As we climbed back into the car after my “incredibly informative” nutritionist appointment, I remember telling my husband, “Why don’t they just call that class ‘Friggin Duh 101?'”
I use the term “appointment” loosely, because what I thought was going to be my chance to explain my history and have an educated dietician agree with me that something is obviously wrong was ACTUALLY a class. A presentation. A colossal waste of my time.
Hand to God, there was a slideshow. A slideshow. With pictures of food and charts of calories. One slide talked about the importance of drinking water. She even gave us the equation to find out our BMI’s. Meanwhile, I stared at the freakin’ app on my phone that could tell me the very same information in a matter of seconds without fussing with a calculator. For the duration of the presentation, I fought the urge to roll my eyes every. time. she mentioned that there are 3,500 calories in a pound of fat, that fast food is bad, that you should keep a journal of what you eat… etc., etc,.
Really? It’s that simple, huh? Why didn’t I think of that? *Insert epic eyeroll here*
If only I’d thought to mention to my primary care doctor that I have tried every trick in the book, so to speak. If only I’d thought to tell him that despite a decade of struggling with my weight, I still have a hard time getting (and keeping) results. If only I had somehow conveyed to him that my body doesn’t want to follow the rules set forth by science.
Oh, that’s right, I did.
And his first move was to subject me to this? A slideshow that literally looked as if an 8th grader had put it together as a last minute project for health class?
After the torturously redundant slideshow was over, a few of us who were a little more serious about getting healthier were herded (yes, I said herded) by a second uniformed dietician to a tiny office where we could make appointments to speak with a nutritionist one-on-one and hash out an individual plan. I snagged an appointment for the beginning of November and hustled back to the car before the profanities of rage and sarcasm began.
Up until then, I had tried to give my primary care Doc the benefit of the doubt. I tried desperately to hang on to those feelings of optimism he had given me after the first appointment. But now? No… I’m angry. I get that he’s busy. I get that my inability to have a child of my own is probably the least of his concerns, BUT STILL.
He said he would call me after the results of the well woman’s exam came back, and he didn’t: I got a generic card in the mail with “results normal” checkmarked. He said he would schedule me for some blood work, and he hasn’t. He also said that he would have the husband scheduled for an SA so that he could be ruled out before we did anything “drastic” with me, and guess what?
He hasn’t done that either…
So, basically, the panicky part of my brain is flipping out and is trying to convince me that I got one of those doctors who takes one look at you, sees that you are heavy, tunes out everything else you say, stubbornly believes that being fat is always the cause of the problem and could never be a symptom of a much larger health issue (Hello, PCOS!), refers you to a classroom with a slideshow about calorie intake and pats himself on the back for attempting to make the world a much more beautiful place…
That’s not rational, is it? Am I overreacting? Or am I right to be this anxious about feeling like my baby journey has come to a complete standstill before it ever really had a chance to get started? 😦
I kept putting this update off because I knew I was going to whine the entire time, and that I wouldn’t actually have anything of value to say… again.
But… What can I say? I am a basket case these days. Sex isn’t happening, since it’s cycle day 37 and I am still. freaking. bleeding. My doctor has forgotten about me and apparently wants to blame all of the world’s evils on my fatness. (Maybe if his penis had a tendency to bleed for several months at a time he’d be a little more sympathetic? I dunno.) I am kicking my own ass SO HARD for waiting so long to get this started… If I’d known it was going to be like this, I would have made that first appointment as soon as we moved here last November. Damn my pride and inability to admit when I need help. 😥
Oh, and now my husband is talking about getting another dog, which basically makes me feel like he just kicked me in the mouth and told me we aren’t ever going to have a kid so we might as well load up on the furbabies… 😦
Again, I’m sure that’s just my panicky brain talking, right…? Right?
And don’t even get me started on how I feel about my birthday being one stupid week away…