Thursday, April 26, 2012
o/` "The anorexic chicks, the model 6
They don't hold no weight with me
Well 8 or 9, well that's just fine
But I like to hold something I can see" o/`
-- "Perfect Ten" by Beautiful South
Now doubt this is going to make some people mad; they're going to think I've given up or given in. That is not the case and never will be; I've just let go of the need to be thin and acknowledged that I never will be. Now I am learning to love my body at whatever size it settles as long as the medically based evidence --- not the scale --- says I am healthy and well.
The regimen is called Health at Every Size (Linda Bacon wrote a very good book on it but she isn't the only qualified professional to embrace the ideas behind it). Simply put, it involves living well: making good eating choices, learning to listen to your body cues, and moving your body for the joy of it not because you feel you have to lose weight.
I'm tired of fighting myself for basic sustenance. I think I mentioned before that I've had an eating disorder since I was in my teens of the anorexic type (no binging and purging even though I'm the token fat chick) and the doctors have had me on diets ranging from 900 to 1200 calories with a rigid exercise program since I was nine years old.
What do I have to show for it? I have a metabolism which can no longer burn the energy it does get. I have a phobia of eating --- no matter what I choose, one of those professionals is going to berate me for having eaten it or for how much of it gets eaten. I have autoimmune disorders and digestive problems.
I have a doctor who frankly told me that he didn't feel like treating me because fat people are a waste of time.
I've had enough: enough of people telling me what I should look like, what I should eat, what I should be doing to disappear or fit into their standards of beauty and health. My numbers --- the actual science behind the health --- looked beautiful until I developed the malabsorbtion problem. Just now the A1C, which had been in the low normal range, is climbing because I'm not absorbing any nutrients from my food and the medications which give me a metabolism aren't staying in system long enough to do their job. My cholesterol and triglycerides continue to decline, going closer to normal with each lab draw. My blood pressure is in the low normal range, provided they don't squeeze both arms trying to get a pressure.
By the science, I'm healthier than many thin people. By the scale, I'm a complete failure.
Just guess which way it's time to turn.
They're still yelling at me about my food consumption; the more they yell, the more paranoid about food I get and the less I eat. At one point I turned my food journal over to my girlfriend Dorie and to Dee as added proof to these morons that I certainly wasn't cheating.
They didn't look at them. I think they didn't look at them because it would have been proof that they were wrong about the assumptions they made regarding my weight and regarding me as a person.
Being fat doesn't mean you forfeit your personhood. You have the right to accurate, adequate medical treatment given sensitively and with compassion and without the use of weight as a means of shaming you about your health.
I'm seeing a nutritionist who embraces this concept in June and am hoping she can direct me to some more compassionate doctors who can actually fix my ills without trying to blame them all on fat (FYI: not one ailment is fat or weight related; they're all genetic). I am hoping she can restore a positive relationship with food too. I miss it.
I should not have to feel guilty about eating freshly prepared raw ingredients bought from the farmer's market, but I do and that's just sad.
Their oath says, "First do no harm."
I think they failed.