The Oompah Loompa Gene

Oompa-LoompaBy looking at me, you would never guess how often I exercise. I work out almost daily because I have bad genes. There are heart disease and diabetes on my father’s side and all sorts of cancer on my mother’s side. Anxiety is on both sides. So, I do my best to do cardio five times a week. Sometimes, I remember to do weights, too. However, I still eat carbs and drink wine and vodka (Not together! That would make me a hardcore alcoholic) so I’m not thin. I have never really been thin except for that one time when I was in an abusive relationship in high school and I stopped eating.
I can hear all of my gym friends now. “Well, Lisa! Just stop eating carbs! DUH!” I know there are people out there who think if you eat nothing but dried cow toes and raw Brussels sprouts that you will be thin. Maybe they’re right, but there is also a genetic component to how you’re shaped and I have dominant genes for short and chubby. I’m pretty sure those are actual genes.
I’m not the only plump person in the family. My family ranges from moderately chubby to “Hey Kool-Aid!” I remain firmly at Oompa Loompa. If I went out in a green romper and too much makeup, people would request a song and dance about the perils of greed. And if I went out in said outfit, Monica and Cory would have me institutionalized for committing a severe Glamour Don’t.
I’m not just chubby; I’m an odd shape, too. I’m not Apple or pear-shaped; I’m Twinkie-shaped. This takes “you are what you eat” to a new level. Honestly, though, I haven’t had a Twinkie in over a year (waves at faux daughter in law who bought a box last year). I still have the shape even without the tasty treat. I could put on a yellow jumpsuit and cowboy boots and do ads for Hostess. Wow! Now, I have two possible careers – Oompa Loompa dancing or Twinkie modeling.
As I mentioned, I do exercise more than the average person. Even though I’m still chubby, I do feel like I am doing something healthy. So, since I’ve been exercising and feeling really good about myself, I decided to go to the doctor for my annual physical and fuck that up. Instead of looking at the ceiling, like I normally do, I looked at the scale when they weighed me. This was my first mistake. I noticed my weight went UP! UGH. (Yes, I know it could be muscle – blah, blah, blah – It’s still a bigger number.)
I made my second mistake when I was honest with my doctor about my drinking. Now, I’m not riding around town with a Taco Bell cup full of rum like a loser I used to date back in the day. I’m a moderate drinker. I have two drinks a day, just about every day. I know that the new “studies” say you shouldn’t drink daily, but when I watch the news in the evening, and Donald Trump is still president, I need some vodka or wine to deal with that. So, here is the conversation I had with my doctor.
Doctor: [looking down at the form I filled out] Um, so it says you’re having ten to fourteen drinks a week.
Me: Yes.
Doctor: Um, that’s like two drinks a day.
Me: Yes.
Doctor: Well, I don’t think that is problematic, but the new guidelines say that drinking should be more, um, occasional. It’s just not the healthiest thing. Drinking interferes with sleep and adds extra calories.
Me: Yep. I did notice that my weight went up.
Doctor: …..
She said nothing. My doctor let silence do the heavy lifting there. So, I left the office thinking that I’m a fat drunk. Awesome. I went home and ate cookies.
That was not the worst doctor’s visit I have had, or the first time a doctor called me a fatty. I had a horrible gyno visit when I was eight months pregnant. I need to pause here and let you know that auto correct changed gyno to Gump and that made me think what if Forrest Gump were my gyno. This needs to be an SNL skit or something.
Anyway, when you are hugely pregnant, and you go to an OB/GYN practice with more than one doctor, they make you see each doctor at least once just in case that person is on call when you go into labor. So, I had to see Dr. Z, who has the personality of a rusted, rabid Venus Flytrap.
I sat on the table in a paper gown waiting for him. He was late, of course. Once he walked in, he told me to lie down. He pushed on my belly and looked at my cervix. He gruffly asked if I had any questions.
I said, “Um. Yes. I seem to have a rash on my bikini line. I can’t see it really well around my belly. What is it?
Dr. Z. looked at my bikini line and stepped back about five feet like it was going to bite him. “It’s a fungus!”
I was quite alarmed. “What? Um, where did I get a fungus?”
Dr. Z. replied, “I don’t know, but get some athlete’s foot cream for it.” Then, he picked up my chart to make notes and said, “and you might want to start watching your weight.” With that, he walked from the room.
So, I was fat and I had a fungus. Well, he told me to start watching my weight, so I did whatever I do when someone tells me I’m fat, I went home and ate. Since I was pregnant, and having odd cravings, I did not eat cookies or anything like that, I ate my weight in creamed spinach and instant mashed potatoes.
Guess who was on call when I needed an emergency C-section? It’s a good thing he’s a good surgeon.
You know I love to hear from you all in the comment section. Have you ever been called fat? If so, did it inspire you to lose weight or make you want to eat cookie dough and binge watch Lifetime movies?

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