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 for divine intervention quite as consistently as facing that cold, unrelenting, killer-of-self-esteem that is my bathroom scale.
So, yesterday, when I walked into my new neurologist’s office for the first time, the morning’s gravity check number was well cemented in my head.
I like my new brain doc. She’s patient and thorough and didn’t make me feel like I’ve lost my mind, which it’s her job to check on. In fact, she assured me my mind is right in my head. She showed me a picture of it in there to prove it.
I hate her scale.
It’s evil, just like every other doctor’s scale I’ve ever met.
Last month, the scale at my dermatologist’s office decided I’d 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 heavily on my mind (pun might have been intended here) as I prepared myself to go meet my new brain doc yesterday.
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. Let’s face it, that’s at least 50 pounds right there. 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.
Maybe all the iron in that multivitamin my skin doc is making me take is weighing me down. Iron is a metal, and metal is heavy. So, the weight discrepancy is probably her fault.
And, I’m pretty sure gravity is extra strong in the healthcare realm, due to all of the heavy issues taking place there. After all, they’re 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 chicken for my youngest son suddenly exploded. It’s all fun and games until someone loses an eye.
Turns out I was wearing my polka dotted underwear and I’m sure that was at least part of the problem. Dots are heavy, right?
Then, there’s all the blonde dog hair stuck to the black pants I was wearing. I didn’t even notice it until I was sitting in the waiting room. Our blonde Labrador insisted, as always, on hugging my legs goodbye as I’d rushed out the door. That thorough coating of magical love fibers had to weigh a lot. There was practically enough there to make a whole new dog.
I’m guessing 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. But, clearly, she was part of the problem.
Naturally, since I was headed to see a doctor, my body was in panic mode. I‘m sure I was retaining water in an effort to keep from turning into a raisin when they sucked out the gallon of blood they always insist on taking.
Plus, some of my kids are teenagers now, so, obviously, they’re somehow to blame.
The crazy humidity this week caused my hair to swell up to 3 times its normal volume. One must assume that means it also swelled up to 10 times its normal weight.
And, I haven’t read them all, but I think the new health care regulations require doctors be paid by the pound. Naturally, they’d have to chub up our scale numbers to make a living.
The more I thought about it, the more the doctor’s scale phenomenon made sense to me. But, it didn’t make sense 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 his high blood pressure reading was because he slept on that arm the night before the test.
I’d 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 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!
Is your doctor’s scale out to get you? Has anyone insisted you’re suddenly taller? Shoot me a comment. I’m looking forward to hearing all about it.
Photo courtesy of Stock.xchng – Used with permission.