So for the third time in four months I find myself in the
waiting room of the Dartmouth General Hospital Blood Collection department. Most days you are in for an average hour and a
half wait. It would be no different
today. At my age, getting blood work is
routine. "Man" stuff.
My having to go four times in such a short period of time
would worry me normally but I must be
getting used to it. On my last few
visits I have been people watching. Normally an amusing past time but not so in
a hospital. You can spot the regulars.
They have a book or newspaper and some listen to music through ear buds. The not so regulars sit nervously with their ears cocked for their number. You always
have to listen twice. The first time to check in and the second to get the "deed"
done.
Since coming off the anxiety meds I have discovered my
emotional side again. Sometimes a good thing. Sometimes a bad thing. At the
clinic I struck me how many grossly obese people there where there. I'm talking have to buy two extra seats on
the plane obese. Size XXXXL or higher obese. It is sad to watch and even sadder to imagine yourself being one of them.
I have been fighting the weight wars almost my whole
life. I had a glorious three years from grade nine until midway through grade
twelve were I remember that my waist was no
more than a thirty two. Thirty two is a
very long ways away in the rear view these days.
I get very frustrated with myself for having not taken care of
myself better over the years. And it's not
like I did it consciously. I do admit to not being a calorie counter back in the day and I foolishly thought playing volleyball one or two times a week would be enough exercise. Now I find myself
unable to tie my shoes without feeling light headed, I get winded walking up
any steps and my flexibility is non existent. I have gotten great and valuable advise from friends over the years(one who is an actual
personal trainer) and my wife was always trying to motivate me.
It is one big hole I have dug for myself. What are the other people watchers thinking
when they see me at the clinic?
Frightening thought. I know I will not give up. It is just so damn hard to believe I can make the change.
