My doctor sent me to a nutritional counselor to help me get off my weight.
He told me I had reached the morbidly obese stage, and I had to do something soon.
My heart was under stress, along with my joints. I worried that my age was also a deterrent to getting the weight off. I didn’t want to die prematurely because I didn’t know how to put the fork down. I hated it when a young who was less than half my age, walked into the exam room. She didn’t look like she weighed over one hundred pounds. I asked if she was the nutrition counselor and she showed me her badge. The first thing she asked was what I ate in a day. I was honest and told her while stressing that we ate salads at nearly every meal. She smiled and told me that salads were good until I poured the dressing on and added cheese and croutons. I told her I was lactose intolerant, and we didn’t eat croutons because we didn’t eat bread. She then asked if I knew how to put a fork down. I stood up and walked out of the room and flagged down a doctor. I told him the young chick who thought she was a nutrition counselor, was not for me. I wanted someone who didn’t think she knew me and my habits. I wanted a nutrition counselor who would talk to me and help me, without trying to make me feel like I was just another fat slob. I don’t know what happened to her, but I didn’t see her there the next time I came in for an appointment and I lost ten pounds without her insults.