At various times in my life I’ve lost weight though never to close to the weight I was when I had Robert. During one of those periods, my doctor tried to advise me on weight. He said, if I just ate 1200 calories and exercised half an hour a day, I’d be back to a size seven. No, I didn’t listen to him. I didn’t listen to him because at the time I was eating 800 calories and exercising two hours every morning. That’s what it takes to lose weight – very slowly, but never below about a size 14. How is this even possible? I don’t know. I know that we’ve come to the conclusion that there is a lot more to weight than calories, and also that about three years ago I found out the caesarian was botched in a particular way that not only makes my hormones a mess (and caused people to diagnose me as menopausal starting in my mid thirties. And no, I still am not, fully.) but also, likely, makes my body convinced it’s in some state of pregnancy, though not exactly. I don’t know what that does to my body. Neither does anyone else.
However, every time I see a new doctor I get told the same thing. Not “dear lady, let’s work together to find out why your weight is insane. Let’s try this, this and this. If that doesn’t work, then let’s figure out this and that. Oh, and let’s run blood panels and figure it out.” No, it’s always “if you just ate less than 2000 calories and exercised a bare minimum, the weight would drop like a dream.”