I MISS DR. PONG...

I hate my doctor. I have never been particularly fond of her, but today was especially painful!

I see this woman once a year. She has a small family practice and I have to make an appointment for my physical 6-8 weeks in advance. But if I need to see her about my varicose veins (her bread and butter), she can fit me in within days. She is a nice enough lady but she sees me once a year. She takes my blood pressure and weight and other womanly things and sends me on my way. Today, I got a lecture about my weight! I have gained about 20 lbs since this time last year. I am already aware of this. I am working on it. For my doctor, it means some kind of catastrophe has taken place and that I need some kind of drastic intervention. And you know what, I can't be bothered to explain myself to her. Why should I? I could have said that I have a consultant that I see weekly, who monitors my weight and my meal plans and who takes all factors into consideration and not just the number on the scale. I could have told her that I work out four times a week, that I do weights and cardio and yoga and tai chi and pilates and every once in a while, I take an aerobics class at the pool. I could have told her that I eat well and take good care of myself not only physically, but emotionally and spiritually as well. I could have told her that I am happier and healthier than I have been in a long time. I could have told her all of that, but I didn't. And you wanna know why? Because fuck her, that's why. What the hell does she know?

Despite all of my efforts, I still weigh 220 lbs. I don't look like it, but there you have it. I am tall and for whatever reason (big bones? muscles? over-hydration?) that's where my body seems to be at its happiest. The least I have ever weighed was about 198, and I was miserable. Even at the height of my fitness when I was working out with Greg, I was around 220. This is something I have had to live with and accept. What I most definitely DON'T need is an overworked, tired MD telling me that I need to watch my weight. Like I've been sitting around on the couch eating Cheetos and ordering Big Macs...Like I'm that crazy Annie Wilkes from 'Misery' shoveling food into my mouth and picking off the crusted, dried gravy off my shirt! How dare she! I know she meant well, but c'mon... And if she only knew! The days when I was only eating one carbie meal a day and living on chocolate bars, or taking dexatrim and starving myself, I only weighed 180lbs...so maybe she'd prefer it if I just went back to my old lifestyle. Then we'd all be happy! Happy and Fat.

Here, here!

pfht....

k.