Extreme Measures

In order to get my foot in the door with my current employer almost two years ago, I took an entry-level position as a transportation aide.  My mom always reminds me, "all work is honorable"-- yes, so it is.  Although I knew that at the time and believed it whole-heartedly (and still do) it was nevertheless hard for me to accept my lowly position. The position involved pushing patients around the medical center in wheelchairs and on gurneys, often for procedures and sometimes to the exit when they were ready to leave after an extended stay.  It wasn't uncommon for me to be asked by the patients I was wheeling out of the medical center, "Are you a volunteer?"  I suppose it seemed strange that an apparently well educated (or at least I like to think so!) thirtysomething year old woman would be working for peanuts as an "orderly" (the olden-day name for it).  Aside from the low pay, though, it was a pretty good job.  I worked independently and walked nearly all day log, logging an average of 5 to 10 miles a day on my pedometer.  It wasn't intellectually stimulating, but at the end of the day I felt pretty good from the walking and from the social encounters with interesting patients, who were often more than happy to tell me about their experiences.

Now I work as a monitor technician on the Telemetry floor-- still a lowly position, but less so.  Although the pay is better and there is an intellectual component to the job, it isn't nearly as satisfying.  I sit for 8 hours straight, and at the end of that period I feel as though I've completed an endurance event.  I'm ready for my medal!  There is also very little interaction with patients and family members, but at least I'm at the nurses station where I can peek into the world I once conveted.  I see it all, the good, the bad, and the ugly!

Tonight, because of staffing needs, I was floated to another floor.  A nurse who hadn't seen me for a while took the opportunity to frown at me and comment, "You look different from when you worked in transportation!  Your face looks different..."  I've gotten extremely good at agreeing with people when they point out this obvious fact.  I tell them "yes, I've gained 30 lbs.  All I do is eat and sleep!"  They tell me to be careful, I smile and agree good naturedlly...  I don't take it personally.  I think it's a cultural thing-- I usually get it from the Filipino nurses.  Geographically, the Philippines are near to Malaysia, a country I spent a year in during high school.  While I was there, I quickly got used to comments like, "You're fat!", "You're so big", "You have a pimple on your face!" etc.

So, on the one hand, I feel ready to kill every time I hear about how I look "different" now, but on the other hand, it's a non-issue.  Yes, I look "different"-- you might even say considerably less attractive. Life goes on.  Last week, a nurse on my unit asked me, "Are you sure you want to get married?  Usually women lose weight before their weddings, and you don't seem to be trying, so maybe you just don't really want to get married."  This time the nurse was a 50 year old caucasian woman (so I can't blame cultural differences).  She prefaced her comments with, "Don't take this the wrong way"-- never a good conversation starter!

A few evenings ago, I attended an orientation for a medically managed weight loss program offered through the medical center where I work.  Am I succumbing to peer pressure?  I don't know anymore.  Assuming I get the ok at my physical tomorrow, I will be doing a 20 week program for people with 40 lbs or more to lose.  Total meal replacement, five shakes a day, baby.  Yum yum.