Let’s see who measures up, shall we?

I noticed a weird bruise on my arm last week on Thursday. By Friday it had morphed into something that looked like a bear climbing a tree. It didn’t hurt. I had no recollection of bumping into things, or drinking too much wine on Wednesday (although now that I’ve written that “Wine Wednesday” sounds pretty tempting). So I went to the doctor.

Bruise Comparison Photo
Bruise Comparison Photo

The first thing they do when they take you into the super secret area is tell you to “get on the scale.” I have been trying to decline this for years. If it’s my annual check up or I think I have diabetes or perhaps I have miraculously lost those last damn 10 pounds by eating chocolate cake and the new Yeungling Black and Tan Ice Cream, then and only then will I get on the scale.

I’m sorry, I may be naïve to think that all American women have a psychological battle with weight, but I know all my friends do. That stupid number can send me into a tailspin of self-loathing and regret for days. I will not have it.

This time I may have been a bit intense in my questioning and refusal to be weighed for a bruise. The nurse ratted me out to the doctor.

“We have to weigh you for insurance purposes,” said the doctor.

“I’m sorry, but the insurance company doesn’t get to play mind games with me. Do you have any idea how crazy that scale makes me?”

“I’m starting to….”

“Women the world over hate getting weighed, even on a good day. It is a sign of our possible failure to literally measure up. It makes us feel bad about our next bagel. And it makes no sense when I’m coming in for a bruise. And on top of all that, not one doctor ever comments on my weight and how that may affect my health, so I have to conclude that unless it’s critical to my visit, it’s not important to the medical community on that day either.”

The doctor looked at me like I needed Xanax at that juncture and said, “we just have to check a box on the form that says we weighed you.”

“So what happens if I refuse to be weighed?”

“We check the box marked ‘declined’.”

I now have a better idea to even the playing field. I plan to suggest to insurance companies that in order to protect the health and well-being of all male patients that all penis sizes be measured before seeing the doctor.

This will undoubtedly help the entire population as women will be able to ask their husbands, boyfriends and significant others:

“How did it go at the doctor’s today?”

And when their menfolk reply, “fine,” because that’s what menfolk always reply……to any important question, then women the world over can ask, “and how did your penis measure up? Is everything okay, or should I be worried?”

Not to mention that doctors and nurses could now have that all-important conversation with their male patients about how they must work on that penis size as it is  just not healthy to continue to fail to measure up. Men would come to understand how important this information is to their overall health, regardless of the stress it may place upon them for the remainder of the day…..or their lives.

So there you have it ladies and gents. Now we will all be subject to humiliation before even discussing our medical problem or we will all become like MasterCard and just say, “declined.”



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18 thoughts on “Let’s see who measures up, shall we?”

  1. I went to the doctor because my anxiety and depression were becoming unmanageable. I poured my heart out (not easy) and the first thing he says is…you know, you are considered obese.


  2. Wow! You have really opened my eyes! Up until now, I have just sighed and groaned, stepped onto the freakin’ scale and taken the lump that followed.

    No more! The day of liberation is at hand! Power to the fat people! We are human beings, too!

    So there!

  3. I’m used to whipping my penis out for the doctor. One time I was watching Grey’s Anatomy and out it popped, all on its own. Putting it back in its holster is what bothers me. It needs to breed like a good penis!

  4. I am all for putting guys on the spot and for women’s freedom to “choose”, but if I don’t get weighed, I may never put down the box of ring dings… Great Post!

  5. Cathy Sikorski, you again, are my hero! The chiropractor tried to weigh me and I just looked at him and said, “Give me a break. That’s not ever happening in this office.” I like the penis measuring. We should make that a standard “box to check.”

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