From Panic to Pounds

320 Pounds

December 2018 I woke up feeling ill. I remember spending the first couple hours of my day laying in bed staring up at my ceiling. It had the texture of popcorn, and I would always try to count out all the bumps within it. This was my distraction. I always procrastinated going to the walk in, perhaps it was because I knew that the first vocalized concern coming from my doctor would be my weight. I was in denial, constantly battling with myself and other medical professionals. I'd complain to my friends and family telling them all about how the doctors are wrong, and they won't diagnose me because im "fat". But I was wrong, I fabricated all these ideas of possible illnesses and spread lies about my health to those around me. Simply because I was too embarrassed to admit that I had let myself go, and didn't care enough to fix what I had done.

I finally managed to slump myself up and out of bed that morning. I pondered the idea of showering and preparing myself hygienically for my visit to the walk in. But once again, the effort needed to stand up and scrub away the grime as the water beads off my back, was too much to put in. I can't catch my breath when I shave anymore, and I don't like the way my wash cloth disappears between the folds surrounding what was once a beautiful body to me. So like usual I skipped the shower, tossed on whatever baggy sweater I could find in hopes of looking slimmer, and ventured out. 

It always took me some time to mentally prepare for public endeavours. I hated the way I looked and I let anxiety manifest to a point where I was convinced that everyone was staring at me. They were judging me, though in reality I was the only one judging myself. 

I sat for hours in the waiting room of the walk in that day. My stomach turned every time the receptionist came out. I just wanted to get it over and done with. I could feel people's eyes on my body as if they were bubbles surrounding me in a tub of hot water and self loathing. Finally, my name was called. I was put into a tiny room and minutes felt like days until the doctor opened the door. 

"Hello Savanna, what seems to be the issue today?" they always ask the same questions. I explained to him that my sides were hurting, and I continuously ran out of breath when I walk. He did all the basic checks and confirmed that there was nothing too concerning going on with my lungs. But then, the question I dreaded finally came out. "Do you mind stepping on the scale?" My stomach dropped to my feet and beads of sweat formed from my forehead. I agreed with caution and went towards the scale in the waiting room. Everyone could see me now. As I stepped on and watched him mess around with the dial, I couldn't help but close my eyes the further up he went. "I can't be more than 250 pounds", I repeated in my head as if it were a catchy line in a shitty pop song. He made a sigh and directed me back to the private room. 

"Well Savanna, I think the problem here may be your weight". He explained to me, calmer than I would've liked. My facial expression and body language changed, I was mad at him. Because he was about to tell me what I needed to hear, not what I wanted to hear. "You are 320 pounds, that puts you on the morbid obesity chart. I think its time you consider a healthier lifestyle and possibly going on a diet". I was mad, I left the doctor's room after telling him his diagnosis was wrong, masked my tears as I walked back to my car, broke down, and blamed everything but myself. This was when reality first started to hit. This was the wall plastered with dead end signs I needed to see. This was my first moment of pure panic, and still I wasn't ready to change.