let’s get physical

A little over a year ago I went to the doctor for my anal anual visit

It was the usual poking, prodding and some blood tests

A few days later my doctor called me to let me know that my cholesterol levels were high

Actually I was away, so he spoke to Diamond and Diamond passed the message on to me

Diamond: Your doctor called

Me: Why, what’s up?

Diamond: Something about your cholesterol

Me: What’s that mean?

Diamond: It’s high or something

Me: Yeah

Diamond: He said you need to go on a diet

Me: Fuck him!

And that was the end of it

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.

A month or so ago I went back to my doctor ’cause I’m a masochist ’cause apparently that’s what responsible adults do when they’re serious about their health blah, blah, blah

The usual, shit you know?

Poke, prod, how’ve you been? Blood tests etc

He actually asked  me how the diet he recommended worked out for me

Ummm, well how do you THINK it went arsewipe DUDE?

Anyhooo

He calls me back a few days later

Doc: Your cholesterol is even higher than it was last year

Me: Awesome!

Doc: I’m serious, you really need to get this under control, or I’m going to have to put you on medication

Me: I’d like a prescription for marijuana please

Doc: It’s at a dangerously high level now – you need to take this seriously

So after a lecture from the Doc and a guilt trip from Diamond, that went a little something like this;

This is not about you anymore. You’re a mum, you need to take care of this. You owe it to me and the girls

Wow, way to make me feel like a shithead

I could barely finish my beer & hamburger

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So between the guilt and the reminder calls from my Doctor, I have actually been trying to be good on this trip

I have been to the gym nearly every day

Have cut out all the foods I’ve been told to – even coffee!

The result?

FUCKING NOTHING!

I’m serious

Close to 6 weeks of this bullshit and nothing to show for it

And don’t give me that whole, muscle weighs more than fat crap

I want results!

And skinny jeans, perky boobs & no cellulite

Something. Anything!

Was getting ready to throw in the towel and go to MacDonalds the other day when I changed my mind

Was laying on the bed in my hotel room when an elephant jumped on my chest

OK, so it was an imaginary elephant, but it hurt like a mo-fo

I could hardly breathe, then I had these shooting pains going up and down my left arm

And I’m laying there thinking, left arm? Does that mean heart attack, or is it your right arm? And then I’m all, oh fuck, why didn’t I pay more attention to the ‘you & your body’ talks at school? (although I DID learn how to put a condom on a banana in one lesson)

At this point I’m getting a bit freaked out, ’cause the pain is getting worse and I’m wondering if I should call mum. I decide not to, don’t want to give her a heart attack

Then I start having visions about dying in a hotel room. Jesus, how lame would that be? And I’m thinking how would somebody find me. I try to reach my bag of almonds and dried apricots to lay them next to me on the bed

‘Cause if I go, I want to go out looking healthy, you know?

So after I have completely staged my death scene, right down to fanning my hair out on the pillow – it needed a wash, but I was hoping no one would notice, I realised that the pain had stopped

That’s right, the pain was GONE

And I wasn’t dead

Needless to say, I’m pretty sure I wasn’t having a heart attack

Not really sure what it was – a bad hotdog maybe?

Who knows

I’m just happy I’m not dead

And that I didn’t die in a hotel room

I mean come on, how embarrassing would THAT be??

And to try and keep me away from the buffet table on the straight and narrow

I’m carrying this picture around with me wherever I go

And so far it’s working like a charm

The one thing worse than dying in a hotel room?

Dying in the SHOWER of a hotel room