A Doctor Fat-shamed Me, it was the Last Straw
I want to embrace body positivity and fat acceptance, but I know I would be healthier if I lost weight.
I wasn’t a fat child but I thought I was.
I wasn’t a fat teen, but I thought I was.
I thought I was fat until I was fat.
In January 2021 I was waiting to have a procedure that requires sedation. The nurse had left me stuffed into a puffy black recliner in the hallway. My kinda-thin specialist rushed out from the operating theatre, approaching with smug enthusiasm in her spick and span blue scrubs.
You’re so lucky the anaesthetist didn’t cancel you. The table we’re using today can only hold a certain weight. He usually cancels people with your weight.
A jolt of pain exploded inside me, the kind of pain that feels like a stab to the heart and a punch in the gut. The kind of pain only words can inflict. The kind of pain that fills me with shame and anger. He didn’t cancel me, so why did she tell me this? Was I supposed to be grateful?
I signed the consent form she handed me. Walking back into the operating theatre, she announced to the staff that I was ready. The door didn’t close so I heard what came next.
