She took my blood pressure, sitting and standing, which was fine. Then a few vials of blood, and thankfully no nurse grabbed my shoulders this time.
Then she said she had to weigh me.
Ambushed. I listed a thousand reasons why she couldn't, why there'd be no point to weigh me.
"I don't feel comfortable with someone else weighing me."
"I didn't know I had to be weighed today."
"I've already had breakfast."
"I'm wearing heavier clothes."
Then she said those three little words. That she has a 'duty of care' to watch my weight while the dietician's away. My jaw clenches. I stop rattling off excuses. She says that she won't tell me what it is, and I can leave straight after if I want. I'm left with nothing to say. I fly out of my chair, swing open the door, and march out to the scales, followed by the GP.
I stood on the scales, backwards of course, just long enough for the GP to read them and say 'okay'. Then I continued out through the waiting room in tears, as is scarily usual. Mum stayed and kept talking to her while I sat in the car, knees pulled up, smoking yet another cigarette that I probably shouldn't be.
She said she didn't push hospital yesterday because my blood pressure was fine, no postural drop or anything, but that we'd have to call the next day for my blood test results. They were "okay, but borderline" as she succinctly put it over the phone this morning. So I've avoided hospital, until our next appointment in week at least. She told mum not to hesitate in calling an ambulance if she has "any concerns about my weakness", though I think we'll be avoiding that.
And then there was panic, combined with a sudden urge to bury my head in the sand.
I know I need to get my butt into gear with maintaining/stopping losing weight, but at the moment everything's too much. They're actually watching my weight though, I don't know if I can afford to lose any more.
That's all from me for now. With any luck my next post will have pictures of my coat, as I'm still slugging away hemming it at the moment.