Flying Fatty Panic

This time next week I will be on a plane to Melbourne. I'm going there to interview a potential psychiatrist so my move to Melbourne -- early next year -- will be as smooth as possible.

Of course I'm nervous about meeting this guy, but that's not the reason my stomach is in knots and my head is screaming all those awful fat hating jibes.

I'm terrified that I won't fit into the plane seat. It's ridiculous really since last year -- June -- I flew to Melbourne and while the seat belt and the seat were a little snug I did, indeed, fit. Albeit I sucked in my flab so no one would complain about me. Not that they would have since I sat in the window seat with my mum sitting next to me. Any complainers would have been more inclined to complain about my mum than me. But rational thinking isn't always my strongest point.

Usually I don't think about these things, well not to the degree that it's already causing me stress and anxiety. Of course we all know I'm prone to both of those, so I suppose it's not really such a big step to worrying about something I have no control over -- at least not a week from the flight.

You see, I saw on Today Tonight (a "current affairs" program aired in Australia) yet another diet to lose those "unsightly rolls" etc. I don't pay much attention to these segments other than to shake my fist menacingly at the tv and provide a running commentary on what bullshit they're saying. This time, however, something stuck. A woman was saying how she was embarrassed to have to ask for the seat belt extender on flights. All I could think was: Oh shit, that's going to be me.

I don't necessarily look as huge as I feel, of course I look bigger than some people -- okay perhaps a lot of people -- but I fit in cinema seats, bus seats, car seat and pretty much all other kinds of seats without my fatty bits invading someone else's territory. In some part, because of these things, I told myself that as long as I could still sit in those things without invading another's territory then I was an "acceptable" fatty. Hey, I never said my strongest suit was being rational. I don't mean to say that anyone bigger than me is a "bad fatty" or thinner than me a "good fatty" etc. The rules applied to myself are extremes and do not apply to anyone else, ever. If only I respected myself as much as I respect others. Anyway, that's a post more suited for the mental health blog.

On Saturday as I was sitting on my bed deciding what I should wear, it suddenly struck me that I would need to lose weight by Wednesday the 5th October so I could, comfortably, fit into the plane seat and do the buckle up.

My initial reaction was: OMGWTF are you thinking? 1. You don't have time to lose enough weight (I think I'm a lot bigger than I am) and 2. Where do you think you're going to get the motivation to actually do what you want to do? 


My secondary reactions was: OMGWTF are you entirely insane? You've been following FA blogs for a while and you're far more aware of how beautiful your body can be and now, because of some stupid flippant comment on a tv show you don't even like, you want to lose weight to conform to society's acceptable look? Are you fucking kidding me? 


I'm ashamed that I felt this dire need to conform, to change myself to "fit in" instead of asking and/or demanding -- although demanding doesn't usually get anyone anywhere -- I be accepted exactly as I am. However, I'm not the only one who has moments of self consciousness and incredibly low self esteem. It's not easy being who you are and having friends, family, and even strangers tell you how wrong you are. Sometimes even the strongest people have moments of self doubt. It's comforting even if it doesn't decrease the shame I still feel for allowing such thoughts to run rampant.

It's hard to share this, honestly, with anyone. My weight is still a sore topic for me and no matter how many times I talk about it I still wait for the other shoe to drop; the fat hatred to begin. Still, I felt it important to share this with you, with anyone who may read this, because nothing is that simple. It's easy to make informed choices and decisions, but it's incredibly hard to maintain those choices and decisions.

It Finally Happened...

Well it's finally happened, the dreaded Doctor saying everything is caused by my weight and therefore I must have diabetes or some glucose intolerance.

I went to the doctor this morning, not my usual dickhead doctor, the other one, the female one. I needed to discuss something a little more personal and I didn't want some dude looking at my lady parts. Yes, I said "lady parts", I'm not above being embarrassed and uncomfortable talking about the more private areas of my body.

Anyway, she looked and gave me antibiotics. However, she did go on rather a lot about how I'm big and that my malady is most likely caused by diabetes -- the fat people kind, type 2 -- or a pre-diabetic thing relating to glucose intolerance, blah blah blah.

Now, I'm not an old hand at the Fat Acceptance thing and my memory doesn't allow me to remember numbers and statics and all the necessary information regarding the absurdity of her words. She even went so far as to use medical terms -- which of course I can't remember -_- -- to explain how being fat can create these kinds of things.

But that's not the worst part.

The worst part is that I just sat there and nodded even though my blood started boiling. I just sat there. I didn't say that there is no solid scientific evidence of fat = diabetes, nor did I even stand up for myself when she insinuated my fat was bad.

I was basically a big fat lump on a chair with no backbone. Ugh. 


Oh, then we spoke of a pap smear. I have neglected to have one, ever. I don't suggest doing this. Anyway, she said she could try but because I'm "bigger" she may not be able to find my cervix. She went on to say this is usually due to the beds at the surgery -- they are small and up against a wall making it hard to spread ones legs wide enough -- and the lack of a gynaecological chair.

So my fat is causing me to have diabetes -- or a diabetes related problem -- and will also make getting a pap smear hard.

Thank you so much for the wonderful self esteem boost there, Doctor. 


Again, while she was telling me all this I just sat there. Partly stunned she was so callous, partly angry and wanting to walk out, and partly embarrassed to do anything because she was previously looking at my lady parts.

I'm still angry that I couldn't find my voice and that she spat all that bullshit about being fat at me. Right now I feel rather pathetic, and quite possibly I am, and I wouldn't mind burying my head in the sand until such time as fat is accepted. Hopefully that might be within my lifetime.