The latest

I had my appointment with Dr. P on Wednesday.  The first thing she asked me, when I walked into her office, was “when were you last weighed?”  Wow.  Like that’s the most important thing: a number.  I told her, “On a Wednesday.”   I pretended I didn’t know which Wednesday it had been, and although I knew what my weight had been, I hid this from Dr. P.

Then Dr. P weighed me.  What a sucker.  Not only did I have two wallets, one heck of a lot of change, and my cell phone in my pockets, but she didn’t ask me to take off my jacket or my big hat.  Naturally, my weight was higher than she expected.  I was thrilled.

She asked me a bunch of questions, including my reasons for not wanting to go into this “program” that I have mentioned here before.  She asked me if I consider myself underweight and I told her the truth: No, I do not.  She asked me what I eat every day, and I bullshitted my way through a daily menu of what I eat every now and then but certainly not daily.  She asked me if I’d be willing to see a nutritionist and I said, “Yes.”  So we left it at that.

Last week, after my therapy session, I called my therapist (it was an afterthought) and asked her, “What is the purpose of my going to this program?”  She replied that the purpose was “refeeding,” “weight gain to a normal weight,” and “stabilization of weight.”  In other words, I would be there for the purpose of getting fattened up–nothing more.

No way.

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