Doctor's orders

So, a couple days ago, I opened an envelope bearing the return address of the area hospital, figuring it was a bill for money I owe.

The good news: It was not a bill.

The bad news: It was a letter from my doctor's office concerning my upcoming physical on May 2.

Oh. You mean the appointment by which I had vowed to lose weight? Hmm. We may have a problem.

My last physical revealed some troublesome blood pressure, which has been an issue for me for many years; however, this time my medication didn't seem to be controlling it. I suggested my weight was causing the increase, and my doc agreed. He increased my dosage, and we talked about what I could do to lose weight. I mentioned that in the past I had had success with a variant of "low carb," particularly when I've avoided flour. (At one time, I thought I was gluten intolerant and didn't eat anything with flour for about a year or so. I felt great! More on that another time.) He again agreed that this was a great idea for me, and we talked about me getting out and walking as well.

So, I left the office with a new conviction that I would start exercising and watch my food intake, and I'd walk into his office a year later with a bounce in my (lighter) step to proudly boast the self-control and determination that had enabled me to become slimmer and healthier.

And, yes, I did lose weight this past year. But I found it again.

As I held the letter, I imagined my sheepish entrance into his office. I imagined watching the lever on the scale as it hovered exactly where (or more than) I was last year at this time.

I know my main concern should be the blood pressure. That's serious stuff. But what I will be fretting about most is my muffin top.

"Oh well," I told myself, "that is the consequence for your lack of willpower and discipline. Suck it up and face the music."

Instead, I rescheduled the appointment for May 19. Hope springs eternal.