A couple weeks ago, I had to go to the doctor. I hate doing this, and not just because I’m one of those pesky people who has to pay for medical care out of her own sadly slender, but ever so elegant purse. I wait so long between visits that I always fear I will get a mournful-faced (or angry-faced because I have clearly Done This To Myself through neglect of the yearly physical and the way my fat little body indicates that I clearly, ZOMG! am Eating The World) doctor informing me that I have mere moments to live, but I should sit back and hear why I should be thoroughly ashamed of myself before I shuffle loose this mortal coil.
In point of fact, what I had was a cold that had lasted way too long. Worse, the cough was going all deep and brochial, which, having had a couple bouts of brochitis which I enjoyed about as much as I would enjoy having half a dozen elephants tap dance across my chest, was an experience I was in no hurry to repeat.
And so I girded up my loins as far as my loins would gird and allowed Mr. Twistie to make an appointment for me. What? You thought I was going to woman up and do it for myself? Not a chance, bub! Look, we have our clearly outlined gender roles. I save Mr. Twistie from spiders and other things that have more legs than a cat, and he makes the uncomfortable appointments for me. In the end, we both have someone to help us cope with the irrational fears, tra la.
Being that it was the first time I’d been to this particular practice (unless you count that time back in about ’97…I told you I don’t go to the doctor as much as I probably should), I had to fill out a new patient form, full of questions about my medical history and lifestyle. I was actually kind of impressed that the questions included things about whether I considered myself to be eating a healthful, varied diet and what sort of exercise I get…but in a way that felt friendly, if I can put it that way. At minimum, I felt no specter of body shaming.
When I was called back into the examination area, there came the Moment of Truth. I was asked to get on the scales. Now I know a lot of people who refuse to be weighed or refuse to look at the number, but I must admit I was a bit curious. It had been literally years since I’d been on a scale and I sort of wondered what my weight happend to be, so I did look at the number when the readout came up.
The cool thing? Not one word was said. The nurse just wrote the number down without comment and led me to the next ordeal…er…the exam room proper where she sat me down and took my blood pressure.
When the doctor came in, she asked me a couple follow-up questions about my general health and family medical history, discussed my symptoms with me a bit more, redid my blood pressure (the first reading was kind of high, but when the second was absolute freaking textbook perfect, the doc put it down to a case of White Coat Hypertension), listened to my lungs, and said that she was going to prescribe a short course of antibiotics. I got the scrip filled, took my drugs, and started feeling like my old self in a matter of a couple days.
The best thing about the entire visit? Not once did I have to defend myself about my weight. In fact, no mention was made by any of the staff about my current weight, whether I should go on a diet, or how much healthier I would be if I just lost x number of pounds.
In short, they treated me for the problem I came in with, offered up their services in case I wished to avail myself of a more thorough exam at some point, and treated me like a real human being. It’s nice to know practices like that exist in this fat-phobic world.
Oh, and one more good thing came of the visit: now that I have a good idea of how much I weigh on this planet, I was able to play with the tools on this site and see how much I would weigh on another planet…or even a sun! Of course you don’t need to know your specific weight to play. You can just plug in random numbers and see what you get, too.
Still, it’s kind of fun knowing I would weigh approximately 6416lb if I were on the sun and 15.8 on Pluto. Important? Nah. Just a bit of trivia…and you all know how I love pointless trivia.