No.

That’s what I was told earlier this week. No, you’re not ready for knee replacement surgery.

I couldn’t believe it when I heard it. I went in for x-rays and the physician’s assistant told me immediately that my x-rays look horrible. That’s nothing I don’t know, already; they looked bad years ago when they first started telling me I needed total knee replacement on both knees.

The next words were even worse: come back when you’ve lost twenty to twenty-five pounds, and then we’ll talk about surgery.

I narrowed my eyes at him. Uh, say what? He then told me that this was “something new”, which astounded me, because I’ve seen my husband through two knee replacement surgeries, now, and I’m telling you that there were a lot of people much larger than me, out in the hallways and making those first post-surgical steps with newly bandaged knees. Further, I’ve been seeing this particular surgeon for around 12 years, but never this particular physician’s assistant. No one in that office, including the surgeon himself, has ever told me to lose weight; in fact, when I have said I need to lose weight in the past, when I just wasn’t ready physically or emotionally, their response was you can’t put surgery off forever.

That “no” will be a YES.

Two things hit me, immediately; the first is that one of the reasons I wanted to get this done by year’s end is because of insurance advantages, since my husband has just had his second surgery since July. If I wait until next year, my cost savings are lost, and they are major savings. I’m not a wealthy woman by any means, and one of the many reasons I haven’t had this particular surgery yet is because of the cost. If I don’t at least get the first knee done by year’s end, I realistically don’t know when I’ll be able to have it done.

The other? The amount of weight he told me to lose is identical to the amount I’ve recently gained over my low weight, achieved last May. I’ve been struggling with getting that weight back off and I haven’t done nearly enough to make it happen. I have to own that responsibility; had I walked into that office at my low, there would have been no discussion of my weight. That’s entirely my fault.

Mind you, I don’t much care for no, not when I’ve come this far, fought this hard. And I didn’t stand for it.

We have a deal; we penciled in a surgery date for me in December, but only on the condition that I come back, weigh in, and lose at least those twenty to twenty five pounds. Honestly, I know what they’re after; it’s that blasted BMI number, and I am tottering on the edge between weight classifications. It’s numbers, stats, and risks. But it doesn’t make it any easier to accept. (The good news here is that I know a good deal of the excess is water weight, which is relatively easy to lose, if I set my mind to it.)

Yes, I’m angry over it. I’m angry, because that physician’s assistant doesn’t know me at all, doesn’t know my weight loss history, and it was obvious by his manner that while he agreed to allow for penciling in a date, he has zero faith that I can pull it off. He doesn’t think I’ll make it.

I’m angry at myself, too, for not having put in more effort and remaining steadfast; I’ve let things creep in my way while knowing I’ve needed to return to my focus.

But oddly, I’m also thankful. I have a goal to achieve. I have a point to prove — not just to that smug physician’s assistant, but to myself. It’s time to stand and deliver, and I’m going to turn that no into a yes. Part of that weight is already gone, and I’m going to be pushing hard during the weeks ahead to beat those stats.