Well. I just returned from the much anticipated first physical workup in 1,000 years, and boy, did it leave a sour taste in my mouth. I remembered: THIS is why I avoided doctors and the medical establishment in general for so long! The condescending, you must be the lowest common denominator moron bull shit. Thanks, doctors, for trusting my intelligence.

OK, so, it wasn't all bad. The staff and facility were uniformly pleasant, friendly, and efficient. No complaints there. When I was sent to the lab to give them some blood, the whole process was over in about 5 minutes, and the phlebotomist was so good I barely felt the needle. That's something. And I managed to convince the doctor to order the test I wanted, so that's something else. The nurse who took my blood pressure said it was *perfect*. That's right, 117/70, gold star for me!

HOWEVER, the actual doctor consultation, while perfectly fine at first, degenerated into condescending prick-i-tude in a distressingly rapid fashion. Am I one of those annoying, know-it-all, internet hypochondriac patients? Quite possible. But she wasn't at all receptive to my health concerns, which I found extremely off putting , and kept telling me to go on the South Beach diet. What. The. Fuck.

So, I went because, after reading about hypothyroidism, thought I exhibited many of the symptoms in the profile. That, and I haven't had an exam in a long time. When I mentioned that I would like to have the test for hypothyroid performed, the doctor very reasonably asked me why this was and what syptoms I had, and I explained. So far, so good. I explained that I've lost around forty pounds in the past two years but have had a very difficult time losing any more weight in the past 6 months to a year... like, less than half a pound a month difficult, and that I run five times a week and strength train and cross train and measure just about every calorie that enters my mouth, so something isn't adding up. I also said I'd like all the normal blood tests for my age, cholesterol, etc.

So, we get to the exam part. She pokes and prods a little bit, for a minute or so. Then she tells me I should try the South Beach Diet because clearly my carbohydrate intake is too high, and I need to check the label for 100% whole wheat. Um, way ahead of you, doctor. So I explain, we ONLY eat whole grains - no white stuff in our house at all - and I run around thirty miles a week, so I need some carbs. She gives me a stony stare and says that clearly I've been eating too much. Then she asks me how much I run, and I tell her anywhere from three miles on an easy day to fifteen for a long run. This makes her raise her eyebrows, and I haven't even mentioned the cross training and the weights and the hour-long brisk lunch time walks, because she looks like she's not havin' it. She just says, "Then it's your portions. Fix that and you'll lose weight."

I dress and repair back to her office, where she immediately starts in on portion control, holding up her bony old-lady fist to tell me that this is the size of a serving of meat or fish. Yes, I say, 3 ounces is the size of a deck of cards. She looks displeased. I get back on how I track virtually every calorie I eat, and she says again, "It's your portions. You're eating too much. Do you snack between meals?" Yes. I do. And I track those snacks. She gets exasperated. "It doesn't matter if you're tracking it if it's too much. What do you snack on?" Vegetables. Air popped popcorn. Mini 50 calorie per portion cheeses. Her eyebrows raise again. "Aha!" she seems to be thinking. "This fat ass is just sitting around eating cheese!" I am daunted but press on, perhaps looking down into my lap like a shamed school child, "All of the charts and equations for the calories I'm expending and the calories I'm taking in are not adding up." Still exasperated, clearly wanting me gone, she says, "Fine, we'll check your thyroid." She waves a form at me. I'm not sure if she's finished or what she wants me to do, so I ask. She says to take it to the lab. I mention that it's my first time here and the maze-like office space is confusing; would she kindly point me in the right direction? "Ask the nurses at the nurse station," and she shuffles me off, test paper in hand.

Jesus Christ. I walked the mile home livid, thinking of many a bitchy name for Dr. Condescending. But I realized, as I calmed down, that she's older - probably around 60; she's clearly not an athlete; she's a boney little thing who's probably never had any issues with weight in her life; she's been schooled for years and years and years in this train of thought that says if you're fat, it's clearly your fault because you've been eating too much and sitting on your duff, fatty. I think the whole "I lost 40 lbs in the last 2 years" thing kind of went right over her head; OBVIOUSLY I know about portion control and activity and everything else if I was able to do that. You'd think so, right? I went from borderline morbidly obese, 230 lbs., to 188 lbs, which is what I am today. I am 5'6". In three pounds, I won't be obese anymore, and I'm excited about that landmark and I've worked damn hard to get there. I don't need your "Clearly you're eating too much" judgment, thank you very much. Bitch. And I'm concerned because I am, in fact, very active and have been eating what all the equations have been telling me too - less, in fact -- and haven't been seeing results. So apparently South Beach is the answer.

Anyway. I'm waiting for test results in a couple of days, and these should tell me whether I am the obese, pre-diabetic, artery clogged monstrosity that my doctor seems to think. Depending on how the tests turn out, I may be looking for another doctor, but that's hard, yo.

I do have some good news in addition to the vent-bitch-fest up above. I've lost a few pounds using Daily Plate... which, by the way, doctor, tells me to eat WAY MORE than I have been, and has been producing results. I was eating 1600 calories a day before. If that was a long run day, that means I had NO CALORIES at all to live on. Now, I eat extra stuff - a glass of chocolate soymilk, a little snack, whatever - until my NET calories are 1400. That is, if I run three miles (about 300 calories - actually, because I'm bigger, I burn more, but this is just for example) and lift weights for an hour (about 250 calories) and proceed normally about the rest of my day (walking place to place but otherwise maintaining a relatively sedentary state, sitting at a desk, standing around chopping stuff for dinner, etc.) then I should in fact eat 1950 to total 1400 net calories. It's been working already. So, since the good doctor is neither a nutritionist nor an athlete, she should suck it, because I probably know about as much about it as she does.

I hate when strangers underestimate my intelligence. It makes me livid. Can you tell?