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The sad folly of the food diary

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There is a new tyrant in my life. His name is Adam and he is my personal trainer. He’s a whipcord-straight lycra-clad sturmbannfuhrer. Strutting about and barking orders at me at random, he appears to be wearing an invisible Sergeant-Major’s uniform. He makes my life a total misery.

Twice a week we meet for my ritual humiliation (for which I pay thirty quid an hour). During this time, he makes me squat and crouch in inelegant positions, sometimes carrying a heavy rubber tube on the back of my neck.

He tells me this will improve the strength in my thighs, but to be honest I suspect that he is subjecting a ‘rayther stout gennelman of eight-and-forty’ (as Dickens might describe me) to some embarrassing procedures that involve me inelegantly sticking my arse out, for the edification and entertainment of the excessively-toned lycra-clad gym-bunnies in the establishment.

‘Tuck those buttocks in!’ he bellows at me. This puzzles me. How am I supposed to do that, exactly? Does he think that I have retractable ones?

I don’t agree with much of what he says. Why am I supposed to drink four litres of bottled water every day? My cardiologist seems to think it’s important that I take a diuretic, so who’s right? I don’t question Adam however, because I can imagine what he would say, which would be ‘Drop and give me fifty!’ And that would be just the start of it.

I’m slightly sorry that he hasn’t asked me for a note from my GP (which is still me; I know, I know) saying it is ‘safe’ for me to do cripplingly arduous exercise. I would have handed him a scribbled note saying ‘I’ll take the risk, signed, Me.’ But he doesn’t appear to be worried that I’ll drop dead, even though it often feels like I might.

Adam has invaded other aspects of my life. I have to give him a food diary, and this is where it gets relevant for GPs. Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle applies mainly to quantum physics, but there is another version known as the Observer Principle that applies to all other aspects of life, and it is this; it is impossible to measure or record anything without altering it.

I find it is simply impossible to record an accurate food diary. No-one reading it would believe it, and no-one recording it would do so accurately. Let’s have a look at mine, today.

Breakfast; nothing. OK, fair enough. Lunch; couldn’t decide between a corned beef sandwich and a corned beef pasty from the shop, so bought both. Can’t write both of those down, or Adam might karate-chop me to the back of the neck, so I’ll carry the pasty over until tomorrow in case I don’t have time for lunch. Could happen, I suppose. Dinner tonight; corned beef hash.

Snacks; half a jar of Branston Pickle with a teaspoon. Can’t write that down, because it’s ridiculous, despite the fact that we’ve all done it. Second snack; cold Heinz Baked Beans drunk out of the tin in front of the telly. This is similar to drinking any liquid, except it takes a lot longer. Again, ludicrous, so I can’t write that down either. So I put ‘a dry Ryvita, spread with absolutely nowt’. Maybe Adam will believe it, and not bury me up to my neck in sand.

The point being, ladies and gentlemen, don’t bother asking any of your patients to record any sort of diary, whether it’s diet, periods, headaches, fits, or anything else. They’ll lie to you. I’m my own GP, and I even lie to myself.

Dr Phil Peverley is a GP in Sunderland

 

Readers' comments (8)

  • just when they do lie to you, don't offer them bariatric surgery as the cure for all evils. (please)

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  • Perhaps some cookery lessons for quick and easy healthy recipes would be a better use of that money!

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  • I have never been able to understand why anyone felt the need for a personal trainer, but, having looked at your food diary, I can see why you might. I can, however, think of better ways to spend 60 quid a week!

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  • Save the money, buy a bike.....
    More fun; less Lycra (if you want of course).
    Cheaper in the long run

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  • Brilliant. This would be hugely beneficial to your patients filmed and played on a loop in the waiting room. Thank you, I feel better than I have done for years. Laughter really is very good for you.

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  • Being pedantic, a "sturmbannfuhrer" was a major. As such the bearer of this rank was an officer not an NCO. There were various sergeants-major. The "basic" title would be sturmscharfuhrer. Lying to either of these individuals given the organization of which they were part would probably get you shot or worse.
    Remember, the only victim of your lies is you. As a diabetic I cannot afford to lie to myself.

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  • David Bush

    Perhaps we should trial 'Preach what you practice' rather than 'Practice what you preach'.
    Scenario:
    'I'm feeling a bit down, Doc, a bit fed up'
    "Have you considered getting down the pub tonight with your mates? Life never seems so bad after a few jars. You should skip dinner and settle for a couple of bags of scratchings. If you get the munchies later, a curry always does the trick for me"
    'But last time I did that I had a stinking head in the morning and the missus gave me a real hard time'
    "Don't worry about that - they all like to have a good moan. Tell her you'll get up when you can smell the bacon. A good fry-up will put you right. And if your hangover leaves you knackered you can have the afternoon with your feet up in front of the telly - there's loads of footie on this week"
    'Thanks Doc, I'm feeling a bit better already'

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  • Being very pedantic Sturmbahnfurer is an SS rank and has not been used since1945 a Bundeswehr major is just that a sergeant major is a speiss ,My suggested cure ie a few days training with a fallschirm batallion
    exercise hard ,good company ,good beer and a diet of rye bread bratwurst and cheese .

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