I had a check-up this morning. The female kind. And I was dreading it.
I’m the kind of gal that thinks ignorance is bliss. I hate the necessary poking and prodding it takes to stay healthy. What do I hate worse? The dreaded weigh-in.
Pregnant at 40, my midwife warned me that at my advanced age it would be tough to lose the baby weight. I didn’t believe her. I’d never struggled with weight issues before. In fact, I was underweight for most of my teens and 20s.
Rude awakening #1.
I have struggled and struggled and all but given up on getting back to my pre-baby weight. A weight that I wasn’t that happy with to begin with. But lately, with increased devotion to my yoga and small dietary changes (very small changes because I love to cook and I adore my Coca-Cola) I have slowly, very slowly started to melt some pounds. Yes. Pounds. As in plural. And, and this is a big “and,” it has stayed off. No yo-yo-ing this time for me.
I dreaded stepping onto that scale today, though. I don’t weigh myself at home. I use my clothes as a judge. And I am so self-defeating, the tiny changes I’ve noticed I’ve attributed to: designers creating vanity sizes, drying my clothes on a lower setting, stretching out my jeans.
As I tentatively stepped onto the scale, I sucked in my breath, as if that would create some kind of weightless vacuum.
“You’ve lost another four pounds since September,” the nurse said cheerily.
Did I hear her right? More weight? Gone?
This is the second weigh-in when I’ve lost weight. Two doctor visits in a row. And I’m losing. Not gaining. Not even staying the same.
But that can’t be. I cooked like a demon during Thanksgiving. Publix has had buy-one-get-one ice cream for the past 3 weeks. My birthday was this past weekend and I didn’t hold back. Cake. Ice cream. Meals out. All weekend.
I cheer. Out loud. The nurse smiles.
“But you don’t understand,” I say, “I’ve been struggling for 8 years to not only lose weight but keep it off. It’s finally working!”
She smiles again and starts rattling off instructions: take off clothes, gown opens in front, something about a sheet to cover up. But I barely hear her. I’m singing inside.
“Celebrate good times! C’mon”
“I am beautiful. In every single way.”
“It’s going to be a great day!”
The doctor comes in. I barely hear her commands. I’m grinning from ear to ear. Until…
“Do you perform regular breast exams?”
Pretty much. At least every other month.
“Well, do you feel this mass here?”
She guides my hand to the spot.
“I just want to rule anything out. So, I’m going to order a diagnostic mammogram just to be sure it isn’t anything to worry about.”
Rude awakening #2
The wind was just sucked out from under me.
Rule anything out. Be sure it isn’t anything to worry about. Huh?
Didn’t she hear? I just lost and kept off 4 more pounds. I was having a fabulous day. Ok, fabulous last 15 minutes.
Did she really have to steal my thunder?