Obeast in the Psych Ward Quick background: I take lithium and a few other medications to treat my depression. The problem with the lithium is that it can slowly build up in your system over time and become toxic. I wasn't feeling well last night, so hubby took me to the ER. They did bloodwork and as I suspected, my lithium level was too high. So now I'm hooked up to an IV to help flush it out. And since it was a psychiatric med, I'm stuck in the psychiatric ward. There's fuck-all to do around here, and the other patients creep the fuck outta me. I decided to attend one of the group counseling classes they hold, and that's when I saw it: a former female, probably weighing in at 300 pounds minimum. I shit you not, it had arms bigger than my thighs, and has innies for elbows. It was waddling along very slowly with the use of a walker. It was out of breath from going between the door to its chair maybe 2m (~6ft) away. The group leader had asked a question about coffee, and asked if the obeast liked Starbucks. The obeast replied, "I love their frappuchinos, but I'm not allowed to drink them anymore because of the diabetes." The obeast, who is holding a Tim Hortons cup, goes on to say that she likes the Tim Hortons iced cappuccinos (a large is 670 cal, made with cream, and contains a whopping 79g of sugar. I know this isn't /v/shittyfoodhate but goddamn) The group leader asks what hammy had in her cup, and she replied, "it's [a large] half coffee half hot chocolate. It's better for my diabetes." So I'm assuming the drink is exactly 50% black coffee (negligible calories) and 50% hot chocolate (210 calories and 33.5g of sugar!) Holy fuck, how is that "better"? It's like cutting off your foot and saying it's better than chopping off the whole leg (which I am sure Lord Beetus will come for soon enough.) At one point, we were asked to go around the room and list our hobbies or interests. The obeast says she is going to start volunteering in December because she is moving into a retirement home. So the group leader asks her, "don't you have to be 65 to live there?" and Porky Pig replied, "no, 55, and my birthday is in December." Mind. Fucking. Blown. I thought this thing was at least in its late 60's. Instead it's the same age as both of my parents, needs a walker, has diabetes (assuming T2) and gets winded walking down the hall. It's crazy to see the difference between humans vs. a fat of the same age. Once the class was over, the group leader had welcomed us to grab a chocolate cupcake. I declined, but of course hammy took 2. And the best part? I saw the obeast wearing a hospital bracelet reading FALL RISK. I'd hate to be the nurse that would have to pick that thing up.