I Was Fat-Shamed By My Nurse Practitioner

i’m pretty sure the nurse practitioner fat-shamed me yesterday.

i was in getting a routine physical, and they have to get your height and weight as they always do (one day i’d like to come in 4 inches taller and see what they do). time for the horror every fatty has dealt with since the embarrassment of getting weighed in high school. i step on the scale thinking that the number should be lower, since I’ve been going to the gym and watching what i’ve been eating. then i think that i should take my scarf off since that will add about 9-10 pounds. and my shoes. yes, my skimmers. they should come off. i start to panic sweat, unhappy with this whole fucking process. the sweating alone added 4 pounds. and my jeans? HEY LADY! I’M WEARING JEANS! you can’t accurately weigh a person wearing goddamn jeans! what the fuck did they teach you in nursing school? and i’m wearing a thick sweater and a hoodie…. good lord- they MUST HAVE SAID SOMETHING IN NURSING SCHOOL ABOUT COLD WEATHER, RIGHT? thick clothes? HEAVY MATERIAL? HellOOOOO???????

both feet on the scale and then the look down. the red numbers flip around as if thinking; anticipating. this machine can smell my fear and it’s not good. this machine knows. it knows that i ate a peanut butter and nutella and banana sandwich at midnite last week. it knows that i haven’t really been eating breakfast. it’s just standing there, blinking, mocking and judging. it is deciding my fate. deciding. MY CELL PHONE IS IN MY POCKET AND SO ARE MY KEYS!!!!! Holy shit! A HEAVY ELECTRONIC DEVICE and MY KEYS- that are made from METAL– one of the heaviest substances on EARTH! i guess they don’t teach you THAT KIND OF STUFF AT NUSE PRACTITIONER SCHOOL! WHAT IN THE HELL IS A NURSE PRACTITIONER ANY GODDAMN WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY???????????

final number pops up. the verdict is in. 259.5. dammit. that’s exactly the same as last week.

oh well. eat a dick, Nurse Practitioner. eat a dick and write that down.

so i go sit on that papered table thing and think about what i want for lunch. and i happen to glance over at the notes the nurse scribbled down for the doctor. it was my height and then underneath, another number. “253.5” what the fuck? WHAT THE FUCK? “253.5”? really MS. NURSE PRACTITIONER? you lied? you wrote down 253.5? what the hell? are you embarrassed for me? does 259.5 make you uncomfortable? think i couldn’t take the truth? was my morbid obesity causing you discomfort? do you have to fill out an extra form because my weight was so high, that you had to fudge it? DOES IT UPSET YOU THAT I’M A HUGE FATTY AND STILL HEALTHY AND YOU PROBABLY LIVE AT THE GYM IN YOUR YOGA PANTS AND FLUORESCENT PINK SPORTS BRA AND NO CARBS!!! i’m FINE WITH MY WEIGHT! JUST FINE! I’LL HAVE YOU KNOW THAT I EMBRACE MY WEIGHT! ALL OF TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY-NINE OF EM! INCLUDING THAT EXTRA HALF A POUND!!!! YOU ARE THE PROBLEM NURSE PRACTITIONER!!! fat people are just as good as everyone else!!!! FAT PEOPLE ARE HUMANS TOO! or did they not teach you that either??? I WILL NOT BE DENIIIIIIIIIIIIIIED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! fuck you, Nurse PRACTITIONER! fuck you very much!!!!!!!!!!!

i walk out of there, all enraged, like you do when people get yer rage all up— and write down “253.5” in my diet journal when i get home, making sure to brag to all my besties how much weight i lost.

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