“Infections? No,” I replied.

“Hmm . . . Does it cause any discomfort? Do you get any weird itches or anything?”

“Itches? Not so much. But it does cause discomfort. It impacts the clothes I wear, and it’s not good for my mental health,” I explained.

“Mental health? What do you mean?” he asked.

“I’ve been really depressed because of it, and this skin isn’t helping my confidence whatsoever.”

“I see,” the doctor said. “Hmm.”

He grabbed my skin for another moment, looked me up and down, then finally let go.

“If you want to get rid of this excess skin, you’re going to need surgery. We’re going to have to cut from here, to here,” he explained as he pointed from under my nipples to just below my belly button in a square formation.

“After that, we are going to have to pull your skin down and stretch it.”

“What about my belly button?” I asked.

“We’ll have to make you a new one. This one would just be medical waste.”

That sent a shiver down my spine. I had that belly button my entire life, and, apparently, it would be considered “medical waste.”

“Do these types of surgeries get covered by health care plans?” I asked.

That was the question I’d wanted to ask the entire time. I knew I wouldn’t be able to pay for surgery because it could cost thousands of dollars, so I put my heart on the line.

“Unfortunately, no,” the doctor replied while writing some more in his notebook.

No? How could he say that without any sympathy? He was still writing in his notebook and didn’t even look me in the eye. It was my body we were talking about, and he didn’t seem to care.

“How much would it cost?” I asked. I could feel my throat beginning to clog up. I’m not going to cry, I thought.

“Hmm . . .” He paused to think. “It depends. But just to ballpark here, I would say at least eleven grand.”

Eleven grand to get rid of my excess skin. When I heard that, everything just kind of stopped. It made me think back to all the hard work I put in at King’s, all of the nights Mel and I had gone jogging, all of those times I purged. All of my dreams of being shirtless at a beach, or being able to wear a t-shirt, just a plain t-shirt with no layers or sweaters. All of those memories and dreams got washed away in a hurricane. I’d said no crying, but I couldn’t fight it.

“Yes.” Dr. Johnson watched me cry. “These surgeries can be very expensive. But that doesn’t mean you should give up. I read your file. You lost a lot of weight, and you did it for good reason. I don’t see enough young men like you. I see young men who don’t make the change, and those young men often don’t make it past the age of forty-five. Don’t let this obstacle stop you.”