Ooo, Eee, Ooo, AhhAhh

I have to go to the doctor this afternoon. I hate going to the doctor. It's just to have a physical so that she can sign my form for our homestudy to indicate that I'm not dying/incapable physically of caring for a child...and yet still, I'm a nervous wreck already.

When you've been chubby for the better part of your life, you learn very quickly that doctors think you are one (or both) of two things: 1) a liar, 2) a bon-bon popping sloth. #1 usually follows quickly after an explanation that you are not #2 and a litany of what you generally eat during the day and your exercise-like activities. Doctors, as a whole, don't care. They think that everyone should be teeny tiny and anyone who isn't just isn't trying.

Or so has been my experience.

And so it is that I find my heart racing for the hour or so prior to every doctor appointment. Which then of course makes them say I have high blood pressure because I'm fat and we get back into the #2 - #1 cycle. It's just a joy.

This doctor, my new doctor, really isn't so bad. Or she wasn't the one time I've been to see her. It helps that she's large herself...larger than me by several tens of pounds...and she happily not only knows about my condition, she has it herself and is also prone to what she calls "a fat gene." And I would think that this blissfully unpolitically correct attitiude would leave me skipping joyously the whole way to her office. Unfortunately for me, it seems the answer is: not so much. And so my heart is racing and my hands are shaking and I feel just a tad queasy.

I hate doctors. I really do. Even more than that, I hate that going to see them when I'm well leaves me ill.