Monday, 3 August 2015


Every three months or so I trot along to my doctor's office for a regular check-up. There's medication to be adjusted and restocked, arms to squeeze blood pressure readings out of, and injections to be administered in my nether regions.

This is all par for the course, and nothing more nor less than to be expected.

The public weighing is a new thing, and I'm not all that pleased about it.

Back in the day, six months ago and prior, my doctor had a small scale in her room which she kept underneath the wheeled cabinet which contains gloves syringes, cotton wool and bandages.

Each time I turned up for an appointment it would be dragged out, and I would take my shoes off, step onto it, and a private notation would be made as to the reading on its little screen.

Things have changed.

Remember when the pharmacist used to have a full size weighing machine outside which was coin operated? They used to be fun to stand on when I was a child, but no one ever knew how much they weighed on it, because it wasn't the sort of thing to actually spend hard-earned pocket money on.

My doctor has splashed out, and brought a similar model. Unfortunately, this one isn't coin-operated so I can't get out of standing on it just by pleading poverty. Worst of all, instead of being neatly tucked away inside her room, it's located out in the middle of the surgery.

Yay. Going to the doctor just got even more fun.

It doesn't help that at the moment it's probably best she has a full size model, as chances are that I'd break a more petite version. Not the point at all.

Privacy. That's the watchword of the day. Privacy.

After all, if I'm going to be fat that's my own business. No one should be able to tell just by glancing over at me, while I'm on the scale.

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