soap opera. He was tall, with jet-black hair that looked like it waved in the wind. His dimples were very visible on his face. He must have been straight out of med school.

“You must be Adrian Carter,” he said while looking at his clipboard.

“Yep. That’s me,” I replied.

“Hi there. I’m Dr. Johnson.” He extended a hand. We shook. “So, your family doctor, Dr. Paul, says you have excess skin?”

“Yeah. I have a lot of it.”

“Can I see?” he asked, writing on his clipboard.

I felt really uneasy about it, but I opened up my robe. It was the first time I’d shown anyone what I looked like underneath my clothes. I felt exposed, but the doctor didn’t seem to judge. He just examined me like I was a puzzle for him to solve. He grabbed hold of my stretchy skin, and it sent a sudden shock up my body. His hands were so cold. Why are doctor’s hands always so cold? He let go and asked, “Has this skin been giving you infections?”