November 2, 2026 – The Dreaded Doctor’s Visit

Apparently, it was another case of ‘much ado about nothing’ because things went far smoother than I could have ever predicted. Last week, I really had to steel myself as I drove up to the doctor’s office and parked my car because I was expecting the worst…at least as far as getting a bunch of crap from my doctor about my weight. And I had a whole spiel put together to explain it away. It was fictional, of course; however, I thought it sounded a whole lot better than the truth. I knew he would be none too pleased about how the numbers on the scale have steadily increased since my last visit. I don’t think he’s ever struggled with his weight as he’s the vision of perfect health and has been since I met him nearly 18 years ago. He exercises regularly and eats healthy food and from what I’ve observed, has the optimal BMI for a 52-year-old, 5’ 5” white male.

Nevertheless, I came prepared to counter his disappointment with a bit of levity. I thought long and hard about a scenario to explain away the extra pounds and even tried it out on his nursing assistant (who took my blood pressure and reviewed my current prescriptions to ensure everything was correct in the system) before my doctor made his appearance. She seemed to appreciate my work of fiction. And actually, instead of one, I had concocted two rather highly-exaggerated, tall tales. Of the two excuses/explanations, I figured if option A wasn’t convincing enough, perhaps option B may seem more credible. Even if he didn’t readily believe either scenario, I was willing to offer up some of my best material. Laughter is the best medicine, after all.

I spent a great deal of time working on Option A. As you read, as I launch into my first tall tale, picture me sitting in a chair whilst my doctor looks on (from across the room) in disbelief. It goes a little something like this (I’ll frame the whole thing in brackets to eliminate any confusion):

[About a week or two after our last appointment, long after the sun had set and well after my husband went to bed, I decided to pick up a few groceries. And once I arrived at the local King Soopers, while in the process of exiting my vehicle, I was accosted by a strange man. I hadn’t noticed him approaching from behind; I was stooped over with the top half of my body in the car and the bottom half out, busily gathering up the large assortment of recyclable grocery bags strewn about the backseat. It’s once I stood up and shut the door, my bags neatly in hand, when I felt him press up against me and hiss in my ear, “Don’t say a word! I’ve got a gun! Do as you’re told and nothing will happen to you!” I was then instructed to get into the front passenger seat of the vehicle parked immediately beside mine.

I did as I was told, and after my kidnapper started up his vehicle and drove for what seemed like an eternity, we finally pulled into the parking lot of what appeared to be a bakery. It was dark and I couldn’t make out the name, but once we entered the building, I took notice of the mouth-watering assortment of pastries in an enormous glass display beside the register. Apart from the fact that I’d been brought there against my will, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven! There were donuts and brownies, bear claws and scones, cookies and cakes, along with every other conceivable pastry in untold quantities. And they were all baked (or fried) to perfection. After feasting my eyes on all those scrumptious delights, I was then led through a narrow hallway and down a long flight of stairs, eventually winding up in the basement.

If you’re like me, when my imagination kicks in, especially when the key words to consider are ‘kidnapping’ and ‘basement’, I think worst case scenario. I envision a dark, windowless, damp, cold room with a filthy mattress on a concrete floor and a bucket beside it. However, in this case, it was anything but. The room I entered had undoubtedly been recently remodeled. From floor to ceiling, everything was brand new, from the plush carpet to the recessed lights. It was quite remarkable and tastefully done. Despite being in a state of shock, I was rather pleased with my temporary accommodations, including the spa-like bathroom and luxurious king-size bed with plump pillows and a designer bedspread. There was even a 75” flat screen TV mounted to the wall. What’s not to like?

After forcefully pushing me towards the bed, my kidnapper then turned to leave. His parting words were menacing. Through clenched teeth he said, “Unless your ransom is met, this will serve as your final resting place.” After he disappeared through the only door that accessed the room, I heard a loud click as he locked it behind him. I then heard heavy footsteps as he ascended the stairs, leaving me to speculate as to what was yet in store? I wondered aloud to myself, “How long will I be here? Why was I kidnapped? I can see someone with wealth and power, but me?! How much is he asking for ransom? Will my husband be able to rustle up the necessary funds to meet the kidnapper’s demands? What’s going to happen to me if he can’t? Why is this room so much nicer than all the rooms put together in my own house? Where did these pillows come from? Were they purchased on Amazon? Are there any streaming services available to watch? It sure would be nice to get up to speed on Ted Lasso, Slow Horses and Stick.”

