Go Ahead . . . Have That Extra Cookie
My husband, Dan, is really skinny. I promise he eats, and I promise I feed him. Sometimes, he even eats off of my plate.
For years, people kept telling him, "Wait until you get into your thirties. It will catch up with you."
We are both less than two years away from forty, and it hasn't caught up with him yet.
I'm not saying it won't. But in the mean time, it makes for interesting visits with his doctor.
"You can't stand to lose any more weight," she told him one year when he had accidentally lost a couple of pounds.
I wish I could accidentally lose weight. When I turned thirty-eight earlier this year, something weird happened to my metabolism. Now I look at a piece of cake or a cookie and instantly gain five pounds.
Dan, on the other hand, has started wearing heavy sweatshirts and tennis shoes when he steps on the scale at the doctor's office.
He eats healthy when I cook because I have to eat healthy. (Like I said—Oops. I looked at a chocolate bar. Better add five more pounds to my vitals, Doc.)
"Just because he is skinny doesn't mean that he is healthy," one of my colleagues said in an attempt to raise my self-esteem.
But he is healthy. He passes his blood work with flying colors. No blood pressure problems. No cholesterol or glucose problems.
I got my cholesterol checked for first time when I was thirty for insurance purposes, thinking I was still young and it wouldn't be a problem. It was super high. I tried to keep it down naturally with fish oil and flaxseed for a year. It didn't work, and I've been on medication ever since.
The doctor always looks at petite-mostly-vegetarian me sympathetically and says, "It's genetic in your case, Becky."
Dan eats anything, and his numbers are great. I go vegan and cut out sugar the month before my appointment, and my triglycerides are still borderline most years.
This year, Dan dressed in his heavy sweatshirt and tennis shoes. After the nurse weighed him, she asked if he knew his waist size. She needed it for his insurance form.
"I told them thirty inches, but I was going off of my pant size. And my pants pretty much fall off without a belt," Dan said.
Then he added, "Oh, and the doctor said to go ahead and eat a few extra Christmas cookies this year."
|My face when the doctor tells Dan to eat extra cookies|