Medical Whatnot
A couple of weeks ago, after determining that no refills of the magical pills that keep me from killing jerkwads in the face for a few days a month (and also keep from passing out due to anemia and ruining chairs shortly after jerkwad killing time) and the little wonders that allow me to stay awake during normal awake-time and not gain 25 lbs a month would be in the offing until I saw a Doctor, I hied me to my Endocrinologist. Perhaps I have spoken of him here before. Last I checked, he made nearly my annual salary from Pharmaceutical Co. endorsements alone (and those were just the disclosed ones), offered to give me a fraudulent diabetes dx so my insurance would cover a brand new injectable only approved for diabetics that was like "... a lap band in a box!" and generally blames all my problems on my weight, when in reality, the weight is a symptom of everything I'm seeing him to manage. Keeping in mind the best interest of jerkwads and furniture throughout the world, I decided I would risk the aggravation.
On the plus side, the Infotainment Big Pharma sponsored TVs were gone from the waiting room, and the (deliberately, I'm beginning to suspect) anxiety producing automatic Blood Pressure cuff iron maidens had also disappeared. This meant that despite not having taken BP meds in months, I had only mildly elevated BP, which can be directly attributed to White Coat Syndrome at this point. Bouyed by the lack of nursely concern over my imminent stroke, I sat in the Doc's office and decided to approach the impending consult with an air of cheerful detachment. When the exam started, I realized I had finally figured him out; everything he says is complete boilerplate, and entirely independent of any preceding boilerplate he may have announced only twelve seconds before. To wit, he looked quickly at my chart and shook his head (the tsking, while silent, was still there) and admonished me for having waited for three years to come back, noting that I had gained an entire 5 lbs since then. He paused, to add gravitas to the shaming. I cocked an eyebrow, silently celebrating that I had only gained 5 lbs in three years, suspecting that those 5 lbs were actually all in my tits anyway.
Then he had me hold my arms out parallel with the ground groped my neck, and poked concernedly at my ankle. "You're probably retaining about 10 lbs worth of water right now." he said, as if I have any control over whether my body wants to retain water. I shrugged as I wondered why you would measure fluid in weight rather than volume, calculating that I had an extra 1.3 gallons of water sloshing about under my skin, when I realized that If I had gained an entire, hideous 5 lbs in three years, and that 10 lbs of my body weight was retained water, that in fact, I HAD LOST 5 LBS IN THREE YEARS, BITCHEZ! when he came up with the familiar non-sequiter - "What are you doing to lose weight?"
Now because I was busy working out a 2nd Grade story problem in my head, and because I was raised not to sass the person responsible for making sure the douchecanoes and fucknuggets of the world remained totally capitated at all times and keeping me out of jail, I gave him some malarky about eating more fresh fruits and vegetables - which is true, as far as it goes, but I did omit the part about how I learned how easy it was to make a bacon-wrapped hot dog, served with onions, sour cream, maybe some guac, and a healthy portion of cheese... but what I really should have told him about What I Am Doing To Lose Weight is any one of the following:
I made the obligatory 3month follow-up - he renewed my scrips and said his staff would call me if anything alarming showed up in the tests. It's been two weeks, and no call, so either my tests are no different than they were three years ago, or his staff are incompetent. Probably both, knowing his staff, but rest assured - I'm all calm, and normal, and not falling asleep at 5pm or being honest with the deserving dickish so all is well.
On the plus side, the Infotainment Big Pharma sponsored TVs were gone from the waiting room, and the (deliberately, I'm beginning to suspect) anxiety producing automatic Blood Pressure cuff iron maidens had also disappeared. This meant that despite not having taken BP meds in months, I had only mildly elevated BP, which can be directly attributed to White Coat Syndrome at this point. Bouyed by the lack of nursely concern over my imminent stroke, I sat in the Doc's office and decided to approach the impending consult with an air of cheerful detachment. When the exam started, I realized I had finally figured him out; everything he says is complete boilerplate, and entirely independent of any preceding boilerplate he may have announced only twelve seconds before. To wit, he looked quickly at my chart and shook his head (the tsking, while silent, was still there) and admonished me for having waited for three years to come back, noting that I had gained an entire 5 lbs since then. He paused, to add gravitas to the shaming. I cocked an eyebrow, silently celebrating that I had only gained 5 lbs in three years, suspecting that those 5 lbs were actually all in my tits anyway.
Then he had me hold my arms out parallel with the ground groped my neck, and poked concernedly at my ankle. "You're probably retaining about 10 lbs worth of water right now." he said, as if I have any control over whether my body wants to retain water. I shrugged as I wondered why you would measure fluid in weight rather than volume, calculating that I had an extra 1.3 gallons of water sloshing about under my skin, when I realized that If I had gained an entire, hideous 5 lbs in three years, and that 10 lbs of my body weight was retained water, that in fact, I HAD LOST 5 LBS IN THREE YEARS, BITCHEZ! when he came up with the familiar non-sequiter - "What are you doing to lose weight?"
Now because I was busy working out a 2nd Grade story problem in my head, and because I was raised not to sass the person responsible for making sure the douchecanoes and fucknuggets of the world remained totally capitated at all times and keeping me out of jail, I gave him some malarky about eating more fresh fruits and vegetables - which is true, as far as it goes, but I did omit the part about how I learned how easy it was to make a bacon-wrapped hot dog, served with onions, sour cream, maybe some guac, and a healthy portion of cheese... but what I really should have told him about What I Am Doing To Lose Weight is any one of the following:
- I'm planning on having a recreational double mastectomy
- I'm eating nothing but the slimy film left on the lids of yogurt cups
- Synchronized cock-punching. Want me to demonstrate?
- I'm getting a hair cut!
- I'm seeing an Endocrinologist, who can help me manage my hormone and cortisol levels, with a special eye toward thyroid function.
- I'm practicing severe self-loathing. I really, really hate my disgusting fat self. Is that good enough for you, doc?
I made the obligatory 3month follow-up - he renewed my scrips and said his staff would call me if anything alarming showed up in the tests. It's been two weeks, and no call, so either my tests are no different than they were three years ago, or his staff are incompetent. Probably both, knowing his staff, but rest assured - I'm all calm, and normal, and not falling asleep at 5pm or being honest with the deserving dickish so all is well.