Well it is that time of year again. Time for the annual "mommy parts" exams. So far so good but every year I am reminded of an exam that I had years ago. First I should say that there was a time when my weight was a problem...not being overweight, just imagining that I was. I was obsessed with a specific number and when the scale crept above it I became depressed and refused to eat. Then came the day when I looked at my boys and realized that being healthy meant so much more than what a number or a reflection meant and so I changed my eating and exercising habits and threw the scale away...seriously...into the driveway!
When visiting the doctor I covered my eyes and asked the nurse not to say the number aloud after being weighed...I simply did not want to revisit old habits. On one particular visit to my gynecologist I followed the routine...covered my eyes and asked the nurse not to tell me what the scale read. My doctor was not in he apparently had the nerve to leave and deliver a baby rather than see me so I saw the nurse practitioner. Exam over, I dressed and waited for my paperwork, instead the nurse entered the room and told me that the NP wanted to see me in her office. This can't be good. I sat in her whitewashed office nervously waiting, my pulse keeping time with the ticking of the clock that hung over her desk. Eventually she entered the room and took her seat, smiling sweetly.
"First," she said, "I want you to know that the exam was just fine and I don't suspect any problems however I did want to talk to you about your weight." Wait...what? "The nurse mentioned that you seem to be overly anxious about it and I think you should know that someone with breasts the size that yours are (big) is carrying around several extra pounds and of course that increases during times of the month."
Somewhere there is a little voice in my head that tells I am supposed to say something like Gosh Dr., thank you...I never thought of it like that. But that little voice never wins and instead I say without hesitation "You can just deduct body parts?" Her brow furrows and she cocks her head, puzzled. I can't stop myself and so "How much do you think my butt weighs?" Her eyes narrow as her brain scans the text books looking for this chapter: What to do when a patient questions your logic but apparently this particular situation isn't there. I, however, am on a roll. I raise my arm and point to that little bit of skin that has abandoned my elbow and begun to drift southward and I tug on it "I know this probably won't count for much but lets go ahead and deduct it too."
A different sort of tight-lipped smile is now plastered on her reddening face. She stands and hands me the paperwork. "Please stop at the front desk on your way out."
I practically skip to the car. I leave feeling much lighter than when I entered and completely famished. As I eat a plate of super nachos and sip a glass of sangria I sketch on a cocktail napkin the design for a new t-shirt. It will of course read I Am Not Fat...I Just Have Big Boobs.
I wonder if she'll want one.
