Friday, February 20, 2009

Planned Douche-hood

Hello all my FOS lovies! My apologies for having blipped out for a while...I haven't had much news, so I stayed low-key.

However: Exciting news! My embryonic one-woman show, which I was sure I wanted to be about fat, finally came to me the other morning at asscrack-o-clock in the shower. I was so inspired that I recorded all my jumbled thoughts on a digital voice recorder and plan to start the writing post haste. It has begun!

That leads me to today...which will surely have a place in the show.

So, thankfully, no one has outright told me to lose weight since my last asshole boyfriend nearly 4 years ago. (Besides myself, of course.) No other parties have been involved.

However, 3 months ago, I started my first birth control pills...mainly because I'd had my period for 2 months straight, and I was so irregular it was ridiculous. So I bought a few packs from my local Planned Parenthood. Before doing so, I had a whole checkup (and completely traumatic pelvic exam...another story, another time), including weighing myself. It was the first time I'd stepped on a scale since...oh, probably 2006, and I was kinda surprised that the number was 219. Last time I'd been on a scale it was ~185/190, and so I assumed that I was pretty much the same, because my clothes sizes have only gone up by small increments. Anyway, thank G-d I'm now a Fat Warrior, because seeing that number would have made me duct tape my mouth shut many moons ago.


So, when I went to this godforsaken PP in December, I was 219. Fine. My BP has always been fantastic, and I was told (of course) that after 3 months of pills, I'd need a check-up to make sure my health wasn't taking a nosedive.

I went in today to do sed checkup. The first thing the uppity nurse did was weigh me, and lo and behold, what is it? 224. The look that that woman gave me made me want to punch her teeth out. She pulled me into another room and took my BP, where she said, "Hold on, let me get the *other* cuff for you, so you'll be more comfortable." So she brings in the Fatty-Fatty-Fat-Fat cuff for me, which is attached to the most antiquated machine I have ever seen. She takes my BP: 120/70. Last time it was 110/70, but this number is still good. (I am hoping it stays that way, because these pills are making my sexual and reproductive life MUCH more pleasant.)

Then the bitch is like, "Oh, well, 5 pounds...that's quite a bit." (O Rly?) "You'll just have to watch all that fatty stuff and junk food!" *surreptitious wink*

Excuse me? Why are you winking at me? I am in on NOTHING with you, lady.

Then, bitch sends me to a *second* nurse. I'm not sure exactly what I'll be needing from her, but apparently it's *counseling* on my fat!

Now, I don't have to explain or defend what I choose to eat to anyone. I will say, just for the sake of the story, that I usually am a very heavy grains/fruit/veg eater, with dairy coming in right afterwards. I get lots of produce and I love it. Over the past couple of months, most of what I've eaten has been restaurants and fast food, so this MAY play in as a factor. Regardless, it ain't nothin' I have to VALIDATE to ANYONE.


So, this second nurse sees me come in, and she says, "So. Are we dieting and exercising?"

Before I ripped her a new one for indicating that I should diet, I calmly said, "I eat well and I walk a lot." (This has not been terribly true recently, but the last thing I'm going to do is provoke her.) She looked at me dubiously and I said, rather smugly, "I'm naturally fat."

She--like Nurse 1--says, "Mmm, well, you've already gained 5 pounds. Try to really be careful, we don't want that to keep going up!" At this point, she smiles and tries to gather me into this little chick-tete-a-tete we're having. I do not smile.

Am I *happy* that I gained 5 pounds? Not particularly. Am I upset that I did? Well, only because these nurses had the nerve to indicate that it was bad for me, despite my STELLAR (yes, STELLAR) health history.

I had not weighed myself for years because I used to be consumed with it. On top of that, if my clothes fit, I assume that I'm holding steady. If they don't, I assume that I'm gaining/losing. It's pretty simple. And I try not to care either way.

Well, guess what, bitches? My clothes that fit in December still fit now. Yes, a considerable portion of my food intake is currently coming from Chili's and Zaro's, but that is none of your business and entirely mine to feel *utterly* fine with.

LORD it took so much energy to keep from wringing their necks! I would have loved to lay them out with my F.A., but I've been off the feed for a while, so my F.A. trivia is running a little low.

Anyway, this has mainly been a ramble, but yeah: the first time the medical industry has approached me about my body in years, and YES: I am MAD AS HELL.

See you in my play, motherfuckers!