I am not a number

Except I am when it comes to the British National Health Service. I don’t just mean the 7 digit number that you get assigned for your records but I mean my BMI.

My BMI is what makes everything change in the eyes of a medic. It doesn’t matter what other information they have been given, once they have my BMI in front of them, everything else disappears (and ahh the knowledge that I had had depression but that’s another issue).

For those of you that don’t know what BMI is then, yet again you weren’t listening in your Science lessons at school. Tut-tut. BMI stands for Body Mass Index which is a diagnostic tool used to work out whether someone falls into a healthy range based on their mass and height ratio. For those of you who are now desperate to work this out you take your mass (kg) and divide it by your height (m) squared. From this you get a number. If you are ‘normal’ your BMI will be between 18.5 and 25. Below this number and you are underweight. 25 to 30 and you are overweight. 30 to 35 and you are obese. 35 to 40 and you are morbidly obese. I am morbidly obese. Aha! You are not surprised, for here I sit at a computer wittering away rather than running around in the fresh air. I must sit here devouring food constantly to allow myself to stay at this ridiculously high number! My blood type must be ragu! I must have a blood pressure worked out using powers to the ten. I must have my own natural satellites.

Alas this is not the case. I’m big (well as I am currently what feels like twenty months pregnant, I’m exceedingly big in the uterine area) but not as big as my BMI implies me to be. I am treated fairly normally until the BMI is worked out then usually the medical person dealing with me falls over themselves to tell me how I am going to die at any moment and I shouldn’t just live off crisps and should eat vegetables now and again. But I’m not actually particularly unhealthy or unfit. Prior to pregnancy I was more on the feeling rather fit and could do whatever I wanted to on the physical side of things. Once I became pregnant I became a candidate for a high risk pregnancy because of my BMI. I would develop high blood pressure, gestational diabetes, my baby would be either micro or macro in the size stakes. During labour my baby will get stuck and we will both die. However I do not have high blood pressure, I have not developed gestational diabetes and I doubt my baby will get stuck. We may still die but I feel not for the reasons that my BMI is high.

Why may my baby get stuck you may ask? Well apparently if you have a high BMI, you have a narrower than normal pelvic region. That’s why men always date fat birds – they have considerable narrower chuffs than skinny women. Except they don’t and they don’t but I yet again digress. The reason my baby is considerable less likely to get stuck is because I am hypermobile – I bend rather more than the average person and with that my pelvis separates a bit more than the average person. I say person, I mean women. Obviously weren’t listening in Science again were you? Men have a fixed pelvis, women don’t.

BMI is a quick and easy and most importantly cheap tool to use. Although it doesn’t take into account how much muscle mass you have and how broad you are. Many rugby and American football players count as being morbidly obese yet this would seem to be far from the truth. Other things need to be taken into account.

I had surgery a number of years ago and beforehand had to attend a session where they tested my general fitness to be put under general anaesthetic. Various tests were carried out and it was decided that I counted as a fit and healthy person although my BMI stated I was morbidly obese. It was agreed I could have day surgery which meant arriving at the hospital, having the surgery and going home again in the afternoon. On the day of the scheduled surgery I arrived and the medic, that registered my arrival, took one look at my BMI and said there was no way I could possibly have day surgery as I would not recover quickly enough and would have to stay in overnight after the surgery – totally dismissing the rest of the data present. I was crushed as I had a rather intense fear of being in hospital and had agreed to the life changing surgery on the basis that I would be home in time for tea (aha – fat bird obsessed with food).

I had the surgery and came round much quicker than they had expected – mainly because my body was fit and healthy and recovered from the GA rather speedily. I actually got to go home even sooner than I had expected.

So during my pregnancy I have had to face prejudice time and time again based on my BMI. Except from one midwife. Her comment was that my BMI was not that high, she informed me that there were a number of women on the books that had BMI of over 50 and were counted as super-obese. Hang on a second! How come it goes – overweight, obese, morbidly obese, super obese! That just makes it sound cool. I want to be super-obese. I could have a cape and everything. Right where are those crisps…

A scientist at heart

What defines a scientist? To me it has always been the questions. If you question what is going on and want to find out that makes you a scientist.

Questioning why things happen has almost defined me from a very early age. Yes all children ask why, but most eventually stop. I didn’t. I would ask why and then why about that until whoever was being patient enough to answer the first few questions would just walk away. I soon realised that the only way to assuage my curiosity was to carry out a series of experiments to determine the answers.

I can never quite clearly remember which experiment came first. The one that stands out most clearly and vividly is the car experiment. I had received a state of the art (to me) toy car that could cover any terrain. On the television advert it could be seen tackling plastic mountains and muddy puddles. It was apparently unstoppable. Well the cynic in me developed early. I would see whether this truly was unstoppable. I devised a series of tests. Toy cars, lego, cushions, pencils were strewn in its path, it clambered over them, cutlery, plates, soft toys, household tools, none would stop it in its inimitable path. It reached the wall, kept going, turned itself over and went back again. I had to devise a more cunning test. The cat was often my lab partner, although very rarely willing, on this occasion did allow the car to climb over her rumbling belly.

There could only be one final test left. The human test. Limbs were easily conquered so now it was the turn of the head. I laid down in the path of the approaching vehicle. It mounted my nose and eyebrows and went on towards the hair and it kept on going. It had succeeded! Alas there was one drawback. My hair had been so impressed by its endeavour that it had decided to follow it by wrapping itself around the wheels. The wheels kept turning, my hair hugged them in further celebration until they reached a point at which they could no longer wrap themselves further. The wheels kept turning. I then responded as many scientist before me had done. Achimedes had screamed Eureka and run down the road. I screamed something unintelligible and ran round the room in circles. The wheels kept turning. The burning sensation in my head was causing me to see red in front of my vision. The wheels kept turning. My father and brother entered the room and watched me run in a circle screaming as the wheels kept turning. My father decisively pinned me to the ground and switched off the car. The wheels at last stopped turning.

However my fine blond hair now resembled felt woven around the wheels. My father requested my brother to keep me pinned to the floor as he went and retrieved a knife. I’m still not entirely sure what I thought he was going to do but still continued to scream as he carefully cut the car away from my head. The screaming stopped although the burning pain still remained the red was diminishing from my vision.

I eyed the car. It truly could conquer anything. What a truly magnificent vehicle. It never quite worked as well with the hair around the axels but it remained my favourite possession for many a year after.