Ever wondered what the point of life is? I do, all the time, especially hanging by the thread of writing for Twister. But enough about my existential dread, let's talk about the carnival of life and death at Bellevue Hospital, renowned for slinging weight-loss surgeries like hotcakes.
Boasting of slashing more guts than a medieval torture chamber, Bellevue's knife-wielding maestros are on the noble quest of hitting 3,000 surgeries. A commendable sprint, if only their patients weren't running a marathon with stumps for legs post-op. Some would say it's akin to playing Russian roulette with scalpels—exciting!
Under the sparkling lights of an O.R. that's busier than Times Square on New Year's Eve, dives kick off. With only the promise of a slimmer waistline, who cares if a few corners are cut along with the stomachs, right? And by corners, I mean crucial mental health assessments lasting the span of a TikTok.
Money’s not an issue either, because taxpayers foot the glorious bill for these speedy slice-and-dices. The surgical assembly line is so efficient, it could give Ford a run for its money. Yet, I'm certain Model Ts didn't require lifelong dietary maintenance.
Bellevue's clientele, ranging from Joe Average to Rikers' finest, must wonder if their slim chances of post-surgical dietary discipline match the odds of my not contemplating the void daily. At least I'm not alone; even some Rikers alumni regret their shrink-wrapped stomachs now.
So as night falls and I ponder whether my solo demise will go unnoticed until the stench alerts my neighbors, let's end on a high note. If you find yourself at Bellevue, remember that when life gives you lemons, it might just be someone trying to see if your new stomach can handle the juice. Here's to dying alone—cheers!
Based on the original article "A Famed Hospital Churns Poor Patients Through Weight-Loss Surgery".
