After being unemployed for a year and hence, uninsured; once I went back to work I was very excited to receive my shiny new medical card in the mail.
My appointment with my new Dr. went along smashingly at first - I got there on time, filled out the new patient forms, and sat down to wait.
Luckily they had decent magazines to read - a Better Homes and Gardens even! February 2012! I just cracked into that when I was called into the back. BH&G went back with me.
First things first - the dreaded scale.
Now this I know - I've gotten fat. Oh there is no way around it, no way to sugar coat it. I'm aware that my bones are neither big nor in themselves fat.
Since I was laid off a year ago, I've packed on conciliatory pounds; 34 of them in fact. 34 pounds in one year! Lord! I was really consoling myself - it's like I was main lining butter or something. Well OK, I know I'm fat, all my clothes have been telling me that - I just didn't know it was that bad. I can deal. I've lost over 100 before; I'll just have to do it again.
So that unpleasantness behind me, I gamely move on and let the nurse take gallons of blood and other fluids from me. Once finished, I'm moved to the room of boredom to wait on the Dr's pleasure. Luckily I had sneaked that magazine back with me....
Finally he gets to me after I've read half the magazine whilst freezing my nether regions off in a cloth gown and a pair of socks. He's a young, friendly fellow - definitely younger than me, but nice and to the point.
He asks me this and that, was I having any issues? I told him about my knee - that it had been bothering me for a while. I attributed it to my 100 year old house and the steep stairs that I climbed a thousand times a day. He checked it out and said - you have bone on bone in that knee - arthritis.
So not only am I now FAT - apparently I am OLD too. And all this time I thought I was still young. Am I now in that sad age where I have to say I am young at heart? Oh I cringe and shudder at the thought!
And then to add insult to injury - I had to have a breast exam.
Now, I had no problem with baring the girls necessarily; that was not my concern. My issue is that I had not bought a new bra in, oh - since I got married 3 years ago to my husband. The sad, poor thing is sprung - under wire is missing out of one side - the cup is starting to fold on the other side. I dyed my hair about a month previous and it bled through my tee shirt onto the white bra so there is a brown stain on it. And yes unfortunately, this is the one that I had on. It's not like there was a more likely contender sitting at home in my drawer either. So I was intensely embarrassed to expose this poor excuse for a bra, and honestly could not get it off fast enough.
In my mind, the end result of the consultation with my new Dr: I am fat and old and apparently have the audacity to wear underwear not even fit for the landfill.
For bringing these unpleasant facts to light, I stole that BH&G magazine.