Fat From The Future
A young fat woman from 2053 visits an urgent care clinic in 2026. What could go wrong?
Hot. The sun was so bright it was attacking her senses. Hazel had closed her eyes for a moment while sitting in her car in the clinic parking lot. I need to get going, she thought, but I don’t want to. Her left ankle was throbbing. She’d stepped on a root when hiking yesterday and rolled it. Now that she’d driven to urgent care, walking inside was the next step. The building seemed huge, and it had an improbable number of windows. But she was here, so she might as well go in.
Limping through the front door, she saw an elevator bank and pushed the up button. A small sign adorned the wall next to the button, printed, which was unusual. It said “Choose To Be Active! The stairs are to your left” and featured a little cartoon character whose tiny head was totally out of proportion to it’s balloon-shaped body. Hazel stared at the sign for a moment, trying to understand it’s intent. A man with a briefcase walked out of the door marked “stairs” and shook his head when he saw her. Then the elevator arrived. People exiting it looked at Hazel like she had stains on her shirt, but there weren’t any. Freaky day Hazel thought, and then ouch as she stepped forward, her left ankle reminding her of the purpose of the visit.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Corporate_Memphis
“And why are you here?” the front desk lady said blandly, as if Hazel was a possum that had wandered into her garden. “I hurt my ankle.” The receptionist typed some things into her computer. Why wasn’t she using voice recognition? Why is her computer so old? Questions floated around Hazel’s brain, pushed to the margins by her ankle’s insistence on it’s own importance. Faintly, she became aware of oldies music playing on a very bad speaker. Dua Lipa’s “Physical” was a pretty good soundtrack for urgent care, she thought. Nothing more physical than having to come to a doctor’s office while in pain.
“Date of birth” the front desk lady stated, looking down at her screen. “July 2, 2026” Hazel replied reflexively. More clacking of the keyboard, more looking at the screen. “Why are you here?” Gee whiz, usually they’re better than this. “My ankle. It hurts.” The office lady looked up at her, blinked and then back at the computer. “Of course” she said with the very beginnings of a smirk on the right side of her lip, some old inside joke Hazel was not privy to. “ID and insurance.” Hazel handed both over and did an unintended impression of a flamingo, trying avoid standing on her left foot. “I see we have your paperwork. Here’s your cards. Go sit down and they will call you back.” Finally. Sitting down has never sounded so good.
But when Hazel turned to look at the waiting room, all the chairs were narrow. What the… “There’s a bench in the back corner you can use. We’re an accessible facility.” Front desk lady was correct, despite her weird terminology. In the far back, next to an overgrown potted plant, was one singular wide seat. Hazel made her way carefully and painfully over to it. A quote from the old movie “Barbie” popped into her brain “Something’s weird today” and she giggled to herself for a second.
On the walls in the waiting room, more posters with little heads and poncho torsos, their garden hose arms gesturing to indicate running, medidating or lifting weights. In bright, neon type they said: “Take Charge Of Your Health Today! Ask about our new injectables!” and “A Healthier You Is One Pill Away!” Hazel couldn’t quite wrap her brain around this. Pharmaceutical advertising had been illegal since the mid 2040s, but this clinic was already in the twilight zone. Whatever, Hazel decided, ‘not my circus, not my monkeys’, as Grandma used to say.
Several minutes went by, Hazel trying very hard not to think about how much her ankle hurt. The potted plant was touching her, an unavoidable outcome given it’s proximity. She felt hot, but wasn’t sure why. “Come here please” said a voice. The front desk lady had more questions after all. Hazel carefully got back on her feet and moved towards the desk. “We don’t have a current medication list. I’ll need you to fill that out before you go in.” Medication list? “I’m not on any medications,” Hazel replied. Front desk lady glared at her with a full on frown. “That’s not possible.” What the hell is wrong with this place? Hazel paused. “I took acetaminophen before I came in.” A normal enough statement, but the response was unhinged: “You are telling me that you don’t take any medication other than over the counter pain relievers? Seriously?” Why was this turning into a pharmaceutical inquisition? Hazel used her best customer service voice, although she was technically the customer here. “That’s correct, I do not take any prescription medications at this time.” Another glare. “Fine. Ok. Sit Down.” Hazel rolled her eyes and travelled back over to the bench and her new very close friend, the potted plant.
Not two seconds passed before somoene was talking again, but not from the desk. A different woman had come out from the clinic area and was yelling her name repeatedly. “I’m here!” Hazel said, and got up as quickly as possible. The medical assistant waited impatiently for her to get over to the door, led her inside and stopped. “Let’s get your weight” she said decisively, gesturing to an ancient-looking scale next to the door. “I’m here because my ankle hurts” Hazel said, getting more tired by the minute of having to explain her ailment repeatedly. “Use the handles when you step up on the scale” the woman replied. Why is she so insistent? “I haven’t been weighed at the doctor since I was a kid. Why now?”
