I’d been living happily for 2½ years at what I figured was my “natural weight.” As far as an actual number was concerned, I really had no idea what I weighed, because 2½ years earlier, I’d also thrown away my scale for good. And when I went to the doctor, I’d ask the nurse to not tell me what I weighed. I’d just look at the ceiling while standing on the scale, and she’d silently pencil the number onto her sheet, the same sheet on which she’d recorded my temperature and blood pressure.
Then, 8 weeks ago while at the doctor’s office for a sinus infection, naturally, I had to get weighed. As usual, I asked the nurse not to announce the number, and she didn’t, except after escorting me into the exam room, she slapped her blasted sheet down on the countertop right where I could see it. OHMYGOSH! I haven’t had a real number staring me in the face for 2½ years. “I really wish I hadn’t seen that!” I barked, pointing at the paper.
“Uh, sorry,” she said dismissively, and left the room.
I was angry, shocked, dismayed... sitting there in my paper gown waiting for the doctor. That number really did a number on me.
Panic set in. As soon as I got home I went to my computer and downloaded a diet... located a notebook and started to do what I used to do during my dieting days... a food journal. I resolved to count calories, and weigh myself regularly. The madness lasted for about a week. Then that still small voice spoke sense to me... the one that sounds like John Wayne...
“Hold on there missy... that number on the scale... it’s just a number. It doesn’t mean anything. You are healthy and strong and beautiful just the way you are. Put away that notebook and get back to what you were doing. Enjoying life. Eating well. Being fine at the size that you are. Now is not the time to go on a diet!”
