“Ninety-five pounds. That's a big number.” My doctor took a second look at me.
“Yeah, I practically lost a person.” I laughed a bit nervously. It’s always like this ever since I’ve lost all the weight. People get surprised, including my own physician.
“So,” he looked me in the eyes, “how did you do it?” I noticed the man was a bit chubby. He wanted advice, probably. “I bet that I’m not the first one to ask you.”
“Yeah,” I took a deep breath, “you’re not. Well, I just dieted and exercised until my butt fell off.”
“Literally or figuratively?” He checked behind me as a joke.
“Well, figuratively.” My doctor’s eyes fell off me and went to his clipboard.
“It’s good that you did it the right way.” He scratched his balding head.
“Well, though I wished I didn’t have to suffer through that whole year of running and whatnot. And instead, I wish I could’ve just cut myself open and stuck a vacuum to clean-up all the fat, I’m still glad I did it the right way even if it was harder.”
“So, what’s your secret?” The doctor put down the clipboard, readjusted his glasses to his face, and then crossed his arms.
“Well, I guess soda was my biggest enemy. I used to drink it throughout the day, but I replaced soda with water, which helped a lot.”
“How did you stay so focused?” He started looking, no, he started analyzing me.
“I’m a very determined person, I guess. My friends could vouch for my patience on things.” I laughed.
“Now, Vatche,” he grabbed his clipboard from his desk, “this is my last question before we're done, but you don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to, of course.”
I shook my head in agreement. “It’s ok, doc, ask away.”
“What was the trigger to make you start all of this?”
“My…trigger,” I repeated the words and tried to recall the memories. The few memories that came to mind were how I was teased for being chubby, my parents were disgusted with my habits, and how the only second look I would get from people was of horror. “I guess that I was just tired of it all.”
“Tired of what?” He wanted specifics. I bet that if he didn’t want to be a doctor, he would’ve definitely become a successful journalist with the questions he was asking me.
“I was tired of being the fat guy. I was tired of carrying that other person, that ninety-five pound person, on my back. I used to way over two-hundred and forty-five pounds and I knew it was unhealthy! I knew I wasn’t living my life the right way, so I decided to change. I started to control myself. I started to control myself because—” I paused, “because I didn’t want to—to die.” The last word was almost a whisper.
The doctor put his hand on my shoulder. “It’s ok, Vatche. I completely understand. Now, just take it easy. I didn’t mean to push your buttons like that.”
“I know, doc.” I sighed.
“Good. Now, get up and live your life outside of this crappy hospital.”
“So, we’re done with the check-up?”
“Is there anything wrong with you that you didn’t tell me?”
“Good. Now, just go down that corridor right there and ask that lady with the blue dress to give you your shots.” He smiled.
“Wait, shots?! I don’t like shots.”
“What happened to that determined individual I just saw in there?” The doctor said as we walked outside and he closed the door behind him.
“Screw that, I don’t want to have any needles in me!” I started walking away (brisk jogging) and noticed my dad coming up behind me as I tried running away from the lady with the needles. “See yah later, doc,” I waved my hand and tried looking for the nearest exit, "thanks for everything."
I always hated shots.
How about you, dear readers, do you have anything you're proud of? Any success stories out there in the blogosphere?