The Obesity

Oh, lovely…

Re. my earlier blog about being jacked around by the cardiac clinic at my so-called HMO…

I just found a message in my in-box from the cardiac clinic doctor telling me that the reason that they cancelled my echocardiogram was that “your weight exceeds the weight limit for the exam table in the Saturday clinic”. This is reason number three – they keep changing their story – but it’s a beauty, isn’t it?

I’m not really a human being to any of them, am I? I’m not a human being like their sister, their mother, their aunt, their grandmother, their wife. Not really.

I’m just The Obesity – and when you’re The Obesity, they can jack you around, lie to you, cancel your appointment with no notice, insult and humiliate you, whatever.

When you’re The Obesity, you’re not a person – you’re a repulsive, meaningless, valueless thing.

Jean, I understand you’re feeling angry and humiliated and maybe reasons number 1 and 2 were lame.

But as for reason number 3 - I wouldn’t pour a 32 oz whisky into a 16 oz glass. There is nothing wrong with 16 oz of whisky. And nothing wrong with 32 oz of whisky. In fact the 32 oz of whisky could be a truly fine whisky. But I still wouldn’t pour it into a 16 oz glass. I’d look for a 32 oz glass.

Hi Jean,
I hope you don’t get too discouraged. Continue with your tests and turn a blind eye to the ignorant if you can. You seem to be progressing so well with the goals that you posted. Please don’t let anyone get in your way. ((HUG))

@Lila, I hear you sister. But what kind of bar doesn’t own glasses to accommodate 20% of their drink orders?

Either he’s blowing smoke, trying intentionally to insult me, or there’s a hospital in America that has no interest in serving 20% of their patients…?

It sucks no matter how you look at it.

I pick doors number one or two, however, as I’ve been big for a good, long while and this exam table issue has never come up. They’re built like rocks with padding on top. I’ve been going there plus or minus 10% of my current weight for years.

I think normal weight or slightly heavy people have a REALLY hard time understanding how often people are horribly, dangerously mean to the morbidly obese.

I was a child in the Jim Crow south and the way I am treated is a lot like black people were treated in South Louisiana when I was young. We’re not being lynched, thank goodness, but everything right up to that level of physical violence is pretty much OK if you’re morbidly obese: public humiliation, being screamed at and threatened with violence by total strangers absent ANY provocation (none) while bystanders laugh, being refused service, social ostracism, being stared at, sneered at and talked to as if you were a mentally slow five year old…etc.

This would not be the first time a so-called medical professional has intentionally insulted me in order to get me to go away so they don’t have to soil their eyes looking at me. I had a doctor at this same HMO once stand in the door with his hand on the door-nob and yell at me from the door, “Can I help you?” in the exact same tone someone would use to say, “Why is there dog poop on this chair?!?” He wouldn’t even enter in the room, even though I was there for a new-patient physical and was scheduled for an hour appointment.

My heart cries for you! :frowning: But I do want you to know that there IS advocacy for the equal treatment of obese people in the medical community. I read some medical blogs, and there was a lot of outcry about the Florida (female) gynecologist who publicly and flatly refused to take obese women in her practice. Her excuse was that her equipment wouldn’t handle them. Well, the obvious response to that one is, “then get better equipment!” Many people responded that the medical profession has just as much of an obligation to the obese as to the thin. The ONLY reason for going into the medical profession is to serve the health of humanity, and it’s obvious that you’re going to get people with all kinds of disabilities and variations. Would she refuse a person in a wheelchair who couldn’t just hop up on the table? I don’t think so, because that would be discrimination according to the law. So this FL doctor is not worth the title of doctor!!! Harrumph!!!

Jean, I salute you for all the efforts you are obviously making to take care of yourself, and I’m really sorry that these obstacles are being thrown in your way. If I could give you a hug, I would, and then I would just luxuriate in your presence because you have a beautiful mind and there is much that I admire you for!

Thanks, Natalie, you are very kind.

I’m not a very good advocate, I’m afraid, as most of the time my “battle” cry is:



But I occasionally pitch a fit before I retreat. Maybe it makes an impact somewhere down the road…

Dear Jean, your post reminded me of something I read several years ago: A Crabby Old Woman? Not Really an old lady died in the geriatric ward of a small hospital near Dundee, Scotland, it was believed that she had nothing left of any value. Later, when the nurses were going through her meager possessions, they found this poem. Its quality and content so impressed the staff that copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital. One nurse took her copy to Ireland. The old lady’s sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas edition of the News Magazine of the North Ireland Association for Mental Health . A slide presentation has also been made based on her simple, but eloquent, poem. And this little old Scottish lady, with nothing left to give to the world, is now the author of this “anonymous” poem winging across the Internet.

What do you see, nurses?
What do you see?
What are you thinking
when you’re looking at me?

A crabby old woman,
not very wise,
uncertain of habit,
with faraway eyes?

Who dribbles her food
and makes no reply
when you say in a loud voice,
“I do wish you’d try!”

Who seems not to notice
the things that you do,
and forever is losing
a stocking or a shoe?

Who, resisting or not,
lets you do as you will,
with bathing and feeding,
the long day to fill?

Is that what you’re thinking?
Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse,
you’re not looking at me.

I’ll tell you who I am
as I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding,
as I eat at your will.

I’m a small child of ten
with a father and mother,
brothers and sisters,
who love one another.

A young girl of sixteen
with wings on her feet
dreaming that soon now
a lover she’ll meet.

A bride soon at twenty,
my heart gives a leap,
remembering the vows
that I promised to keep.

At twenty-five now,
I have young of my own,
who need me to guide them
and make a happy home.

A woman of thirty,
my young now grown fast,
bound to each other
with ties that should last.

At forty, my young sons
have grown and are gone,
but my man’s beside me
to see I don’t mourn.

At fifty once more,
Babies play round my knee,
Again we know children,
my loved one and me.

Dark days are upon me,
My husband is dead
I look at the future
I shudder with dread.

For my young are all rearing
young of their own,
and I think of the years
and the love that I’ve known.

I’m now an old woman
and nature is cruel;
'Tis jest to make old age
look like a fool.

The body, it crumbles,
Grace and vigor depart,
There is now a stone
where I once had a heart.

But inside this old carcass
A young girl still dwells,
and now and again,
My battered heart swells.

I remember the joys,
I remember the pain,
And I’m loving and living
Life over again.

I think of the years
all too few, gone too fast,
and accept the stark fact
That nothing can last.

So open your eyes, people,
Open and see,
Not a crabby old woman;
Look closer . . . see ME.