The medical assistant raised her eyebrows in a manner that communicated both suspicion and frustration. “Just get on the scale. It’s required. I don’t care what your other doctors do.” Sensing that this was not a fight she could win, Hazel stepped on the scale, waited for it to read out, and stepped back off, all with a lot of pain. The medical assistant wrote down the number on a piece of paper and pointed Hazel into a clinic room. Paper! Who does anything on paper? She placed the paper in front of a computer and announced her intention to take vital signs before the doctor came in.
Hazel sat down on the only chair in the room, which was way too narrow. The arms of the chair pinched her hips, but that didn’t hurt nearly a bad as her ankle did. The room was filled with old furnishings; framed diagrams of the human body, cupboards with fake wood coverings and fluorescent lighting. It was like the office in “KPop Demon Hunters” where HUNTR/X looks for a cure to Rumi’s voice problems. Wow, I’m dating myself there, Hazel thought.
Her body temperature kept rising, although the room didn’t have a visible heat source. A velcro fabric tube was wrapped around her upper arm. When the woman pressed a bulb connected to the tube, it filled with air, the velcro tore and the tube popped off. “I don’t know if we have a cuff that will fit you” she said, visibly displeased at Hazel’s arm for reasons unknowable. She reapplied the cuff to Hazel’s forearm and repeated her squeezing process, placing a stethoscope over her wrist and listening to it intently. Blood pressure! Hazel realized. When she was a little kid the doctor had a set like this, but she hadn’t seen one since. Even back then, the kit came with many sizes of cuffs. What kind of clinic doesn’t have equipment in the right size for their patients? Hazel would definitely be filing a complaint when she got out of here.
The medical assistant wrote the blood pressure numbers on the paper, stood up and walked out the door, closing it behind her. Immediately, it opened again and an impossibly tall, thin man stepped inside and sat on a rolling stool in front of her. He wore black pants, a grey button up shirt, a long white coat and neon orange athletic shoes. Black framed glasses crowned his long bony nose, with neatly trimmed eyebrows perched above them. He rolled over to an old computer and tapped a badge next to the screen. Without saying a word, he began typing. After a few moments, he turned to Hazel. “What brings you in today?”
Again? Hazel was getting very frustrated. “My ankle hurts. The left one. I think I might have sprained it when I was hiking yesterday.” The doctor looked down at Hazel’s ankle, generally at her body, and then back up to her face. “You were hiking?” He looked incredulous and concerned, as if she’d said she was base jumping. “Yes. Up at Mt Hood. I rolled it when I stepped on an exposed root on the trail. I think I sprained it. It hurts on the outside of the ankle, and down along the edge of my foot.”
“Why were you hiking?” the doctor asked. WTF kind of question is that? Hazel paused, considering that maybe this doctor had lost the plot on why she was there. She decided to answer; anything to move this along. “For fun. With my friends.” Now the doctor paused. “Ok” he said. “Was it your first time hiking?” What did it matter to him? “No, I go hiking every weekend. I’m in a hiking group with my friends.” The doctor raised an eyebrow. She suddenly realized how weird it was that this doctor was a guy. She hadn’t actually met a male doctor before. Maybe that’s why things were getting off track? She was getting anxious to finish up the visit and get some help, so she took off her shoe and lifted her foot in the air. “My ankle” she said. “That’s why I’m here.”
“Of course” said the guy doctor. He looked at her ankle, still being held aloft, poked it lightly with an index finger, and said “Well, it might be swollen.” Might be? Who has the medical degree here? She put her foot down, literally and physically. “What are you going to do about it?” Guy doctor sighed. “We could get you a brace, but I don’t think it will fit.” Hazel was getting upset, her face felt red and warm. Again, with the insinuation that her body wasn’t the right size for this clinic, when everyone knows it is a clinic’s responsibility to serve people of all sizes. “Can you check?” she said. The doctor turned to the computer and scrolled dully for a minute. “Great news” he said without a smile. “We stock a wide calf ankle boot. I’ll have my assistant bring it in.”
Finally. Hazel assumed the visit was finally over but the doctor stayed seated. “We’ll need to talk about your weight. There are new medications that can help” he said, in a more serious tone than before. “My what?” she replied. “Your body weight” he said. Did no one communicate around here? “It’s written on that piece of paper for some reason” she replied. “No,” guy doctor insisted. “I mean we need to talk about your weight. It’s a problem.” Hazel was absolutely, thoroughly bamboozled. “My weight? I am not a suitcase, and this is not an airport. How could it be a problem?” What is he on about? “Your body is…too big”, said the guy doctor, holding his hands out like he was measuring her midsection. Hazel still couldn’t quite grasp his point. “No, this is the size it’s supposed to be” she assured him.
