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Yesterday afternoon, I hit the weight loss jackpot. In fact, I am so confident this new development in my life is going to help me lose weight that I would bet money on it. No, it’s not a new fad diet or a miracle pill, it’s  . . . situational (truly, it’s every fat woman’s dream).

Yesterday, Tony had a doctor’s appointment in Carson City. He has an excess of iron in his body that is not a serious problem now, but could become serious if he doesn’t take care of it. The office is the kind of doctor’s office where the waiting room is filled with old couples. While we were sitting there, this couple in their eighties comes in. It’s sort of a big deal because the husband has a very complex, shiny, red walker with an oxygen tank attached to it. He’s bumping into chairs and tables. . . Tony asks, “Would you like to sit here?” The wife answered for him, “No, he’ll be fine, he’ll get through,” in such a way that it somehow put everyone in the room at ease. Tony thought she must have been a retired school teacher. He asked me if they reminded me of us in 30 years and I said, yes except for the oxygen mask.

Apparently they were new patients, so they had to fill out a questionnaire. The wife tries to ask the questions in a hushed tone, but the husband keeps saying, “WHAT?” “WHAT?”

Finally, the wife says loudly, “ARE YOU HAVING ANY TROUBLE BREATHING?” . . . .

“Yes,” the husband replied (he probably felt a lot like I did when my doctor asked me if I knew I was overweight).

Just then, they call Tony in for his visit with his doctor, and like all old couple wives, I follow him in. The news is not what we want to hear – his iron levels are still high. Tony has done everything the doctor has asked him to do: gave up drinking orange juice (something he has done every morning of his life since I’ve known him), increased his coffee intake, started taking Prilosec, gave up vitamins with iron, stopped cooking with the 100 year old iron pan, etc., etc., etc.  . . . . he has done everything except lose weight.

“You are obese!” the doctor says to Tony.

I almost choke (I think I may have snorted). Tony is even more shocked than me.

Your choices are losing weight or having a liver biopsy (a liver biopsy almost killed him in 2002, so it’s not our first choice).

“You need to lose 20 pounds in the next three months.”

“You need to go on the Atkins Diet.”

Period.

The first thing Tony said when we got into the car was, “So, what, am I the kind of guy that needs to go on The Biggest Loser?”

We went to the grocery store and bought steaks and vegies and then we headed for the bookstore to look for an Atkins Diet book.

As we entered the Carson City Borders Books, a place I have been to twice in my life, Tony looked around and asked, “What do you think it would be under? Cooking? Lifestyles?”

“Follow me,” I replied with the confidence of an overweight woman who knows exactly where any book on weight loss is within a 500 mile radius.

After we picked out two versions (the long version for him, and the “two week jump start” version for me), he marveled that there was an entire shelf of South Beach Diet books. “We have all of those,” I reassured him. He laughed.

At every traffic light on the way home, Peter pointed out the “obese” men. “He’s obese . . . he’s obese . . . . Did you know there is an obesity crisis in America?” he questions. I smile and nod.

So . . .  I’m going to lose weight because I have the best weight loss buddy ever; my “obese” husband!

This is his “before” picture – taken  two weeks ago (when he was really heavy).