I met my new neurologist yesterday. She was patient and thorough and didn’t make me feel I’ve lost my mind (which it’s her job to check on) (she assured me that my mind is right in my head, and showed me a picture of it in there, too, to prove it).
I hate her scale.
It’s evil, just like every other doctor’s scale I’ve ever met.
Doctor’s scales are every woman’s arch-nemesis.
Last month, the scale at my headache doctor’s office decided I had gained 5 pounds between my house and her office. To make matters even more ridiculous, the nurse who measured and weighed me, pronounced me 5’9″ tall.
That would have been fine, had I not been 5’6” tall since the 5th grade. She also added 20 pounds to the reading on her evil scale when she entered the number into my file. I wasn’t sure if she was just inaccurate, crazy, or a sadist. I was leaning toward sadist.
The Professor noted that if I had gotten 3 inches taller it would make sense that I’d gained weight. I noted that next time he was waiting in the car.
That strange scale interaction weighed heavy on my mind (pun might have been intended) as I prepared myself to go meet my new brain doc.
I weigh myself every morning. It’s part of my morning prayer time. Actually, it usually triggers the start of my morning prayer time. Nothing reminds me to ask God for a miracle quite as consistently as facing that cold, unrelenting, killer-of-self-esteem that is my bathroom scale.
So, I walked into my doctor’s office with the morning’s gravity check number well cemented in my head.
When the cheerful nurse told me to climb onto the scale I was careful to stand in the middle of the platform, and to put my purse down (that’s like 50 pounds easy, all on its own). I even remembered to exhale. Every little bit helps.
So, imagine my surprise when the number I was looking at was nearly 10 pounds larger than the one I’d been disgusted with just an hour before at home.
It got me to thinking. First of all, I wondered if I have to put money in the swear jar if I only thought the words.
Secondly, I started to analyze all of the possible reasons there could be such a discrepancy weight-wise every time I go see a doctor.
The more I thought about it, the more I realized there are many logical explanations as to the varying gravity effects readings.
Top 10 Reasons I Weigh A Ton At The Doctor’s Office
#9. Gravity is extra strong in their realm, due to all of the heavy issues taking place there. They are often involved in life or death decisions. Just last month, I saw 2 nurses nearly come to blows over whether they should get Chipotle or Baja Fresh for lunch when I visited my gyno. And, recently, our new pediatrician nearly put his eye out when the glove he was blowing up to turn into a rooster for my youngest son suddenly exploded. It’s all fun and games until someone loses an eye.
#8. I wore my polka dotted underwear, and those dots must weigh a lot.
#7. Our blonde Labrador insisted on hugging my legs goodbye as I was rushing out the door. All the blonde dog hair stuck to my black pants, which I didn’t notice until I was sitting in the waiting room, weighs a lot. There was practically enough there to make a whole new dog.
#6. The nurse is new and didn’t know she wasn’t supposed to stand on the scale with me. I thought she was just standing extra close so she could see the numbers.
#4. I have teenagers. I’m sure it’s their fault, somehow.
#3. The humidity caused my hair to swell up to 3 times its normal volume, and, apparently, 10 times its normal weight.
#2. My new flip flops are lined with lead. I’ve got to start reading labels.
#1. Doctors get paid by the pound.
Finally, the doctor’s office scale phenomenon started to make sense to me, but not to everyone.
“There’s nothing wrong with the doctor’s scale. You just weigh more than you think you do,” offered The Professor. This from the man who said that his high blood pressure reading was because he slept on that arm the night before the test.
I would have stabbed him with the tongue depressors I “borrowed” from the exam room, but I’d already had my cardio for the day.
Instead, I gave him a look that prompted him to remind me, “You know, they always investigate the wife first when the husband’s murdered.”
I, then, reminded him that all I’d need is one woman on that jury, and I’d be off Scot-free.
He shot back with, “Clearly, the doctor’s scale is broken.”
Laugh Out Loud!
Do you weigh more at your doctor’s office than at home? Are you taking iron supplements, too? Has anyone insisted you are taller than you know you are? Shoot me a comment. I’m looking forward to hearing what you have to say.Photos courtesy of Stock.xchng – Used with permission.