Spoiler: I’m a size 6 and fitter than ever
“You can take off your shoes,” the nurse said. “Just put them here.”
This was always the worst part of my doctor visits, and it often left me defeated. Over the past ten years, as my weight skyrocketed from a combination of taking anti-psychotic medicine and losing half my thyroid, I’d been repeatedly scolded for my BMI being too high. The lecture from the doctor was always same: I’m too heavy for my height, and I need to lose weight.
With a sigh, I did as instructed and watched as the number bounced back and forth before settling on three digits I knew would result in an obese diagnosis. The nurse said nothing as he made his notes.
“We’re going to room four on the right,” he said, letting me lead.
After he took my vitals, all of which were excellent, he left. I played with my phone while I waited, trying to distract myself from the inevitable discussion about how I needed to eat better, why I should lose weight, and how I’m shortening my lifespan by not fitting into the right spot on the antiquated BMI chart.
The first time I heard about the BMI chart, I must have been around twenty. My doctor complimented me for falling within the right perimeters for my height and weight. I walked out of…
