The Gauntlet

Going to the doctor today was not unpleasant. It was hard for me to even type that with a straight face, but it's true, haha. Normally I despise any interaction with any medical personel on a professional level, but today it was simply to go in and tell him I needed more Advair. We discussed my weight, which apparently is quite the issue, to him. Not so much, for me. It's a littany I often repeat to "well meaning" fat-hating people in my life.

I take good care of my body, I don't fill it with junkfood and garbage, I cook well, and I eat well. I have dieted many times, everything from *cringe* Richard Simmon's Deal a Meal, to Slim Fast, to Weight Watchers, to Atkins, to South Beach, to good old "calories in-calories out" and, uh, hello...none of it has stuck. I've come to a grand revelation in my life. I like eating, cooking, being happy and comfortable with food, more than I like the notion of being "thin". Cooking is a major passion of mine, and so is eating good things. Other people can eat good food, and remain within what society deems normal, why can't I? I'll tell you. I've been fat since I was a kid. NATURE has deemed this strong, toned, and apple-shaped body as Lisa's personal norm. Society can go fuck itself. I don't eat any more or less than my 100lb friends. I refuse to feel shame at my intake, what, how, where, and when.

Frankly, I don't even want to be thin! I don't like the look and feel of bones through my skin. I like the lushness, the earth mama of myself. I am comforted and feel comfortable with my size.

My doctor regards my attitude with disdain. He says "fine, but what about when you're 50?" I say...I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. He wants me to look into surgery. He does not know how I loathe the whole act of the medical industry. I like him, he would make a good boss, or neighbor, or something, which makes my visiting him easier, but I strongly hate doctors in general.

The gauntlet that I would be put through for weight loss surgery, and I have been researching it for YEARS, is not fucking worth it. If I could make an appointment for overnight lap-band, next week, in and out, no hassle, no psychiatry, no cardiology, no stress tests, no liquid diet for 3 months (that alone is a hearty chuckle...if I could cope with a liquid diet, would I even need surgery?!), then promise me no anemia, no bone densityloss, no muscle loss, no HAIR loss, along with the fat loss...well, then maybe we could talk. Maybe.

Either way, he thinks it's weird that I eat the kind of portions that I do, and lose weight very slowly, or not at all (to the tune of 14 pounds less, in a year). I'm forthright, I eat small portions, I am not lying to him, or myself, or this blog. I also don't skimp buttering my potato, or drizzling fine green olive oil over my spinach. I don't say no to luscious milk chocolate, or a good pulled pork sammich. But, I'll eat an eighth of the chocolate bar. I'll eat a few tablespoons of the pork, on half a roll. I'll eat half a potato. I do not LIKE being stuffed full, groaning, and sloppy full of food. That makes me feel "fat" in a negative way. I hate that feeling. I like being satisfied, I like tasting, and experiencing, but I hate being packed full. I am active, but not athletic. Not like I used to be, at least. Not since the asthma started. I move around a lot, and do a lot of anaerobic activity, like yoga, or theraputic stretching, and pilates moves. In fact, if I am idle, and standing still, I am doing one of those things.

It brings us to bloodwork. Next week, we're going to try that. He has no lab results on me, and is curious to check my thyroid, and other stuff. I feel pretty meh about the whole thing. Alternately, it would be nice to find out that there's some kind of circumstance, but I would rather not complicate matters of my health. I don't want to take pills, or whatever.

He's lucky he's so charming, or else I wouldn't even be down for bloodwork. He makes it sound all "come on down to the office next week, and we'll see what's what". I almost asked "should I bring refreshments?" His tone, he made it sound like a picnic. Wouldn't that be ironic!