Angela Woodford wrote:Mr Mid A
No, I was not obsessive. Rather a shame really - if I'd been obsessed I would have expressed my feelings, obtained good advice and possibly would not have got into such a state. But there was nobody to talk to at Hertford. It was only in the holidays that I was unable to find anything to wear. Eating the CH food caused me to be very overweight. Late 60's early 70's there was very little fashion over size 14. Occasionally a 16.
At one stage (UV I think) I and several others were summoned to the Infirmary, where we were told that we should lose some weight. I stood before the consultation desk of Dr Jory. "A bit slow are we?" he asked. "Not very good at Maths?" I admitted that this was so. Without any further investigation he prescribed thyroxin, without any investigations, without any dietetic advice. Of course it made no difference.
Hi Munch
I fully agree that we didn't talk to each other about our concerns: very sad that we all seem to have thought that we were alone in our misery.
As for Dr Jory - I'm starting to hyperventilate at the thought of him prescribing Thyroxine without first checking your intrinsic levels. Aaarrgghh. And as for his description of you being 'a bit slow' - bl**dy hell, we would all now be termed 'gifted and talented' (or is that a uniquely Australian term?). No-one who was 'a bit slow' would have made it through the admissions process. I suspect that this happened when you were in the sixth form, as I would certainly have been one of those summoned, and don't remember being so. Hey, you think you had it tough - I got the trifecta: fat, too tall and myopic. Not to mention supposedly flat feet. Never quite understood that one, as my arches are so high that I can't wear clogs without cutting off circulation to my toes. And, no, this is not as a result of 'feet' classes in the gym: my arches were already abnormally high.
I'm having a flashback here - remembering you yelling 'Vite, vite, I'm late for feet', or words to that effect. Do you remember having to pick up bean bags with our toes and other such challenging exercises? Actually, it wasn't so hard for me as I have abnormally long toes too
Returning to the topic of medical abuse: who remembers us being guniea pigs for some drug company who were trialling a potential anti-cold medication? Pot was so dumb that she left the huge jars of pills in the Day Room for us to dose ourselves. One treatment (the active, I suspect) was quite yummy, tasting of ascorbic acid, and I don't think that I was the only one to take more than the prescribed dose, or to take pills from the jar that I was not assigned to.
And so to CH food. I still have nightmares at the thought of Friday lunches. I do not like oily fish, and the alternate fish mornay and fish in parsley sauce both made me gag and vomit. Members of the Sixth Form would stand over me as I sobbed and tried to eat the stuff without throwing up all over the floor, as I knew that I would be punished and made to clean it up myself. I would spit the stuff into my hanky (thank goodness for men sized school hankies) and then deposit it down the loo on escape. Whoever was overseeing the torture must have seen what I was doing, so why didn't they just let me put it into the scrap bin?
Enough already - I need to take some deep breaths and sniff some lavender oil or something.