Yesterday I went to the gynecologist and boy what fun it was! Going to the doctor means one thing for me: Getting weighed in.
I always expect some sort of comment on my weight. I think this keeps me from being the full fledged hypochondriac that I know I could be if only I was at a decent weight. I’d go to the doctor for a hangnail if I didn’t think he’d tell me I had the hangnail because I was fat. Yesterday proved no different.
The first thing they did was weigh me. And, because I’m creepy, I started taking my flip flops off as if that would make me weigh any less. I noticed the nurse look at me, obviously thinking the same as me. Like these flip flops weigh 50 lbs or something and are really going to make a difference in my weight. So, I cracked a joke about the flip flops making me pounds lighter. The nurse didn’t find it funny. Obviously, she’s not as funny as I am. Poor her.
When I finally got into the examining room, the unfunny nurse handed me the paper dress that was supposed to fit but so, so, so obviously didn’t. I learned my lesson from last year that the short coat should be worn backwards so that it “closed” in the back. This didn’t help at all because the thing was so short that I looked like a football player with my tits covered but my big belly hanging out. Then I tried to cover my lap with tiny paper hand towel she gave me which I guess is supposed to wrap around my body? I’ve decided that my new business venture is going to be plus sized smocks. I’m going to be a billionaire!
So, the doctor finally came in and the first thing she asks me is if I’m comfortable at my weight. I told her the truth that no, I wasn’t and that yes, I was trying to lose the weight but everyday is a struggle…as if I’m an alcoholic…but I guess I’m an eataholic. She also went ape-shit when I told her that I was on weight watchers, (which isn’t true), and told me how many of her friends love it and have lost weight, blah blah blah. The doctor was skinny, so she can go fuck herself.
Sadly enough, she didn’t stop there. She went on to tell me that if I stay at my current weight and try to get pregnant, it will be very hard. And, because it will be so hard I will need to take insulin shots everyday to make my body think I’m diabetic because supposedly diabetics are more fertile. I already think I’m a diabetic, (see that part above about me being a hypochondriac), but I didn’t think things were this bad. Thankfully, I am in no way getting preggers any time soon, so I’m going to try to stash that info away in the back of my brain like I do with all unpleasant things like me ordering garlic bleu cheese fries this past weekend.
I do want to note, she was very, very nice and I think she's a good doctor, but I feel doctors bring my weight up as if I didn't realize I was fat. It's not invisible. It's not a tumor I can't see lodged in my gut...I'm fat. I know this.
All in all, having her stick things up me while I was spread eagle on the table turned out to be better than having her tell me I was going to be a diabetic mother…if I can conceive at all that is.