Is this it? Am I about to kick the proverbial bucket?

Those were the thoughts going through my head as I clutched my chest and tried to breathe through the pain. I thought it would be just my bloody luck to have been a big fat heif for so long and to pop my clogs from a heart attack ten measly weeks after doing something about my weight. I tried to convince myself I was being brave in dealing with the pain all day at work but in actual fact I was shitting my self that I’d go to hospital and be told it was something nasty/life threatening. The other more disturbing thought going through my brain was ‘oh christ, I’ve just told the people gathering health references for my new possible job that post surgery all my health issues have gone, now I’ll never get a promotion!’

Having psyched myself up to go to hospital and gotten over the fear that I’d be laughed out of the door for bringing such a silly problem I definitely was not prepared to be whisked straight through to A&E Majors, handed a gown and told to squeeze my very much plus sized body into it. I must have looked hysterical, most people worry about their arses hanging out of a hospital gown, I was worried about whether or not there was even enough fabric to cover my expansive front let alone my arse the size of Germany. I was poked and prodded, asked about a million questions (mostly about my weight loss, appetite and whether or not I could still eat chocolate), and had two nurses tie rubber bands round my arms and attempt to take blood.

Having been alongside a group of friends going through the rigours of medical school I can state now that the locum Doctor I saw was obviously well trained however it was a shame that she had fuck all bedside manner. She made me feel like a mong for even considering coming in to Hospital and did treat me a bit as though she thought I had some contagious disease but hey, she’s probably never seen such a fattie before!

I was given some tablets and patted on the head, going on my way feeling slightly unsure about the whole situation. It’s not terribly reassuring to have the Doctor say that she thought it wasn’t anything more than reflux but she knows nothing about my surgery and so I really should get checked out by my surgeon who will know best. Lo and behold by the time I got home, the pain had returned with a vengeance. Trust my body to cock up in the time that the Good Doctor is on holiday; although I must say Doctor Cornflake made a very good locum.


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