Fabese

Yes, fabese, defined by the urban dictionary as fatally-Jabba-the-Hutt-obese.

I'm not talking about 250 pound people here; I'm talking about people who weigh about as much as the average bear, about 250 kilos.

Sometimes, people who weigh that much can be a little hard to treat in the ER. Difficulties that may arise include:

1. Finding suitable bed for such individuals. Normal hospital beds start to sulk at the prospect and usually die when faced with such a burden.

2. Moving said patient, who may be unconscious, onto the bed, from err, the floor? or another bed? or from a bariatric chair? It took more than a dozen of us the last time.

3. Finding a suitable vein to insert a cannula or to draw blood from. Adipose tissue, while being an excellent insulator, makes it difficult for us to identify suitable veins. And um, if we miss, it's not because we aren't good at it, it's because you're, um, 'fat'.

4. It is almost impossible to check for abdominal tenderness, masses, shifting dullness, or a pulsatile abdominal mass. The last means you're totally fucked if we can't find a vein, or two. Also means a couple of extremely tired junior doctors should they manage to open you up in time.

5. Because you can't see your own feet, you can't tell us if the unpleasant looking ulcers there are getting worse. Hell, you can't even tell us if the horrible, fungal rash in between the layers of your abdomen is getting better.

6. You smell. Although I have to agree that it's not your fault that a cat crawled into a crevice after a rat and couldn't find it's way back out again; it's the rat's.

7. The toilet cries after you visit. The cleaners cry too, but they're being paid, at least. If you've done your number two in bed because you're unconscious, then the nurses and the health care assistants cry. The doctors just look smug and pretend to be busy. The junior doctors are sometimes forced to get involved though; it takes more than one to roll you on your side.

8. They don't seem to realise that it won't hurt for them to live off their 'reserves' for a while. And on that matter, they ask for TWO packs of sandwiches, not one, TWO!

No, seriously. Some are plump, and that's fine. Some are fat, and that's okay. Some are obese, but they can't help it. The fatally obese though, are a different matter. Surely you realised something was wrong when you couldn't get through a door without great difficulty. Or that you needed crutches to get to the kitchen because your knees are arthritic and give way when you try to walk even though you're only 30. Or that you haven't left the house in years. Or that you can't wash between your butt-cheeks because, um, it's a little out of reach? Or that you can only wear XXXXL sweat pants and even that's stretching it.

And the list goes on.

So, I guess what i'm trying to say is, well, help yourself. If you can't, at least realise that you need help and talk to someone. Also, bariatric surgery is free in this country if you meet the criteria. Bah.

May the Force be with you.

(note: I may be wrong about how much the average bear weighs)