Laughter IS the Best Medicine!

Just one of my favorites of James

Amy and James always has a knack for making me feel better.  It is truly their gift.  Since my lupus diagnoses, I have had to visit more doctors than I care to.  You’d think since I have my “label” it’d be cut and dry, in and out.  Nope.  Every doctor (at every appt) feels it is their duty to remind me I’m fat.  Like, I’m not immobile fat…just a 37 year old who’s had a couple-a-kids.  My thighs touch, I’ve got some back fat, and a “twin skin” belly.  Whatever.  I can still work 15 hours a day, go on hikes, and haul a 100 pounds of crap to the beach.  In all honesty, I could stand to lose 40 pounds.  However with that said, 40 pounds is NOT going to improve my life so drastically that my lupus will just magically disappear.  “Well, Mrs. Roylance, since you’ve quit eating cookies, you will never have to deal with lupus again.  Great job buckling down and asserting some self control.”  YOU DON’T KNOW ME!  Like, do doctors just assume every mildly overweight person is lazy?  That we drink wine and eat rich cheeses?  (Side note: If I stopped those behaviors, my migraines would disappear too…again, you don’t know me).  We just sit around and wallow in self pity?  We refuse to move because it might make our knees hurt?  Until you have actually felt the pains of my disease, you don’t get an opinion.  BTW drinking green sh** smoothies ain’t  gonna cure me either, so I’m gonna stop you before that even rolls off your tongue. 

I have struggled with my self image my entire life.  I don’t like to talk about it.  When I open up and talk about my troubled history with food, I always think the other person is going “WOW!  You sure beat that disease…you OWNED that anoexia…etc” all said sarcastically of course…because I’m a fatty now.  It has taken me a lot of years and A LOT discipline to learn how to manage “it”.  I feel as though it’s an addiction.  It’s as dangerous and detrimental as any drug addiction.  I think about it every day.  It ruins my relationships.  I could go on, but I’m not ready to be that raw.  Needless to say, being told I’m fat is my Achilles heel.  Again…these doctors…YOU DON’T KNOW ME.       

This blog was supposed to be funny.  So let’s get to the funny part already!  Amy works in the building of my doctor, so I always go visit her when my appointments are over.  She walked me down to my car today, and she understands how literally painful it is for me to be told to drop weight.  (Like I can laugh about it and roll my eyes, but it’s pretty soul crushing to me).  This silver, early 1990’s style Buick come bouncing down the parking lot.  The front seat holds a wrinkled, silver haired, fragile woman.  She’s got the oxygen flowing and a cigarette dangling from her lips.  She’s struggling to light it because the shocks in the Buick gave out at least 5 years ago.  Amy says, “What do you bet she just got talked to about smoking?  She’s like ‘Go to hell, you bastard, Imma 127 years old.  I’m gonna smoke my damn cigarettes.’  That’s what you need to say, ‘I’m gonna eat some cookies, ya bastard.’”  I was in tears...laughing.  Then I texted James (When I decide to expose my secrets, I’ll talk a lot about my good husband.  He is the reason I am so happy today).  He g-chats me and asks how the doctor was.  I tell him.  He responds, "Listen I go on 3 mile walks at least 5 times a week.  I don't over eat.  What the hell else do you want from me???  I have that same problem too with my blood pressure being slightly elevated.  Yeah I know it's kinda high but can we get to the matter at hand please?  I came here to talk to you about my back.  Not my spare tire, but thank you for wasting 15 minutes of time I didn't have!"  Again...cracking up!  I am so thankful for humor and those in my life that can always seem to bring a smile to my face!