Ok. Ok. I’m getting too caught up in all the minutiae. I recognize you’re busy, Doc, and your time is valuable, so I’ll just provide a quick synopsis since I know you have at least two other patients waiting in the adjoining exam rooms. Here’s the thing. The kidnapper didn’t want much, he only asked for a total of $2,300 in ransom money. At most, I should have only spent a couple of days in my luxury accommodations. However, the kidnapper wasn’t willing to accept a handful of hundred-dollar bills, his demand was much more specific. The only way he’d guarantee my safe return was if my husband paid the $2,300 exclusively with wheat pennies. No other kind would do. “I will accept no substitutions. If you ever want to see your wife again, don’t even think of sneaking in a few Flying Eagles or Indian Heads!” he wrote in ALL CAPS on the ransom note.

You can imagine the predicament my husband found himself in. Pennies are becoming about as rare as unicorns, especially wheat pennies, so it took him quite a while to come up with the required funds to ensure my release. Five months, to be precise. And while I awaited my eventual return to freedom, I spent a lot of time wasting away on the luxurious king-size bed with plump pillows and a designer bedspread (now covered in crumbs), watching hour upon hour of People’s Court and Judge Judy reruns on YouTube (since my kidnapper didn’t want to fork out the money to pay for an Apple TV subscription) and eating copious amounts of day-old donuts (the only thing he provided for sustenance). Hence, the (justifiable) weight gain.]

Option B? Well, since I spent so much time on Option A, I’ll keep it short. Option B involved going on the Cookie Diet. Again, picture me and the doctor as I described earlier.

[Yes, Doctor, it’s a thing! I know you don’t believe there’s an actual weight loss plan called the Cookie Diet, but you are welcome to look it up on the internet for verification. My sister Cactus Annie gave it a whirl quite a few years ago and really talked it up for a time. And when it stopped working, she went on Atkin’s. I don’t know how she rationalized it in her head, but somehow eating a hot dog smothered in melted Velveeta cheese was an acceptable menu choice and followed the plan, as long as she didn’t consume the bun. I know, it seems incredulous! Unfortunately, for me, the Cookie Diet never yielded favorable results, even temporarily, but I think it may have had something to do with where and how I acquired them. My sister purchased her VERY EXPENSIVE, pre-made, pre-packaged cookies via an online source, whereas, I chose to buy a large tub of Nestle Toll House chocolate chip cookie dough from the nearby Costco.]

As you can see (at least I hope you can), I spent a substantial amount of time coming up with Options A and B to ‘justify’ my recent weight gain. However, ironically enough, I didn’t end up relaying either option to my doctor. Apparently (something which I didn’t even think about until I pulled into the parking lot at the doctor’s office), you can opt out of having your weight checked. From what I gathered, if the doctor doesn’t see the numbers change on your chart, and his assistant doesn’t speak up, it’s a non-issue and not worth a mention. What?! Why am I only realizing this?! I always thought I didn’t have a choice and just went along with things, but after voicing my resistance to stepping on the scale, the nursing assistant assured me that I wasn’t required to and directed me straightaway to the exam room. No questions asked! I have to admit, it was FAR too easy. All I had to do was say ‘NO’? You mean to tell me that I spent all those weeks stressed out over the doctor giving me grief when I didn’t have to?

To sum up the experience, I suppose I should ask myself what, if anything, did I learn? Well, hmmm, I suppose I learned that sometimes it pays to speak up. I also learned that most diets don’t work over the long term. I also learned that it’s a terrible idea to buy a large tub of chocolate chip cookie dough from Costco because it’s far too tempting. Honestly, who can resist a freshly baked chocolate chip cookie straight out of the oven? I certainly can’t.

Alright, my friends, even though I’ve thoroughly enjoyed writing this post, it’s getting late and I’ve got to get a move on. I wish for you peace, love and blessings.

Until next time…