Dear Doctor...
Dear Doctor, my name is Cassondra. I'm 5'6" tall and I'm obese. My blood pressure and pulse typically fall within the normal range and my temperature is normal. I don't know if you have noticed any of those stats yet, or if you care. I'm here because I have a problem or am unsure about what's happening inside of me. I notice you. I notice your face and your eyes. Is there any softness there? Is your handshake firm? Do you have time for me or are you mentally already on to your next appointment because you know that you just need to tell me to lose weight to fix my problem?
Dear Doctor, I haven't always been this broken. I haven't always been this scared for my future, but I have always been heavy, since birth, really. You don't know that, because you don't know me. I haven't always had this incredible pain in my knees or this heartache due to the situation I'm in. I've had much better days and although I was never a cheerleader or homecoming queen, I didn't just let myself go. I have fought this body my entire life. It's okay, I know you don't know that.
Dear Doctor, I'm not lazy or stupid. I'm not trying to earn a spot on My 600lb Life. I don't eat fast food everyday. I don't eat a whole pizza at a sitting. I actually love to be outdoors and be active. I can't right now, because it hurts. It hurts me physically and it hurts me emotionally more than any pill can numb. Yes, I've talked to a bariatric surgeon. Yes, I've had surgery. I was amazing for a short time. I worked out so hard because I wanted it so bad, so bad that I broke myself. I know you don't know that because you didn't listen when I told you already and I know you didn't look at my history before you walked into this room.
Dear Doctor, I do know I need to lose weight. I've known since I started kindergarten and the kids teased me horribly. I've known every moment since then. With every breath I take, I know I'm fat. And I am painfully aware that I don't want to be fat. I know you don't know that. You probably figure that I am one of those that say "Big is beautiful and I'm comfortable in my skin and society needs to accept me." That's not where I am. I know my weight is a problem for my body and I know that beauty is more than a face and a body. Yes, I'm married, but that doesn't mean I'm giving up and don't care what people think, or for that matter, most importantly what I think. But you don't know that. You just see this obese patient with a problem that you can easily attribute to my weight. You think to yourself, "if she hurts that bad, she can just lose weight, why is she wasting my time?"
You've never said it out loud to me, but I can see in your face and in your treatment of me that you are thinking it.
Dear Doctor I don't expect a miracle, but I'd like you to take some time and help me figure out my options. Please don't just write me off and pass me off to someone else. Please don't assume that someone else will help me. Please see me. Please see in my eyes that I am close to tears and I am losing hope. Please be the one to make sure we have checked every option and possibility. If you miss something that is critical or potentially terminal, it's no big deal to you. You can go home and say, "She just needed to lose weight, what did you expect me to do?" But you can't see the possibilities, you can only see the cellulite. I know you've noticed the cellulite, because you've looked me up and down the whole time I've been here and spent a lot of time talking and staring at my stomach as you do. My cellulite should not be the reason you don't see the underlying medical condition.
Dear Doctor, please know that I understand you believe you are being kind with words and phrases like: body habitus, a lot of tissue, people of your size, as big as you, etc., but I see the judgement in your eyes and dull expression. I understand I'm a liability, so it's easier to pass on looking for anything beyond my dress size. The horror, you might find something and then you might be put in a situation to recommend surgery, or perform it and, well, as you've stated multiple times, I'm high risk. People of my size always are.
Dear Doctor, I didn't just spend my co-pay and time away from life to come here and be ignored, rushed or disregarded because of my size. I don't know why you became a doctor. I don't know why you are irritated dealing with patients. I don't know why it's okay with you that you adjust your level of care based on my weight on the scale. I don't know why you think it is okay to only spend five minutes with me and brush me off. I waited a month to see you. You have a set of skills, right? Why do you become a doctor and then withhold healing? You wasted my time, you took my money and left me with no answers, no direction and no hope. Oh, and pain. Did I mention about the unrelenting pain?
Dear Doctor, I know when you walked out of the room and moved on to your next patient-victim you didn't see me cry. You didn't see me walk into work and witness my friends asking how it went and what are we gonna do about my knee? I have to tell them, again, there is nothing we can do until I lose weight. No one understands, they tell me to get a second opinion. I'm already on my third. You don't have to see their faces, with all the compassion and empathy, tell me they're sorry and that they wished there was something they could do. And, I look at them and say, "it's okay, it's my fault, I have to lose weight," and then I feel hatred for myself because I've been unable to accomplish losing the weight. After all, if it hurts that bad, that would be my motivation, right? If I'm not losing weight, it must not be bad enough, right?
Dear Doctor...My name is Cassondra. I'm not perfect. If I was, I wouldn't be here. I'm asking you to listen to me and what I'm saying. I want you to look at my eyes. I want you to look at my medical history and ask me questions. I want you to consider you have the power at this moment to be my hero or the biggest waste of a doctor's education. I understand you can't always fix the problem, but you sure can care about another human life, regardless of said human's condition. Like I said, if I was perfect, I wouldn't be here, but I can promise you this, I'm worth your time.