Now the doctor looked confused. He shook his head. “Your BMI…” he started to say. Hazel laughed without thinking. “No one uses that anymore. Where did you go to school, the little house on the prairie?” Then she laughed again because that was a good one; but doctor didn’t seem to be impressed by her humor. “I don’t know what you mean. Everyone uses it. Insurance, the medical association, the CDC…”
“No, they do not” Hazel said. “They stopped about twenty years ago. Because the research showed it was useless.” And because it was racist and sexist she thought, but decided to keep it to herself because this guy was clearly a lot older than he looked. She only know BMI existed because she minored in body justice during undergrad. They hadn’t taught it in medical school since she was in sixth grade. It was bunk, like leeches and prescribing cocaine for headaches. Which is exactly what this whole interaction was starting to give her (a headache, not cocaine). She was also sweating, getting worked up about the way she was treated.
The doctor looked decidedly ruffled. “If you’re not willing to address your obesity, I can’t do anything to help you.” Hazel gasped involuntarily. This man had used a decades-old slur during an office visit. Complaints would definitely be filed. Guy doctor crossed his arms and sat back on his stool. “As I said, we have new medications, and your insurance will likely cover them because of your weight. But until you’re open to changing that, you’ll just keep hurting your ankle ‘hiking,’ honey.” His air quotes around the word hiking were the icing on the cake.
Hazel finally started to realize what was happening. “You won’t help me with my ankle because I’m fat?” She asked, her eyes widening. “I can’t help you because you’re in denial about your body and your health.” What a load of shit. “My body is fine, I just told you. I climbed a mountain yesterday. I came here because my ankle is sprained and the only thing you’ve done is show me that you’re an idiot.” Hazel stood up to leave, albeit slowly because of that damn ankle. “No,” the doctor said, standing as well. “You’re going to a facility.” He pressed a button on his lanyard, the door opened and two angry-looking security guards entered the room and grabbed Hazel’s arms. “We’re only concerned about your health” the doctor said. “Just think how good you’ll feel when you’re finally thin.” Hazel writhed in pain as the guards gripped her arms, pulling her out the door. “I AM HEALTHY, YOU ASSHOLE!” she screamed. “THE ONLY PROBLEM WITH MY BODY IS THAT YOU THINK THERE’S SOMETHING WRONG WITH IT!!!”
No matter how Hazel pulled, she couldn’t get free, her ankle wasn’t helping and the headache was getting worse by the second. “I’ll sue you! I’ll see you in jail for this!” The doctor took off his glasses; it was his turn to laugh. “You’re the one who’s getting locked up, darling. Enjoy the injections and kale muffins. They let you go home after month if you’re making progress. But for you, I think, it will be much longer.” His eyes turned red as he smirked, and heat poured out of them at Hazel, who began sweating and felt dizzy. “Lots of attitude on this one, boys” he nodded to the guards, who laughed as well. Beyond the doctor, she saw a calendar on the wall that wasn’t there earlier. June 27th, 2026. How could that be right? She wasn’t born yet. “Take her away!” The guards tugged on her arms, but their hands slipped off, she was slick with perspiration and her blood felt like it was boiling. Hazel let out a massive, desperate scream and fainted on the clinic floor.
WHOOSH. She sat up in her bed, sweat on her arms, legs, boobs, face. The power had gone out and summer’s 105 degree overnight heat pressed in through the edges of the apartment windows. Her left leg was caught in the sheets, and her ankle was tingling. She freed her foot and wiggled her toes. Nothing wrong there. Hazel began breathing slower to calm her emotions and connect with her body.
It was a bad dream. The heat is affecting me. I’m ok. Just breathe.
The generator gently clicked, and her fan began to spin. Suddenly she was overwhelmed with a sense of relief. This was her apartment, her home. Her own life. She existed now, in 2053, when fat people were considered normal and their bodily autonomy was respected. She’d never thought about it before much, but in that moment she was grateful to all the fat activists she learned about in college. AWSIM, NAFAA, Health At Every Size; the people who worked hard to earn freedom for all bodies. They must have experienced some of the things I did in my dream, she thought. How terrifying and dehumanizing.
Hazel couldn’t imagine if that was her life. She thought back to what she’d learned about the chaos of the 2020s and 2030s. The stories she heard in her fat history courses about activitists organizing and educating people about body size and health. They spoke, researched, wrote and marched to advance freedom for fat bodies and all bodies. Thank you, Hazel thought quietly.
Thank you for creating this world I get live to in. For putting up with doctors that treated you poorly and systems that insisted you were wrong for existing. Thank you for never giving up. I’m so lucky to inherit the world you created.
The midnight heat abated as the fan continued to spin, and Hazel rested back into her bed with a sigh. Tomorrow was the summer solstice, the beginning of Body Diversity Month, and she was going to the beach with friends. It was all going to be ok.
Thank you to AWSIM, Chrissy King, Ragen Chastain, Virgie Tovar and many, many others for creating the future that Hazel will live in.
Thank you to Monica A Leyva for inspiring me to write fiction alongside nonfiction.
And thank you to you, my readers, for making it all the way through this story.
Wow. really good
whoa. this really hit home