From Dr. Jackass to Dr. Mom

I had an appointment this week with my gynecologist. (What? You don’t start conversations like that?) Not that anyone ever looks forward to getting their lady parts examined (by a doctor), but I was particularly dreading this appointment because of my last doctor’s appointment. I was afraid she too would give me a speech and call me fat. Even if she’s not a “real” doctor. (Funny side note: She actually isn’t a doctor. She’s a certified nurse practitioner and a mid-wife. She’s also one of the most amazing women I’ve ever met and if I could adopt a Mom, I would pick her.)

The appointment always starts in her office where she told me how amazing I looked. She told me she loved my new hair cut. She told me how amazing I looked. Oh, I already said that? My bad. I’m still recovering from the horrible bedside manner of my general practitioner with the actual medical degree. I told her about Dr. Jackass’s concerns about my weight. She said he didn’t know what he was talking about because I looked fabulous. (See? I seriously want to take her home and have her make me coco and cover me up with a cozy blanket.) She said that after we finished talking and while I was preparing for my exam, she would look over my medical records just to compare my weight. She assured me I had nothing to worry about.

Except that I do have something to worry about.

She came back in with my file and said, “okay, I see the problem here. You’ve gained 17 pounds in the last year. That’s a lot. That’s too much.” Ugh. My heart sank as I prepared it for the upcoming speech. To my surprise she then said, “But it’s not your fault. It’s your damn hormones.”

“Huh?” I thought, doing my best curious dog impression. My head tilted to the side and my eyebrows raised. Then I heard the angels singing and I smiled. Well, okay, there weren’t really angels. But, I was very anxious to hear her non-medical degree explanation.

She said that because I’m approaching that age where my hormones are starting to get out of whack, my metabolism is also all screwed up. What worked previously for me may not work now and obviously isn’t. (I didn’t tell her I’ve been eating a Milky Way candy bar every night and hiding the wrapper in the bottom of the trash can so no one sees it.) She said that I would have to really keep an eye on weight gain because it could easily get out of control at this stage of life. I smiled at her like she was the smartest person on the planet, because quite frankly I think she might be. But, I have to confess that my habits are to blame for the majority of this weight gain.

I’ve been eating horribly (I’m not kidding about those Milky Ways. I didn’t even know I liked them, but damn, they’re good!). My portions are out of control and getting second helpings has become the norm. I haven’t been working out. Obviously all of these lead to weight gain. But, my metabolism isn’t helping.

She may have told me the same thing my doctor did. But, boy, when she blamed it on my metabolism and made me feel beautiful…well, she served that shit up with a spoon full of sugar didn’t she? It’s a hell of a lot easier to swallow.

I’ve been motivated ever since I left her office. Not because she made me feel like crap – she didn’t. I’ve been motivated because she delivered the news in a way that I was willing to hear it. I’m a stress eater. Telling me I’m fat stresses me out. Guess what that leads to? Mmmm hmmmm….Milky Way wrappers hidden in the bottom of the trash can.

She gave me the following advice:
Drink lots of water. It helps speed my metabolism.
Don’t eat carbs alone. Pair them with a protein.
Work out in the mornings to kick start my metabolism.
Don’t eat after 8pm.

I’m on my 4th bottle of water today. Last night when I was working out I kept saying to myself, “this is stress relief. This is for my metabolism. This is to make me feel fantastic now and 10 years from now.” Her advice is doable and since it was delivered in a loving way, it was received. Thank you, Dr. Mom. 🙂

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