Feeding frenzy

It all started with a trip to the vet. My friend Nancy and I hauled my two cats down to the surgery where they were thoroughly examined. I was proud of their behaviour. Nancy and the vet got into a “vetty” type conversation (her father is a vet) while I was left to ponder the devastating diagnosis. I tried to make it sink in. How could this be? Nancy and the vet were laughing and chatting as if everything was fine. How could they be so cruel and unfeeling? I had to interrupt them, “Erm, excuse me. What do you mean, obese? What about the abdominal distension?”

The vet looked at me with sadness in his eyes, “You mean the fat?”
“But . . . they hardly eat a thing. They're just fluffy. With big bones.”
“They are obese. Fat. Too heavy. You should know better as a medical student.
Cats get heart problems too.”

Then the guilt hit me. What kind of doctor am I going to make if I can't even care for my cats? He didn't charge me for the consultation (thanks to Nancy's dad), but the prescription diet didn't come cheap.

It got me thinking about how often we equate giving food with giving love. My grandma used to work in a biscuit factory and a cake shop. She loved us and loved to feed us (with chocolate mis-shapes and yesterday's cream buns). Mind you, grandmas wouldn't be the same if you went round and they served up carrot juice and salad, would they?

I was forced to rethink my own diet and lifestyle. Although I can't claim to be fluffy, I do have big bones (granny always said). I pondered my expanding waistline and decided an act of solidarity was required. If Chilli and Pepper can do it, then so can I. Very soon. Probably after my next big exams (because you know how stress causes snacking) which are . . . erm . . . next year. In the meantime, I will plan a fitness regimen. All I need is time to fit it in between meals.

Sally Morrison-Griffiths, third year medical student, University of Liverpool
Email: sallymg@cablenet.co.uk


studentBMJ 2002;10:1-44 February ISSN 0966-6494