“I understand this can be a delicate subject,” you say as I sit on the examination table, feeling apprehensive.
Please, let’s not go there again. Can we get through one appointment without discussing this? Last time, it left me in tears for hours.
But you bring it up anyway.
“We need to address your weight.”
I’m here because of an issue with my legs. One of them has become so swollen and painful that it interferes with my daily activities. I worry it might be a blood clot, especially since I’m on hormonal birth control and recently flew on a plane. I told you at the beginning of this appointment that I’ve always had larger legs, but this new pain is alarming. Sometimes, my legs shake uncontrollably, and I lose my balance. I’m scared and in pain, seeking help.
Instead, you focus on my weight.
Let me clarify, doctor: I’m not avoiding this topic because it’s sensitive. I’m avoiding it because it often leads to subpar medical care. Last time, 80% of our appointment was spent on my weight, with only a brief mention of the swelling and pain in my legs. You pushed on my leg, confirmed fluid retention, but offered no tests, suggestions, or treatments because you wanted to discuss my weight instead.
This topic brings me to tears, not because you’re being “real” with me, but because it infuriates me. I’ve had this conversation countless times. If I received a dollar for each time a doctor brought up my weight, I could be living in luxury instead of sitting here, frustrated at my own expense.
I’m exhausted. I came prepared with a list of potential diagnoses I found online, and I even wrote down questions to ask: an ultrasound for my legs, a referral to a specialist. You suggested diuretics without any qualifiers, but I explained why I wanted to wait for a proper diagnosis first. “You’re right,” you said, but that’s not enough.
I’m tired of being my own advocate in the medical field.
Believe it or not, I know I’m overweight! I’m well aware of it; I even have a blog about it! I’ve lived in this body for 36 years. I’ve been aware of my weight since childhood. I remember my pediatrician suggesting a diet before I turned 10 and a school nurse encouraging me to join Weight Watchers in 4th grade, claiming I’d be beautiful if I lost weight. These moments remain etched in my memory.
I’ve dealt with the pressure to conform to a certain body type, and it has severely impacted my relationship with food and exercise. After years of dieting, I often couldn’t recognize my own hunger, thirst, or fullness. I’ve spent thousands of dollars trying to change my body, only to end up having to rehash this same conversation over and over again.
It took immense courage to come to you today for help. I dreaded this appointment, rehearsing my explanations about why I don’t want weight loss surgery. I feared you would divert the conversation, as you did last time, when you compared my healthy stomach to a cancerous condition.
I’m over the shame. I refuse to accept that every ailment is my fault. I won’t be labeled “noncompliant” for not wanting an expensive and permanent surgery. I deserve respectful, evidence-based care, yet you continue to fail me. Even your sympathetic looks don’t change the fact that you’re neglecting my needs.
I need to understand what you hope to achieve with this conversation. Do you expect me to express surprise at my weight? To rush to get surgery just to be treated? I don’t want to cry for your sake or feel like I owe you an apology for my existence.
If we assume my weight is the sole cause of my leg issues, how much weight do I need to lose for you to provide treatment? 20 lbs? 100 lbs? What if I never reach that goal? Am I doomed to live in pain?
You’ve offered no other advice or asked about my lifestyle. You dropped this conversation in my lap, but you didn’t provide me with any guidance on what to do next.
My greatest fear is that a serious health issue will go undiagnosed because you can’t see past my weight. I can imagine sitting on that table, and you telling me that I brought this on myself.
I just want you to do your job. It seems like you think addressing my weight is part of your responsibility, but in truth, you’re avoiding the real issues at hand.
I ask if there is any evidence linking my weight to my leg problems, and you admit it’s just a feeling.
I feel the tears welling up. You lean in closer, and I brace myself for a hug. You wasted my time, yet you still felt the need to embrace me.
I received your notes the next day: “Tried to discuss patient’s weight but she is sensitive about it and prefers not to discuss it.” That’s just unacceptable.
For More Insights
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Summary
In this personal account, the author shares her frustration with the healthcare system, particularly regarding how her weight affects the quality of medical care she receives. Despite seeking help for leg swelling and pain, the focus shifts to her weight, leaving her feeling unheard and dismissed. The narrative highlights the emotional toll of repeated discussions about weight and the desire for compassionate, evidence-based medical treatment.