Why I wish my doctors wouldn’t tell me my weight

“Do you know what you weigh?” the nurse asks.

“I prefer not to know the number, actually,” I tell her.

“Well, do you know about what it usually is?”

“I’d guess around 230 pounds.”

“Nope, not close.” She faces me. “Please step on the scale. Can you tell me what it is?”

“I would prefer not to know the number.”

“Oh, all right.”

Every time I go into the doctor’s office, I let the nurse practitioner know that I would prefer not to know the actual number of my weight.

Unfortunately, I’m usually told anyway.

Some people just read it aloud; more than one has muttered it under their breath as they write it down. One said, “Well, you’re up, but not by too much.”

I’ve learned to love my body and be proud of it for the things it can do. But I carry years of fat-shaming and fatphobia on my shoulders

One looked at the scale for me, then looked me up and down and declared: “There’s no way you’re 220”. She made me get off so that she could reset the scale.

“Huh, it is 220.” She shrugged and wrote it down.

If they don’t just tell me, my weight appears on the printed after-visit summary I receive following every appointment. This also has information on my vitals, notes, meds, and recommendations from my doctor, yet I usually rely on my own notes instead purely to avoid seeing that number.

I’m a former college varsity athlete, and illness, life changes, mental health, and injuries have led to slow and steady weight gain over the years. I’m still dealing with chronic illness and pain on a near-daily basis, so I’m unlikely to shed any weight anytime soon.

I’m okay with that—in theory. I’ve learned to love my body and be proud of it for the things it can do. But I carry years of fat-shaming and fatphobia on my shoulders, particularly when it comes to the hard numbers of weight and BMI: even when I was a 150-pound varsity athlete, muscled and working out nine times a week, I would still get shamed by doctors for the number that appeared on the scale. BMI just is your weight divided by your height. It’s a number that doesn’t take any other nuances of your health or body into account—like that muscle weighs more than fat.

I am very clear to nurse practitioners at every appointment: I do not wish to know the number on the scale

I work each day to take care of my body, to try and get yoga and low-impact exercise in, and to love my body the best that I can: I want to focus on my health, and I know by now that my health is not reflected in the number I see on the scale. But it’s taken me years to learn that.

So, I am very clear to nurse practitioners at every appointment: I do not wish to know the number on the scale. I figure my doctor will tell me if there’s been a concerning change, but knowing my weight’s ups and downs will only cause me unnecessary stress.

In a way, I’m lucky – when I’m inevitably told my weight anyway, it’s bad for my self-image but it won’t trigger any toxic or dangerous behaviours. That may not be the case for others.

It’s estimated that 8 million people in the US have eating disorders; in the UK, figures are over 700,000.¹ Friends of mine have struggled with obsessive weighing of themselves, or with policing their body and weight day-to-day; even hour-to-hour. Many athletes deal with disordered eating and weighing, particularly in sports where weight classes matter or where body image is tied up in the aesthetics of the sport.

How hard would it be to simply write down a patient’s weight without asking them to guess it or reading it aloud?

So, when a patient asks not to know their weight, it’s a simple request that doesn’t take a lot of work but could really make a difference to that person’s wellbeing.

How hard would it be to simply write down a patient’s weight without asking them to guess it or reading it aloud? Or to print the visit summary without their weight included on it? I know a friend whose doctor who simply takes a moment to sharpie over that number for her at the end of each appointment.

I am asking doctors and nurse practitioners everywhere to consider the potential damage of ignoring patient requests on this front against the relative ease of simply not telling them their weight. Most patients probably don’t need to know that number anyway.

One day, I hope that I can ask my doctor not to tell me my weight—and instead of them just telling me, I’ll be listened to and respected.
 
 
Featured image is an illustration of an old-fashioned, analogue weight scale. The numbers on its scale have been replaced with question marks
 
 
Page last updated August 2023