No Enemies

I’d like to have no enemies. I used to want everyone to like me because I was insecure. I thought if someone didn’t like something about me that meant they didn’t like me at all. As my life has progressed, I’ve discovered it’s not just that. I understand and have even slowly learned to accept that everyone will not smell roses when they think I'm full of shit. But that doesn’t make them my enemy. They might disagree with me, but they still want to engage with me in conversation and life experiences.

I want to practice more mindfulness when I disagree with someone. Instead of ranting about their flaws, I want to stop and think. I wish Michelle Obama would quit scapegoating fat kids and encourage all people, regardless of size, to move their bodies and eat healthful foods. And I still like her. I don’t like the way she’s going about her campaign to help America’s children learn to live healthier, but I love that she’s trying to raise the issue of healthy living. We both care about kids’ health. We just have different methods of encouraging it.

But this one's hard. Now I'm not a big fan of lawsuits against doctors who made an honest mistake, but a couple days ago I really felt like suing the fertility specialist who told me four years ago he couldn't help my husband and me conceive until I lost some weight. And by the way, I hadn't gained as much weight as he thought I had. I pointed out to him that the nurse had transposed two numbers on my weight two years prior when I first saw them to get help getting pregnant with Stella and that yes, I had gained twenty pounds in two years but I had just given birth six months prior to that. I absolutely had not gained fifty pounds as he was suggesting. As long as I was healthy, which I was - normal blood pressure, blood glucose, cholesterol, flexibility tests, all of that – he should have treated me. Done something. I just had trouble conceiving. And damn it, he should have helped me when I asked him to instead of making me feel ashamed of my body.

I wonder if I could get Dr. Linda Bacon, author of "Heath at Every Size" to testify on my behalf? And my own family doctor who agrees with me my "numbers" are all healthy, and submit the health risk assessment I took through work that gave me a score of "excellent" on it's review of my diet and exercise habits.

I'm really just ranting. But I definitely feel discriminated against. I'm mad at the adoption agency that informed me today that they don’t think my family is a good fit for the children in their agency. It reminds me of how I felt rejected for my request for a child by the fertility specialist four years ago.

So I come home from work tonight, get the mail out of the mailbox. Mostly junk mail. I must remember to get on the do-not-send-me-junk-mail list. I toss the ads onto Stella’s art table and plop the rest into the recycle bin just outside the garage door. I set aside two things of mild interest: a Healthy Living booklet from the local hospital addressed to “Resident” and a coupon postcard from Dove anti-perspirent with a picture of a grey haired woman doing yoga. Dang I need to sign up for a yoga class. If I check out a yoga video from the library will I do it? I know I won’t. I think the exercise channel has a yoga video you can watch for free. Nah, I don’t want to turn on the TV and get Stella, who was busily “creating” at her art table, all interested in watching cartoons all of the sudden. The less the toy does the more the kid does.

So Stella steps into the back yard to play a little before the sun goes down. I check for voicemail. Just a donation pickup reminder from the local veteran’s charity. I pick up the Healthy Living booklet. And there he is. The fertility specialist who said I should lose weight before he’d help me try to get pregnant with my second child. The man who made me feel ashamed for what I looked like. This is my body, goddamnit. You can’t tell me what to do with my own body. But in a way I did let this fat-phobic fertility specialist influence my decision that if one expert tells me something it must be true. Because I didn’t try anyone else. We decided to try it naturally.

But it’s been four years now and we’re ready to expand our family. So we’ve signed up for the classes our state has prospective adoptive parents take and we’re seriously considering adoption.

I must continue to ask myself if I'm doing this for myself, to go back to the past and make things right. Am I really trying to adopt five year old Sydney? Or do I really want Stella to have a sibling. To experience the unconditional love that comes from growing up with someone, with sharing parents and experiences and fights and giggles. And do I really think I have enough energy and mental wellness to take on the challenges of a bigger family?

I do. I really think I do.

So do you know why the thin, superficially healthy doctor was on the cover of the Healthy Living magazine? To thank the new cardiac care unit at the hospital for saving his life when he had surgery three months ago. I wish him well. I wish him wellness. But because I'm the kind of asshole who likes to say "I told you so" I also wish he'd realize now that health comes in all sizes.