Why I Won’t Tell my Little Sister That I Get Fat Shamed by my Doctor
Tags: Body Image, Health, Body Positive, Family

Why I Won’t Tell my Little Sister That I Get Fat Shamed by my Doctor Claudiablythe Dec 20, 2019·6 min read

Photo by Hush Naidoo on Unsplash

Yesterday I went to the gynecologist for the first time in my almost twenty years of life, because my family doctor wanted me to get checked for PCOS to see if he can find an explanation as to why my hair is falling out and why I have hair between my breasts. I had to pick my ten year-old sister up from school and I took her to the appointment with me, thinking that she could just sit in the waiting room and wait for me. I got called into the office after an hour of waiting, my sister became increasingly impatient and frustrated over the fact that we had to sit there and watch some Netflix Original Christmas movie. I left her there, to watch the movie and play Minecraft, then I went to sit on the bed and I waited another fifteen minutes for the doctor to come in.

The doctor looked me over once and sighed as he sat down, then he looked at me and he said: “Why are you here?” At first, I thought that was something he just asked everyone, and I assumed that the sigh was because he was almost at the end of a long day. I explained to him that my family doctor wanted me to come and get checked for PCOS because my blood work showed something unusual, and the things like chest hair and the inability to lose weight were warning signs to him (although losing weight is not the main thing I am concerned about, I just want to have an answer as to why I feel so sick all the time). The gynecologist asked me my weight and height, then told me that my BMI was high. I told him that I knew that, it’s obvious when you look at me, then I explained to him that in my university health class this year we learned that the Body Mass Index chart is outdated and that there are different ways to see if a patient is healthy — at this point, he started glaring at me for being smart with him.

The man continued to stare at me, the glare getting worse when I told him that I go to the gym three to four times a week for an hour or hour and a half each time but I was still having trouble with my weight; I could tell that he didn’t believe me. He then explained to me that PCOS is not something that can be tested, which I understand, and that my symptoms are simply because I’m fat. Upon telling him that I was working on my weight, he asked me: “What did you eat for lunch today?” Followed by: “I bet it was something fatty.” At that point, I was blinking back tears of frustration and I had to bite my tongue before I said something that I would regret. I replied, simply: “A protein shake, with dairy free milk, bananas, and vegan protein,” which really shut him up. At the end of the appointment, he gave me “homework.” My homework is:

Try to lose at least 100 pounds by the next time he sees me.

After he “gave me homework,” I grabbed my things and walked out. My sister was still in the waiting room, looking out the window, and I hissed that it was time to go. I vaguely remember hearing the receptionist ask if I needed to book another appointment, but I felt that if I said anything, I would give away the fact that I was going to cry. I probably seemed like a bitch, but I was too upset to care at that point.

My sister and I quickly left, then we were sitting in the car and I was still blinking back thick tears while I searched for a song. She asked me what was wrong, I didn’t answer her. Instead, I turned on “Get Low” by Lil Jon, The East Side Boyz, and Ying Yang Twins, because I know that screaming the lyrics always makes her laugh. I tried to keep her happy, rather than letting her see that I was crying. Thankfully, I didn’t wear mascara yesterday and I could rub my eyes to get rid of the tears while she was looking out the window, probably whispering the swear words in the song to herself.

When she noticed that I wasn’t singing with her, she asked: “What did the doctor say?” and all I could do was shake my head — she didn’t need to know what had happened in that room. I continued the drive home without another word, turning my head whenever she looked at me so she wouldn’t have to see all of the crying. By the time we got back home, I told my mom what had happened after my sister was hidden away in her room — because I didn’t want her hearing all of the terrible things he had said about me and what he had written down on his paper about me.

I always try to tell my sister that her weight isn’t what defines her, and that she’s perfect just the way she is. I also tell her that going to the gym isn’t for me to lose weight, it’s to work on my depression without being on medication and for me to feel better about myself. I always tell her that she’s perfect the way she is, to which she replies in a groan with: “I know, Claudia. You tell me all the time.”

Photo by Jennifer Burk on Unsplash

I didn’t want to tell her because I know she sees herself following in my footsteps, she told me one afternoon that she wants to be like me when she gets older. I don’t want her to have to think that being like me means getting called fat and a “hypochondriac” by every doctor you see.

I want her to know that you can still be overweight and lead an active life. I want her to know that her body does not define who she is, what her personality is like, and how she is perceived by other people. I want her to continue to be spunky and excited about things. She’s comfortable wearing crop tops and shorts, and I don’t want to be the person that tells her other people get uncomfortable at the sight of fat people being themselves.

I don’t want her to get used to fat shaming from a young age, like I did. I don’t want her to feel bad about taking up too much space — I’m still working on learning that. She’s teaching me how to be unapologetically myself, and how to be comfortable in my own skin without worrying about what other people think. I will not tell my little sister that I was fat shamed by my doctor because she will find a way to get back to that office to prove him wrong, and I don’t think he’s ready to fight with a too-smart-for-her-age, sassy ten year-old girl.

Yesterday, I got angry at the medical industry and how poorly our doctors are doing when it comes to treating all patients equally, despite their size. Today, my sister told me that she heard me tell our mom that the doctor called me fat and that she’s always going to think that I’m beautiful, because the opinion of some doctor that I’m only going to see once in my life doesn’t count.