So I didn't snap her in two but I wanted to...

Or how the Lord slapped his hand over my mouth and grabbed me around the waist to restrain me:

I went for my cardiologist appointment today. And it is a good thing this SVT can't kill me because I was nearly given a heart attack by the nurse.

I have this thing about doctor's office scales. I don't WANT TO KNOW! DON'T TELL ME! Truly! So I get on them backwards while saying "Don't tell me what I weigh - I don't want to know." Now in the almost three years I've been doing this I have never had a nurse tell me. Well there's always a first. Today was it. This little snippet of a thing (I swear to you she was no bigger than my Emma is) not only tells me but says what I weigh loud enough for the people waiting in the waiting room to hear.

And did I mention my beloved was standing right there? Now don't get me wrong - he knows about what I weigh but let's not advertise it to the world and all. I got off the scale, looked at this little thing I could have snapped in two pieces and said "What part of "Don't tell me" did you not understand?" She still did not understand why I was upset.

Now, least you think I'm in denial about my weight let me tell you my reasoning behind this practice of stepping on the scales backwards. I have a scale. A very nice Weight Watchers scale that tells me to the ounce what I weigh. It is the only scale I am concerned about knowing the numbers of. I do not like to use the doctors office scales numbers because they are ALWAYS, yes that is ALWAYS, different than what my scale says at home. And never in my favor! Seriously, my family doctor's scale is 14 lbs. different. That's 14 lbs. more than mine says. How depressing is that?

So since I know my scale at home is fine and will reflect a gain or loss for me I really don't need to know what their scale says. It only sends me into depression. And leaves me feeling all huge and everything.

The doctor (tiny little thing that she is) apologized profusely and then asked me if I had considered losing some weight. That is the point where the Lord grabbed me round the waist and held me firm so I wouldn't be on the news this evening. God is good. Even when I wanted to trounce them both. Little tiny twits!

The end result: I won't die from this SVT and I may end up having a "procedure" that is not surgery but I'm not going to die or keel over. I'm just fat. Or so the nurse and the doctor both tell me.

In Christ's Tight Grip,

Peg