Postmodern Valkyrie (disparate_dream) wrote in bad_service,
Postmodern Valkyrie

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TW: ED discussion, possibly tmi medical stuff

Dear Doc,

I should have known that my appointment this week was going to be shit the minute that your nurse wouldn't let me stand with my back to the readout on the scale. Should have. Didn't.

Maybe I ought to have been clued in when she insisted on telling me my weight as I stood there with my eyes closed. 154 pounds, like it's some kind of sin. She asked about my nutrition, and then answered for me, "You're eating just fine, I can see."

I should have probably shouted the building down right then, but I stood there and took it with my teeth gritted, the way I always do. I could have offered up the excuses that someone who's "fat*" ought to: Oh hey, I suffer from an ED; My back was broken a decade ago so I don't get around as well as I used to; I eat crappy food when I can manage to eat at all. But I've said all these things before, you have all of this information already. I know it's on my chart because I requested a copy to make sure that you had accurate information. There's very little point in my saying it again, and hey, maybe this nurse is new and has no fucking idea and didn't bother reading the chart ahead of time. Maybe she only realized halfway into the process and was to ashamed/embarrassed to deal with it & so went on as she was.

I can (sort of) excuse the nurse. But you. YOU. I've been your patient for damn near 4 years, and you have medical histories dating back to the time of my birth. I see you every 3 months. You're the one who is supposed to have all these $killz with patients like me, the ones with chronic issues and ED, so there is no goddamn excuse for saying the shit you said to me.

You walk in the room, and the first thing out of your mouth is "you're a giant!" like you've never laid eyes on me before. Really? 5'6 is average, as far as I'm aware, & it's not my fault that you have to wear heels to break the 4'10 barrier.

Yeah, I'm aware that my calves and thighs are "huge." That's because I fucking walk everywhere, and this isn't exactly a town that's known for being flat. Yep, I have a pot belly. I know this, and I know what's causing it. That would be the broken back that prevents me from doing any abdominal exercises! Yeah, I look exhausted. That would be because I am fucking exhausted. Chronic insomnia and the never-ending pain in my back would be the cause of that. Oh, my hair looks thin? That's because it falls out like mad when I'm stressed, which is basically any time that I'm breathing. & Yes, I am still smoking. I smoke because I hurt, because I'm nauseous, because I can't sleep, because I'm stressed. I don't need your fucking lecture, I already figured out that I'll probably end up with lung cancer. That's ok, I can deal.

No, I don't need to start a morning weigh-in. I don't need to start counting calories and keeping a "food journal" where I "write down even a piece of gum." I don't need to join Weight Watchers. I don't need to join "Curves" or the Y. I've done all of that shit before, and I damn near died of it. Your insistence that I'd be happier and healthier and in less pain if I lost weight is a fucking crock. I am in pain because I broke my fucking back, not because I'm "fat." My back is not fixable. I did more damage over the years by trying to "fix" it when the other doctors were telling me that it was all in my head.

I am not lazy. I do not need to be counting calories and sobbing again when I've "failed" for the day to "fix" my physical pain. I tried that route. Yeah, you're right that I used to be built like a goddamn superhero. That was Before.

Why did we spend an hour going over the fact that my body is "wrong?" I came in here today for my goddamn prescription refills. I don't need the lecture. I know what's wrong with me, & I know the prognosis.

I sat around and agonized for the whole rest of this week after our little "chat," and then I came up with the solution. Monday, first thing in the morning, I will be calling your boss. And then his/her boss. & so on up the ladder until I get some sort of resolution, because I'll be damned if I grit my teeth any more. If you'd pulled this shit with another patient, a patient with less built up rage than me, you could do some real damage to them, & I refuse to sit back and let that happen.

-yr pissed off "fat" patient

ps. fuck your stinky perfume. you really only need to spray that shit once & there shouldn't be some kind of Pepe Le Pew cloud following you everywhere.

*the BMI is shit. Even at my "superhero" stage, it was saying I was fat. So fuck the BMI, too.

TL;DR: Doctor who I've been seeing forever is a moron about ED & weight issues & chronic conditions, I am pissed & wordy about it.
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