I got my yearly physical about a month ago.
At the doctor’s office I was A okay.
I got my blood work done about two weeks ago.
For the most part I’m okay.
I have no sexually transmitted diseases. And all that time I thought that was what was causing the milky discharge.
My cholesterol is 128. Considering how overweight I am it should be through the roof.
What was problematic was some of my vitamin levels.
The biggest problem is my Vitamin D. I’m about as low as you can go. And I already take supplements.
I’m a little anemic.
My fasting glucose level was in the “risk for diabetes” area.
There was some other stuff in there that kind of freaked me out.
This was all explained to me by my doctor when he called to give me my results.
And he finishes the conversation by telling me that I should go see a nutrionist as soon as I can.
I translate this into “oh my god I’m diabetic, anemic and I’m dying!!!”
So I call and make the appointment.
And I go in.
And I meet with Rochelle.
About 2 minutes into my 2.5 hour appointment I realize that she probably epitomizes what a “nutrionist” looks like. She clearly does yoga ten times a day, she’s been a vegetarian for most of her adult life, she hates artificial sweeteners, and pretty much hates all food that’s not organic. She probably owns stock in Trader Joe’s and Whole Foods.
The first thing we do is go over my numbers.
Turns out my doctor might have been a little more excited than he needed to be.
My cholesterol is low. A little too low it seems. My good cholesterol needs to be brought up a little so we talked about that.
I’m not borderline diabetic. Let’s say if the average numbers are from 10 – 15 and the numbers for possible risk are from 16 – 20 and actual diabetic is 20 and ablove. My test was a 15.1. I’m .1 percent high. And as she explained would probably be different the next time I was tested, when it’s that small of a measurement.
I do have a vitamin D deficiency. So I need to quadruple the vitamins that I’m already taking.
I’m gonna start taking Blood Builders for the anemia.
I WAS TOLD I HAD TO LOSE WEIGHT.
As if I didn’t know this.
She then spent close to an 90 minutes telling me what I should and should not eat. I’m really not supposed to eat any of the stuff I eat. And I really should only be eating stuff I buy at Trader Joe’s, Whole Foods, or the farmer’s market.
She even went so far as to pull up the menu for my restaurant online to tell me what I could and could not eat at work. I can have the lettuce with no dressing, and I can have the lettuce with no dressing. Even the broccoli we serve is covered in butter.
I’m absolutely not supposed to have cupcakes. Or Diet Coke. Or more than two cups of coffee. Or homemade ice cream made with real cream, white bread, french fries, cheeseburgers, mayonnaise, did I mention Diet Coke, regular peanut butter, blah, blah, blah….
I stopped listening after a while. It was hard not to tune her out after she said no Diet Coke.
So we came up with a plan. Today was day one.
I lasted exactly 30 minutes.
I got to work and ordered the barbecue chicken with out the barbecue sauce, subbed the french fries for the buttery broccoli, and then went off to change clothes. I get changed and I go to the kitchen where they are being hammered. There is food every where. It’s on the top of the counter, it’s on the counter on top of the counter, it’s on the counter below the counter, it’s in the window. There are cheeseburgers as far as the eye can see. So I find a nice out of the way place to stand and I wait. And wait. And wait. And wait. And wait. The cheeseburgers are taken out of the kitchen and are replaced with even more cheeseburgers. And I wait. And I wait. And I wait.
And finally I see my chicken appear in the back expeditors window. (The food is put in a window and the back expeditor pulls it all together and puts it in the front window where the front expeditor finishes garnishing everything and then sends it to the table.
So I see it appear. And I move a little closer. Tony, the muscular, Italian, kitchen manager is back expo today. He asks me what I’m waiting for. I tell him, he pulls it out of the window, adds the broccoli and hands it to me. I grab a Diet Coke and head off to eat while I wait for pre-shift.
I sit down, plop a piece of broccoli into my mouth and I cut into my chicken. If it was a piece of steak I’d have loved how it was cooked. But a juicy piece of medium rare chicken isn’t my idea of fun. It’s a quarter chicken and when I cut into it the blood seeped out away from the bone.
It’s now 4:30. I don’t have time for them to recook it. I’m going to be lucky if I get to eat anything at all. I take it to a manager and explain that it’s raw and that I need SOMETHING to eat before my shift starts…like a regular house salad. The kitchen manager tells the salad guy to make me a salad. If I’d taken the train home, made the salad myself, and then taken the train back downtown I would have had it faster. Couple that with he made the wrong salad for me. (How do you screw up a house salad?) It was 4:45 when I sat down with my salad to eat. Pre-shift starts at 4:45. I had about 36 seconds to eat before my shift started.
Now I was hungry and pissed.
Needless to say when I had the opportunity to eat a cookie later I took it.
As they say…