Now there is never news that I am dying or I have some sort of life-threatening disease, or news that I am soon going to be covered in warts that have no cure. While I am thankful for the news of all this non-real health history - my tears begin welling on the dreaded walk back to the scale.
Enter doom music and the urge to punch the nurse after she moves those dang numbers.
While always hoping that their scale is wrong - and wondering why it always has to be out in the open where all eyes can see - hello - you get a nice little copay from me and other 74 people waiting for 45 minutes, maybe it's time to take that little extra cash and invest in some scales in the rooms. This is not the Biggest Loser - I don't need the feeling of standing in a sports bra and tight shorts showing off all my business - I digress -
While hoping that the scale is wrong, you find out, those suckers don't lie. And you automatically regret that Popsicle, along with the bowl of ice cream, the two dove chocolate and the final Hershey's nugget, you ate last night. But seriously, that can't be all factored into this morning's scale of doom.
Ugh. Dumb doctor's office. Then it gets worse - believe it or not - you roll your fat self into the exam room, where they bring up your history - including weight. Pretty sure they then take that as time to make themselves feel better - silently judging and thanking their boss that they get to wear comfy scrubs to work - laughing that you squeezed your rolly polly behind into your jeans.
From there you can't stop thinking about the scale. So it's really no wonder when the nurse asks about your medications you tell her your taken depression medication - but you aren't really, you're just to dumb and large to figure out that just because your ALLERGY medicine starts with an "S" and a depression medication that you've seen advertisements for being in an "S" as well - are not actually the same thing. Ugh. I think the rolls on my stomach are making my brain dumb.
But then the doctor comes in. Oh boy. After exchanging stories of our workout classes, I wonder if he was actually listening to me - I'm pretty sure Sally, Nancy, and Susan who lead your 'scultping' class, are not the same ones as mine. But thanks for the tip to try racquetball - I'll give that one a go.
Obviously after taking his "suggestions" he ordered some tests. YES! Maybe something is wrong with my thyroid or metabolism and it's not the amount of chips I consumed at my nephews birthday party! Doubtful....but I am holding out hope....or it's going to be a long summer consumed with celery sticks, carrots and water. Good by cupcakes, I'll miss you.
So there you have it, doctor's offices make you cry. And a word to all my doctor's office nurses: I will be bringing gloves in three months for my checkup. This is your warning.
PS. Did I also tell you that I was referred back to my pediatrician from my other doctor. Dude didn't even give me a lollipop after my visit. Rude.