I went to the doctor today because I've been losing time. Three times now, in conversations, I have zoned out and come to, realized that the conversation has moved on, and had NO IDEA how we got from where we were to where we are. The sensation was very similar to highway hypnosis, if you've ever had that. It's very disorienting and freaky. I had it on "watch" status for a couple days, until I spoke to Monica about it yesterday and she told me that Craig had asked her about me doing the same thing when he and I got into a discussion about religion a couple of weeks ago. He said that toward the end of the conversation I got really quiet (anyone who knows me knows that this is totally unlike me) and he couldn't tell if he had offended me or what. No, I had checked out on him, too. I immediately emailed the doctor's office.
I couldn't get in with my usual doctor, and then there was a scheduling problem (the nurse put the appointment in at 1 and told me 1:30) so I ended up seeing a doctor I saw once before and wasn't very impressed with, and his student nurse practitioner.
The nurse did a very thorough evaluation of me, a full neuro exam to rule out all kinds of causes too scary to think about. They're going to do bloodwork tomorrow, but for now my diagnosis is social anxiety.
BJ laughed when he heard that. "You're the least socially anxious person I know!" he said.
The thing that pisses me off more than the diagnosis I'm not sure about (yes, I have anxiety, yes, the three conversations where this happened were heated or stressful or controversial, but no, I'm not sure that they were so heated or so stressful that they would cause me to dissociate! Certainly I have had more heated, more stressful conversations where my mind hasn't chosen to go to its happy place without taking me along) is that the doctor took it upon himself to remind me that I'm a giant fat cow and that everything would be PERFECT if I lost weight.
I swear to you, I could go to the doctor with two broken legs, and they would tell me to lose weight.
When I was at my thinnest adult weight, right before I got pregnant with Jack, I was getting the SAME thing... So I know that plus or minus 20 pounds doesn't really matter - when you're a woman it all comes down to the number on the scale.
Concerned that you're getting hair where girls don't grow hair? You're fat. Concerned that you have spells when you lose time and that you might be driving with your kids in the car the next time it happens? You're fat. Concerned about the fact that your skin is in worse shape than it was when you were a teenager? Fat. Tired? Fat. Migraine? Fat. Depressed? Fat. Dandruff? Fat. Athlete's foot? Fat. Sinus infection? Hey, while you're here, let me remind you with a concerned look on my face that you are fat...
Then the shaming started - "You'd be setting such a good example for your kids if you'd eat better and exercise..." Oh FUCK YOU doctor nobody, you don't even KNOW my kids. You've never SEEN my kids. Do not PRESUME to know anything about my kids based on seeing me TWICE in my life.
(I told you this might get vulgar).
((Jeez, all the new scouts friends I've added on Facebook are going to read this. All the neighbors I've added because of the neighborhood association.... Oh hell with it. This is me. I try not to swear in front of people under 18. I'm not perfect. I probably swear because I'm fat.))
...And I just sat there and took it. I said, "My kids are healthy. My husband is too. My whole family is..." I said, choking back tears, determined NOT to cry in front of this jerk.
He told me, and I swear I am not making this up, to maybe consider eating fruits and vegetables instead of cookies and chips and pretzels. As if that had never occurred to me in my entire life. He said to eat Lean Cuisine instead of fast food for lunch. Yeah, that'll help. My highest ever blood pressure was when I was eating Smart Ones all the time trying to lose weight before I had kids - all the sodium. 170/110, and I got to wear a blood pressure monitor for 24 hours for my trouble. I quit the "diet" and it came back down to normal.
I said, "I lost 50 pounds between when I had my second child and when I had my son. I know how to lose weight. And our diet is very healthy. I cook from scratch. I'm a very good cook. That's probably half my problem..." I sat there thinking, "Why am I justifying myself to this asshole?" and "You could stand to lose a few too, doc." At one point I almost poked his belly, and said, "Hee hee!" just to shut him the hell up.
And what really, really kills me is that there is SO MUCH MORE to me than the number on the scale or what size pants I wear. People LOVE me. I am kind. I do so much for people and expect nothing in return (neighborhood president, scouts, helping at the school, etc.). I am smart. I am good. I am interesting. I am an amazing mother. I'm an awesome wife. I take care of people - whether they're mine or not. I listen to people. I care about people. I'm hilarious. My house is spotless, even though I have three small kids in it. I am the KoolAid Mom of the neighborhood, and every kid in our neighborhood of 100 houses knows that if they're in trouble they can come to me. I save dogs when they're running loose. I give money to charities for my friends' birthdays. I'm a great freaking cook. In fact, I'd probably be a hell of a lot thinner if I didn't make such awesome cookies. I have an excellent credit score and almost no debt (student loans and car loans - that's it). My kids are LOVED. I have read to them every single day since they were born. I work really, really hard at being EXCELLENT at everything I am and everything I do.
But I weigh over 200 pounds. 207 pounds, actually, at 5 foot 4 inches tall, and so until that changes, I will never, ever be good enough.
(Personally, I think the real problem is too much stress and not enough sleep, and taking care of everyone except Amy for the past many months, but I'll get the labs they ordered done just to be sure. And after over a year of problems with the Mirena, I finally made an appointment to have it removed. I'll just deal with the side effects, up to and including babies. And I may go off the Zoloft entirely, too, to just give my body a chance to heal and equalize without all these synthetic chemicals and artificial hormones. I think it's no coincidence that I was able to lose all that weight when I was trying to conceive Jack - I wasn't on birth control. My skin was awesome, too. And I felt good. Better than I feel now, anyway, until I got pregnant and the anxiety ramped up again before I even knew I was pregnant. And maybe I'll go see Mom's acupuncture guy. But I swear to God I'll kick his ass if he mentions losing weight.)