And Let the Diet Begin!

A few weeks ago I went to the doctor. It was time for the standard check-up, and I hadn't been feeling my most stellar. This was a new physician to me as the PA I regularly see was out of town. This new guy was a bona-fide, actually-earned-the-DR-behind-his-name, white-lab-coat-wearing, dude. Naturally, I wanted him to find me healthy and spectacular and send me on my way. So, I wore my best bra and underwear (do guys do this too?) shaved everything that needed shaving, and made sure I smelled good in all the correct places.

When I arrived, I only spent about 10 seconds in the waiting room chair before the slender, attractive nurse called my name, smiled at me, and then directed me to the scale. I Go-Go Gadgeted my spine up to as tall as I could as she drove the white measuring paddle flat against my skull. Shooo, I made it! 5'5" and a 1/4!!! Triumph...no shrinkage yet! Then that snotty wench of a nurse, who probably weighs 100lbs and eats Diet Air for lunch, hmmphed just a little as she wrote down my weight. 215lbs! Fatter than I've ever been in my life. I no longer find her attractive.

After giving the scale a mighty, one-fingered salute, I followed the scrawny troglodyte into the examination room she indicated. (Okay, I'm being harsh-the nurse was actually super nice) and hopped up on the table. Then, the real fun began. She took my temperature-normally, felt for my pulse, and measured my blood pressure-and hmmphed again. Just as I was about to tell her that she could go "hmmph" herself, she told me she'd tell the doctor I was ready and disappeared through the door.

I must admit to being a little freaked out. What did the hmmphing mean? Just then, Dr. K walked in to the exam room, and in his rumbly-made-to-be-a-TV-doctor-voice, cleared it all up for me. He asked me an interminable amount of questions about my health, health history, and the health history of my family...and practically made me sign a statement assuring him THERE WAS NO WAY I could be pregnant. (Wouldn't that be an interesting little twist?)

**At this point I should take a moment to tell readers who don't know my family medical history that my dad died in 1996 of a massive heart attack-he was 57. Only one of my relatives on my dad's side lived past 60-he died at 62. My older brother and sister are on high blood pressure meds. Several of my cousin's are on high blood-pressure meds and/or high cholesterol meds. And, for all intents and purposes, I seem to take after dad's side of the family...minus the butt chin. Having this medical history did not bode well for what Dr. K had to say to me next. The pic is my dad, not Dr. K. :)***

Dr. K didn't pull any punches. "You're fat." Okay, he actually said, "You're blood pressure is high-too high for a 38-year old. And you are carrying more weight around than you need to be." I heard, "You're fat." Dr. K decided I needed to have blood tests, a pee test, a chest x-ray, a breathing test , and a tetanus and protussis shot. Cue singing: "One of these things is not like the others..." Dr. K was kind about it. He said that I am an athlete, so I am more solid than I am flabby. That's a win. He told me in his nice, rumbly voice that I'd have to make some changes though. This didn't seem like a threat...well, not at least until the test results came back. I still had to get the tetanus shot.

His voice didn't rumble in a friendly manner as he sternly said, "We ran a test on your blood. Greater than a 1.0 is cause for concern. Greater than a 3.0 and you are at high risk for an early heart attack. You are a 9.0"

I thought, "Shit, I'm dying."

Apparently I said that out loud, because he said, "you're not dying. But you could if you don't make changes. NOW. If you make the changes now, you can bring the numbers down to normal and there will be no reason to worry." I heard, "You're fat, and you stop eating like shit." Dr. K went on to outline the expectations he had for our October update, and how to reach them. "You have until October-if there is no change, I'm going to slap your ass on meds quicker than fleas jumping off a drowning rat." He actually did say that. I knew everything I needed to do before, I've just been too lazy to do them. But now I have pretty darn good motivation.

Enter the HCG diet. The cleaning fairy has put her foot down. She is not marrying a girl who can't hold her fish oil. Since I did rob the cradle a bit with her, she is highly conscious of my health and the need to pickle and perserve me for as long as possible. :) Since I only have a grey hair or two so far, we've obviously done a good job on my scalp. As a further measure and an act of solidarity, she researched this diet and ordered what we need. It will help us lose weight and get disciplined about tracking our food and showing our internal workings some respect. (What? Sonic burgers aren't respectful?)
So, here is fair warning and disclaimer. Today, I am copacetic with the world. For the first two days of the diet, you can eat anything you want. So I'm eating EVERYTHING I want. Why the warning? Because in two days I'm dropping to eating only 500 calories a day of stuff that is on the approved list. So please do not be alarmed if I am a tad grumpier than usual, am suddenly gnawing on your leg or hallucinating that you are a giant pork chop. :) Seriously though, other than gagging on a grissini (I had to look that up-it's a fancy word for dried breadstick) I think I'll be okay. This diet demands discipline, and I'm not putting 10 drops of stuff that tastes like Elmer's glue under my tongue 3 times a day for nothing. Added bonus, we do this for 60 days, which will just about put us at wedding time. We won't be skeletons dancing the hornpipe by any means, but the hope is that I will get a clean stamp of health from the rumbly, made-for-TV doctor, brand-new wardrobe, and the ability to live past 60. :)

Here is the before picture...Let it BEGIN!!!