Weighing the Options

Drugs vs. Diet

I’ll tell you how fat I am. I’m thick, not unattractive, but fluffy.  I like to think of myself as a warm grandmother hug on a cold day. I’ve been this way much of my life, with a few notable exceptions.

After many furious mouth closed, teeth clenching sleepless nights and shame filled mornings, I understand that I’m as likely to hit that “healthy” weight as I am to perform a perfect 10 on the high jump in the next Olympics. And truthfully, besides being uncomfortable in a few situations and hating myself, I’ve had a pretty good life despite it.

It turns out my father was wrong when he patiently explained to me that though they might give you a good show, no one loves a fat person. I should have known then he was wrong. We were a house full of people that loved him after all.

None of that knowledge has stopped me from trying to fit into someone else’s frame, only instead of strengthening my running speed, I’ve exhausted my desire to sprint to the finish. No more carb thin, fat free, interim fasting, or artificial sweetening my way into any more self loathing. If my slog of “balancing my diet” experience shows me anything, it’s that the arms of the bathroom scale rarely match my feelings.

Me at my heaviest, 50 pounds ago

I’m currently stuck in a doom cycle of weight gain because I’m angry that I gained the weight and so it goes and so it goes. The scale no longer comes down. Whether it’s menopause or a more lax regime, is more than I can tell.

I’ve embraced a dry January (which is really only a few weeks, because it’s time for our cruise, and honestly, cruising in dry January is a sacrifice even I’m not willing to cozy up to), which means my dry January though bleeds to February, but now and still the scale doesn’t move. Could it be that I drank less than I thought?

In the meantime, many have embraced the medicine cabinet of drugs now available on the marketplace, and you guys are doing so well!

Is my staying off weight loss drugs like giving birth without the epidural, opting for the “natural” pain of labor, because that never interested me. The baby’s coming either way, and if modern medicine can get me there in less pain, this is progress. At least that’s what I keep telling myself.

On the other hand, I’ve seen the weight gain when one has to come off those pharmaceuticals. 

“Why do I have to stop taking them?” a friend of mine asked as she pushed the plate of fries aside.

On the other other hand, it's the same reason I had corrective vision surgery. I don’t want to depend on anything. In the coming Apocalypse, there will be no contact lenses. So I did it. And now I see. Mostly. Given that pandemic supply chain ending, do I want to suddenly find myself hungrier?

When I went for my last physical, I brought it up. A person should know their options. The lovely provider looked over my numbers. According to the charts, I’m something like 70 pounds overweight. According to me it’s only 50.

“You’re not even pre-diabetic,” she said, as if she was disappointed. 

Yeah, I’m not pre-diabetic because despite the tonnage, I work out everyday and balance my carbs. Don’t look so sad. I’m a healthy fat person. Pat me on the back.

The insurance, she said, needs the diagnosis. She wrote me the prescription anyway and while we went back and forth between big pharma and Blue Cross for several weeks, they agreed to something. That no pharmacy around here had it, and I had to seek it out like I used to weed before it was legal, having my husband go to the corner CVS in Midtown Manhattan to pick it up, begs another story entirely.

But there they are in my medicine cabinet. Now I really have to “weigh” the options. It is great to see so many of you looking “healthy” which we all know is a mid-last-century mother’s way of saying, finally, you look good. How could they have been so wrong about what makes us attractive in this life? And how, seeing as I know that, does it still loom so large in my mind?

What if it is as easy as they say? A few pills, a shot, and my weight problems are over? No more craving of anything fun. It’s not that easy choice.

I’ve long since given up “enjoying” the struggle. My addictions, while under control, really take up way too much of my brain power. Clocks are ticking everywhere. Do I want to spend the rest of my life worrying over whether I turn my back on one more piece of seven layer cake? On the other hand, my knees have done a great job so far, but they’re groaning with the wear and tear.

The last time I embarked on weight loss, I was half depressed and tired of being a person who came up short in every mirrored outing. My life was falling apart, children growing away like they were supposed to, and my mother had just died. I didn’t want to carry seat belt extenders on flights for the rest of my life or pray I was seated next to a child who wouldn’t mind my body bleeding onto their seat. 

Being fat in this world is not an easy thing. Especially if you care what people think. Ironically, that’s half my problem now. My body, its parts and what I do with them are none of anyone’s business. Once, an unhoused person asked me for money and when I told him I had no cash, he told me I should stop eating so much. It stung but I’d still rather be me.

And there are things to be said for carrying around a bit more weight. I’m suddenly not freezing in this middle of the winter. My self worth is no longer determined to make it to the next size. Instead I’m taking comfort in just being. My current number is too high to be that comfortable, but forty pounds ago felt too low.

The moment I lost it, I understood that it was not the pounds making me unhappy, it was me. And then I embarked on a plan to make it all better. Which I did. And now I’m fat again. Not miserable, just disappointed to have to do anything about it one more time.

Forget this hand wringing. In the end I’ll wind up taking them just out of curiosity and possibly for the material. Thank you for helping me figure it out. 

Now, do I start before or after the cruise?