May (in the market for a new GP)

On Friday I did one of those trips to the doctor where you have a list of minor things, like new prescriptions etc, because you haven't been in so long. Anyway, after my two daughters had their flu vaccinations (and somehow I managed to get one too - although that quite definitely wasn't on the list!), they shuffled off to dull the pain with ten dollars worth of Gloria Jeans Tim Tam iced chocolate with whipped cream. I remained behind to finish the appointment off by requesting the odd scripts etc. Anyway, just as I was humming happily (stoically ignoring the throbbing in my arm), the doctor glanced across from her computer, gave me a brisk once-over and announced, rather curtly, that I had to lose weight.
Well, I have to tell you, I was a trifle stunned. So stunned in fact that I stopped mid-hum and stared at her with my mouth open, most probably just giving her the impression that I was hungry. Which may also explain why she then spent several minutes demonstrating correct meal portions. As a final humiliation, she asked me my weight twice and then, with a rather disbelieving look on her face, ushered me over to the scales to check for herself (I was right). After checking my height as well, she did some calculations on her computer and announced I should be around 65 kilos.
Now this is patently ridiculous. I come from a long line of Austrian shape-changers who start off quite slim but sometime after their fortieth birthdays, metamorphis into short, plump women. It's tradition. I have a short, plump mother, three short, plump aunts, and several short, plump sisters. 65 kilos just ain't going to happen, not without being accompanied by some type of terminal illness and I think that's a tad extreme.
I tried to explain this to the doctor but she (who wasn't exactly Twiggy herself) just started going through the meal portion routine again. Perhaps she thought I was slow as well as fat. And since when did doctors get so intrusive? I mean, it's not like I look like a contestant for The Biggest Loser or anything. I'm a size 14 female who's pushing fifty. Give me a damn break. Aren't we supposed to have a little padding around the middle at this age?
So, after a visit for two prescriptions, neither of which had anything to do with (a) the flu, or (b) weight, I left with a very sore arm and severe depression (also not covered by the scripts). Now the way I see it I have several choices. I can:
(1) starve myself down to 65 kilos,
(2) somehow grow a few inches so that the extra weight is more evenly distributed, or
(3) change doctors.
After giving it some thought, I'm going with option number three.

May (Happy Mother's Day!)

Happy mother's day to all! I hope every mother out there had a lovely day, even if it included the dreaded breakfast in bed - which I always think is more trial than treat. In fact my unwillingness to be subjected to this particular ritual has been a standing argument in my house for years. I simply abhore having to (a) remain in bed until offspring get up, (b) remain in bed while offspring attempt to make an elaborate breakfast (while I listen to the hissed bickering and the occasional 'um-ah, now you're going to get it'), and (c) remain in bed while balancing an overloaded tray of tepid, partially cooked food and then eat the same while my every mastication is scrutinised by three pairs of narrowed eyes.
At least this morning it wasn't an issue as I rose long before they did and headed into town - with thousands of others - for the Mother's Day Classic, which is a 4 or 8km run/walk for breast cancer. Buoyed by our recent training, Cathri, Donna and I elected to do the 8km and did it pretty easily. Amazingly enough I didn't even need to stop at one of the porta-loos along the way! A new record. The only hiccup was at about the 5km mark when I noticed my runners were being splashed with water and it took me another fifteen minutes to work out that no, it wasn't just some oddly localised precipitation, but I'd actually managed to put my drink bottle back into my pouch upside down - and open. So I finished the walk carrying a wet pouch, an empty drink bottle, a dripping mobile phone, a packet of soggy tissues, and a handful of slippery change that I'd carefully packed for coffee afterwards.
But that wasn't enough to dampen (dampen - get it?) the day, especially as I arrived home to enjoy a lovely relaxing afternoon followed by being banned from the kitchen while a special tea was put together by my kids. A candlelit table holding platters of rich succulent satay chicken and lightly battered honey chicken together with steaming fried rice and hot buttered rolls. Absolutely delicious - and all bought from the local Chinese shop. Just the way I like it. Happy mother's day!