Moral of the story…

There are times though when my sense of humour slips slightly – mind you it does take a few cataclysmic events in order to achieve this.  It all started Friday when the office very kindly offered free health screenings to interested staff members. Figuring I’d never had a cholesterol test before I naively wrote my name on the list. This innocent act set the ball rolling to deliver several blows to my psyche, causing my inner peace to be severely shattered and a serious sulking session by the time Sunday evening rolled around.

It started out fine, the nurse explained what tests they’d be doing (blood pressure, cholesterol, sugar levels, body mass index…  Whoa ….. bmi?  No-one mentioned bmi – I’m pretty sure I’d have remembered bmi if they had – in fact I’m pretty sure I’d have never put my name on the list in the first place if anyone had remotely hinted at bmi)  She went on to say that all the test were entirely voluntary (phew….. great, no bmi for me!!)

She lied.

Walking into the testing area I categorically and emphatically declared “I’m not doing the bmi test” Figured I’d mention it straight away to avoid any unnecessary confusion on their part.  The nurse looked at me, smiled ever so sweetly and in that patronising; this is for your own good tone suggested I get on the scale. Still relatively jovial I repeated my initial statement. Completely ignoring me the nurse gently but with an iron grip (btw the nurse is twice the size of me) steered me towards the scale and told me to take my shoes off. Muttering under my breath I removed my shoes and stood on the scale. It’s one of those electronic types that take awhile to decide just how much it thinks you weigh. This particular beast from hell started at 109 kg’s kind of wavered around the 95/96 mark for ages and then displayed “err”. Not a good start. The nurse smiled sympathetically and suggested I step off the scale and on again. Brilliant. Same procedure…. 102…. 98/95/87…. “err”. Looking a little flustered the nurse suggested I step off and on again. Are you friggen out of your mind????? Can’t you see I’ve broken the damn thing – evidently it figures I’m so heavy it just gave up the ghost and decided to join Satan for a cup of tea. Is what I should have said, instead I obediently got off and on again – “err”. Not to be defeated the scale was moved slightly forward and I was once again standing on it. This time it worked. The instigator of my torture turns to me and says “Is that right?” How the hell would I know we don’t have a scale at home. I muttered something about thinking it might be (meanwhile dying inside) and got off.

Next the cholesterol, sugar levels and blood pressure. Different nurse this time – prick of the finger, blood on the little testing strip and cuffing my arm for the blood pressure. Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze…..listen, squeeze, squeeze some more… listen, squeeze, squeeze… oi, my fingers are going to fall off if you squeeze any harder, mister, is what I should have said. Instead I sat there quietly whilst he squeezed to the point where I felt like my arm would fall off. Not content with that he then decided he’d best check his reading with the electronic monitor. More squeezing….. 150/101. Cholesterol 4.49 (no-one told me you shouldn’t eat before a cholesterol test). He then proceeded to give me a doctor’s referral letter explaining to me how my blood pressure is far too high for a woman (erm, excuse me… did you not just see me break the scale THREE TIMES???? That’s enough to put any woman’s blood pressure over the top) how my cholesterol is so high I should be cutting out eggs, red meat and salt and perhaps I should be watching my weight. Probably a good thing he didn’t retake my blood pressure after that. (As an aside, their promises of confidentiality – is bogus… the whole thing was done in one tiny room with all of us crammed in on top of one another reading each others results).

That was Friday.

Saturday started off well enough – went and had my hair done, managed to find the one hairdresser in the whole of Fish Hoek who despite my having a book open in front of me decided to talk the whole time. I wouldn’t have minded so much if I’d a. had a chance to contribute to the conversation and b. hadn’t had to listen to nearly two hours of how the world is falling apart, how England has been over run by Pakanstani’s and the wonders of Robert Mogabi’s longevity. In the evening we had a party and all I could think about was how fantastic this one woman was looking – she then proceeded to go on and on and on about how she’d lost weight through weigh-less (ok so she mentioned it once – felt like forever *mutter*) There should be a law that says women can only be friends with women bigger than they are.

Sunday dawned and the first thing I said to Wouter (after deciding he’d been sleeping way too long) “we need to buy a scale”. Never one to deny me my whims and fancies off we went to procure a scale.. one of the fancier ones… does everything short of making you coffee in the morning. Having set it up with our individual height, age and gender… I stepped on. I stepped off…. I quietly went into the kitchen, grabbed the sharpest knife I could find and started hacking at my wrists. Obese, the scale has me at obese. Not slightly overweight, not hey kiddo you could do with shedding a few kilos… no it tells me I’m obese. Wouter gets on…. You could almost hear the scale sigh with relief….. healthy, tendency to under weight. I hacked harder at my wrists.

There are several morals to this story – I’m sticking with the first one… never, I repeat never…. Take your work up on a free health screening…… all it leads to is a severe depression by Sunday evening.

(The Diet started Monday morning)