Dear Lt. Jones

Dear Lt. Jones,

You walked into your chop shop of a medical clinic, with your uniform looking like you’d slept in it and unshaven, to find a fat housewife with two kids, one wearing a portable EEG on his head. She had a brace on her arm, and hey- a little overweight. Okay, a lot overweight. You made assumptions. And while you were being politic in your phrasing, you called my kids obstacles. Impediments to me getting excercise. Let me tell you about those obstacles you nodded at.

I have three children. The oldest is 13. He has autism and ADHD. He is also behind on the growth charts. We held him back a year due to his difficulties, but he’s too smart for his own good.

The oldest twin has a portable EEG once cause we are trying to catch him having a seizure. He also has autism, but he can think at logic levels that would astound you.

The youngest twin has already been diagnosed with seizures, and you guessed it, autism. He’s the drama queen and prankster. He also had heart surgery at 33 weeks, 2 weeks after he was born. I’ve watched him quit breathing and turn blue time and time again.

My husband serves in the Navy and has done so for the last 16 years. He periodically travels for his job, and until this post, he had been absent 65% of our marriage.

Yes, I see how you, maybe a year out of residency might think they are obstacles. But for me, I have sacrificed my career, my needs for them. So when I actually make an appointment, it’s because regardless of those obstacles, I hurt and made the time to come in.

I dare you to carry my load and maintain a perfect body. I dare you to see what’s in front of you. You can’t even look presentable in uniform, how would you deal with the blows I’ve been dealt?

I know I’m fat, or if you want to call it medically, obese. I’ve gained and lost with the ups and downs. I’m just like anyone else with obstacles. Either help or don’t. You just told me I can’t knit for the next 6-8 weeks.

You are an obstacle, not my kids. You are an impediment. You have no clue. I’d tell you to go to hell, but I don’t want company.

Sincerely,

The Fat House Wife

My hubby wouldn’t let me email the bastard.

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