So I went to the doctor today for a semi-annual checkup and to talk to him about the stomach blahs I had earlier this week. On a general note, most of what went between us was the same old, same old. Smoking is bad, Doxycycline (for my Roseacea) can make your acid reflux worse. Do you exercise? Blah, blah, blah. I have to get some blood work done and he wants to shove a tube down my throat again some time soon to see how my esophagus is doing (preventative measure to keep me from dying the way my Father did).
I get my receipt afterward, and at the very top is a list of things I am diagnosed with.
One of them is “Obesity, Unspecified.”
Battling with my weight has been a long and grueling process. I’ve had my failures and my successes, and I’m currently in the “win” column. I do my best every day to try and stay on program, to get my exercise in when I’m supposed to, all that fun stuff.
And yet, despite the fact that I’ve lost 141.2 pounds, I’m still considered “obese.”
I still have to lose nearly 100 pounds to be considered “healthy.”
It’s disheartening, really. Between that, and the times when my Roseacea acts up and I get huge white pustules on my face, I really feel disfigured sometimes. Yes, I realize I’m far from that compared to some folks, but this is my personal perception here. I see pictures of myself, or I look in the mirror, and I hate it.
Blah, blah bitchycakes.