Dear ,
I went to my doc this week for my annual exam and after the joyless
task of getting on the scale, she asked me if I knew how tall I was.
"Shheesh.yes, of COURSE, I do." I answered.
"Five Seven" I told her.
Then I went on to say "actually I used to be five seven and then about
ten years ago I got miniaturized somehow and lost an inch.
I think my
kids must've beat me down in more ways than one so now I'm five six.
I'd call it at a little over five six.
Still almost five seven really."
I admit this to her because docs have a way of getting the truth out of
me that no other human being could pry from me, even by poking needles
into my eyeballs.
The doctor's form is filled out something like this:
Unprotected sex? Yes, many times. But not recently like in the past couple decades. But don't tell my kids,or I will be forced to
lie to them.And in my defense, there's no box to check to say how cute
he was.
Experimented with recreational drugs? No.I mean, well, no.
Yes. No. Can these things show up in your urine? ok, yes.
My kids don't
know this either.
How often? Oh for criminy sakes does that really matter? I'm not running for president.
Have you ever smoked? I'm a fitness queen, not a saint!
And drinking? How much you ask? Can I substitute the words "times a
week" for "drinks per week"? and does a globe of wine count as a glass
even though it's big enough for a goldfish?
I feel like scribbling in the margins "You want the truth Doc?
You can't HANDLE the truth!"
My point is that I should've just insisted that I'm still five seven, no need to squabble about reality.
I simply prefer the model-esque ring of five seven.
She looked DOWN
at me now that I think about it
and said snidely
"let's just take a quick look.Hop on."
Blindly I stepped back on the scale-who's idea was this to make women
get on a scale, the mini evil torture chamber of every well-stocked
bathroom, to check your height? Some man I suppose.
Anyway I humor her and step on the gallows and she says
"You're five five."
(dead silence from me)
Look I was fine with five six.
I'd accepted it and moved on.
I'd almost forgotten the sweet memory of five seven. But.
I am NOT five five.
Am I?
Yes my former doctor replied.
The rest of the exam was a blur of stirrups and speculums(I've never
liked the sound of that word much either) while I tried not to cry on
my paper gown.
Luckily none of you were on the road last Tuesday afternoon while
returning from the doc's because my mind lurched every time I passed a
speed limit sign,
mocking me with those double digits that earlier this morning were innocent numbers.
55!
55!
MPH now stood for "My Pitiful Height."
She might as well have told me I'd turned into a monkey.
It was that hard to get my mind around.
Weight fluctuates.
That I am used to.
I've even remained calm during a
twin pregnancy and the 50 weight gain that accompanied that.
Up, down,
up, no problem.
Lots of bodily parts and bodily functions fluctuate.
Hair,moods, even skin and temperature.
But height, after your teens, does not go up then down then up.
It
is as predictable and unchanging as your birthday.
I thought.
Here all along I've been thinking my teenage kids were getting taller but actually I've been getting shorter.
I expected my height to always be there for me and now it's one inch
closer to the ground. We will all end up on the ground someday
anyway,I guess.(sigh)
An inch! Whoever said an inch doesn't matter is either tall, lying or already well-endowed.
And later on, after I'd finished ruminating on why it wasn't the other
way around-my height staying the same and my weight going down instead
of my height going down and my weight staying the same, it dawned on me
why I was so upset.
I have always used the weight to height ratio calculation
to gauge how
much I should weigh. This rule says 100 pounds for five feet and five
ell-bees for every inch above that.
So at my former height of five seven,
I am at my ideal weight when I
weigh 135 or under.
This is doable with some diligence. Five six means
I have to strive for 130 which is more of a magic number these days as
opposed to 134 which I think is my set point.
The horrible truth of this situation is that at five five, I am only
given .....one hundred ...twenty....five pounds!
I haven't weighed 125 since,
well, since before I did all those things that I had to check yes to on
the doctor's form.
I want to be able to weigh what a five seven woman gets to weigh.
Why?
Because my body doesn't know it's five five.
My body still thinks it's
five seven.
Or is it really still five seven but my physical inches are
just not showing up on the measurer-thingie.
Like when we know we've
lost weight from working out because our jeans feel loose but we still
weigh the same.
Answer me this-if muscle weighs more than fat so you are really thinner,
then what is taller than inches when you get shorter?
(Maybe it's brain cells when I go back and reread that last sentence)
So. I guess I will try to stand tall and hope my missing inch shows up
eventually.
Because at this rate, losing an inch a decade, I will look
like Dr.Ruth by the time I'm her age.
And posture always has been underrated.
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