So I met with a new physician. (The old one retired.) It was not a promising first appointment. Now, my old physician always used to harp on my weight, too, but the way she did so was different, more friendly, more maternal. And she certainly didn’t ever suggest surgery. Seriously, this new physician said something about how I wouldn’t be able to get down to my “ideal” weight without surgery, because all I’d be able to lose would be about 60-80 pounds, with diet, exercise and medication, in 6-8 months, so I should really consider surgery as well.
Um, seriously, wtf?
First of all, losing more than that any faster than that would be freakin’ unhealthy.
Second of all, why the time limit? Does she have a crystal ball telling her I’m going to die in eight months? ‘Cause if she does, then screw weight loss! If I only have eight months, I’m not wasting it dieting and exercising.
Third, and most important, what, exactly, is the importance of the so-called “ideal” weight, anyhow? Believe me, I would be dancing for joy if I could lose 80 pounds. I’d be down like two clothes sizes, maybe even three, and I’d feel so much more comfortable in my own skin than I do now. Sure, society would still call me “fat,” but who gives a rat’s ass? Even if I lost every ounce of fat on my body, society would still call me “fat,” because I have a wide skeletal structure. And even if they didn’t, it wouldn’t matter, because it wouldn’t change the fact that my face is hideously ugly.
That wasn’t the only speed bump, either. Absolutely nothing was clicking. Well, no, not “nothing.” I like the location of her office. It was very convenient. And the receptionist/assistant was really nice. If she was the doctor, I’d be very happy going there.
Another example of not meshing: she was asking me about when I had my last pap smear, which I couldn’t rightly remember, as I tend to avoid going to the gynecologist in order to avoid exactly that kind of procedure. Rough reconstruction of the dialog that followed:
Her: Are you sexually active?
Me: No, I’m—
Her: It’s still important, since it tests for cervical cancer. You should be tested when you see the gynecologist. Did you practice protected sex?
Me: I’ve never been sexually active.
Why is everyone always so surprised by that?!
It’s one thing if I tell someone online that. They can’t see me. Even if I tell them first how fat and ugly I am, they think I’m exaggerating for comedic effect or whatever. But this woman was looking right at me. No one looking at me could ever think that anyone on this entire planet would ever want to have sex with me. In fact, I think most people would throw up if they saw me naked.
And no, losing weight would not help with that, because I would still be this ugly.
(Oh, and then she compounded it by saying “Well, keep that in mind for the future.” So I’m sitting there going “Yes, I’ll remember that the next time my gynecologist suggests a pap smear; I’ll remind her that since I’ve never been sexually active, there’s probably no point.”)
I’m sorry, I just had to vent about that. It completely destroyed my entire afternoon. I wanted to keep working on the tale of Lazyboy (slated to be the Missing Letter Monday no-J tale, if I can finish it in time (if I can’t, it’ll take massive editing to remove some other letter)) but I’m still so upset that I can’t concentrate on it. (Or I was when I pre-wrote this post last week…)