Central Jersey intergroup

In July of 2011 I found myself in yet another doctor’s office. I had been in the emergency room the night before because I had been bleeding from somewhere on my thigh that I couldn’t see; my apartment looked like a crime scene from a TV show. The ER doctor said it looked like a vein that needed to be taken care of by a vascular surgeon. So I found one in my insurance network and went the next day. When they called my name and showed me into an exam room I passed who I believed to be the doctor on the way. The look on his face is one I have seen many times before in my life as a morbidly obese (I really hate that term) person: one of disgust and dismissal.

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