Weighing In

For those of you who haven't been around me over the past three weeks, I have developed a somewhat minor cough.  Physically I have felt completely normal, but I am just occasionally very rarely coughing a teeny bit.  Apparently a few people had started to notice and comment, especially my mother, so I decided to schedule a doctors appointment for today.

I should let you know now that I am not huge fan of medicine.  I mean I like doctors and everything they do well enough, but I mean I don't like actual medicine that you take.  I'm in the "if I can't beat this little cough on my own, I deserve to die" camp.  Cancer is one thing.  A sniffle is another.  I like to beat colds, flu, strep, etc. on my own.  Hello, I got strep in Myrtle Beach and didn't miss a day of beach time or happy hour.  I thought I was going to die, but I figured I might as well die tan and buzzing with the waves crashing around me.  Who could ask for more?

But after three weeks of very minorly coughing delicately, I decided to go in and get the prognosis.  I mean clearly I am not beating this and will die from it, so let's figure out how much longer I have.  I do love my doctor.  He's an old high school friend of my dad's and I just adore his whole family.  But I grudgingly missed an hour or so of work to visit Dr. Mark and present my I'm-not-that-sick case so my mom could sleep at night again.

Apparently everyone is sick or injured right now.  The waiting room was packed.  What a perfect time to Facebook stalk all of you and your friends and your friends of friends.  Peaceful.  Maybe this was worth it.  And then my name was called.  Headed back.  Followed the nurse down the hallway, smiling.  Happy.  Unsuspecting.  Full of Facebook gossip and excited to talk to Dr. Mark about Razorback football.  And then the nurse stopped.

At the scale.

We looked at each other for a minute.  About five thousand thoughts ran through my head like why does she have to weigh me for a cough?  Why did I let my mom make me come here for a cough?  Why did I decide to pig out at Las Fajitas for lunch?  Whose idea was it to skip my long run this week?  If I split, could the nurse catch me?

She looks at me like I'm crazy.  "Please step on the scale."  I stammer, "I wasn't prepared for this."  She just smiles.  A really awful, knowing smile.  She's thinking someone had enchiladas for lunch.  I then say "Um, should I take my shoes off?"  She says, "It doesn't matter, but you might want to put your purse down."  Thanks for the tip, woman.

I got on the scale and looked anywhere but the reading.  She says "Mmm hmm" like she was right about something.  Then she asks me "Would you like to know what it was?"  No lady.  No one in their right mind wants to know definitively from a doctor's scale what their weight was.  I thought that was why you guys used the weird metal bars that you move the little plastic things around on.  So I can't read it.  Has anyone ever answered yes to that question?  "Yes, you know, I've been curious what my weight is without a loose tile in the bathroom or an old uncalibrated scale or a minor monthly bloating to blame it on.  Tell me, what do I officially weigh?" 

I can't read these and I'm ok with it

"Um, no.  Thanks though." is all I can muster.  Shaken, I head back to the room, questioning my every food-related decision since about April.  We go into the exam room.  She gets out the cuff and takes my blood pressure.  "Hmm, your blood pressure is normal, but a little elevated for you.  Is something stressing you right now?"

I look at her.  Really?