I went to the doctor last Wednesday, a new one. She turned out to be a character, with attitude, but that's beside the point. Health care really does need reform, then perhaps one could find a general practitioner with a personality.
First things first, we had to record my height and weight. Funny thing. They will take my word that I'm 5'8" tall, but they are always going to make you step up on that scale.
I knew it was bad, there are mirrors in this house. I tried to wear last year's prom dress to my niece's wedding last weekend. I know I'm fat! But dear God, I never imagined that number...woo. The nurse couldn't move that little gizmo over much further.
Look out Jenny Craig. I am now convinced that I can and will lose weight. Forty-six pounds will just about get it. My God, that's a second grader.
The battle is already joined. I've been so disciplined since Wednesday, I've even surprised myself. I am not eating between meals. I haven't had any sweets. I haven't had anything except nutritious meals since Wednesday. Rotisserie turkey breast is delicious and adaptable. I have vegetables and fruit and don't forget the albacore tuna packed in water.
So far my self-loathing is keeping me from thinking about sweets, and there is a package of Reese's peanut butter Easter eggs in the kitchen. But they stay in the kitchen this year, and not on my ass.
One day at a time, one pound a week, drink more water, and get moving. This is my mantra. When June rolls around and I hit my sixties, I intend for there to be less of me to love.
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