Thursday, August 2, 2007
Death or Doctor?
Give me Chinese water torture, give me a post and ants, give me death but don't make me go to the doctor!
Ok perhaps I am being a bit dramatic but I must say I do not in any form or fashion like going to the doctor. Usually it takes a death impending illness or something that has been going on for month and I can't shake for me to finally give in and go to the doctor.
Yesterday I had to go to the "For Females Only" doctor and this is how my adventure went: (Warning to males: unabashed commentary about "For Females Only" doctors to follow)
First time to this doctor so nerves were through the ceiling (plus no woman enjoys going to this doctor, at least that I know!)
The day starts with the usual thoughts when "this" doctor is to be visited. Did I shower well enough? Did I put enough deodorant on this morning? Is this doctor going to be nicer than the last? Oh the dreadful anticipation of that vanilla walled, sterile smelling box!
I had to get directions because I had never been to this particular doctor's office. It was located in the small city of St. Vincent's Hospital.
I arrived and promptly got lost, so I drove around trying to find Bldg 2, but I was only finding Bldg 1 and Bldg 3! A whole building cannot be missing! So I called the office (thank heavens again for cell phones!)
The voice that answered sounded like she was oh so thrilled to be answering the telephone gave directions in the manner that sayed "here is another idiot who cannot find an entire building."
Ah ha! The building reappeared....right next to me. By this time I was flustered because my imagination is way beyond vivid and the stuff you can imagine will happen in a doctors office is endless.
I parked which is a fiasco I am actually skipping but if anyone has ever had to park at a hospital I am sure they understand. Office was found, entered with a deep breath and movement to glass window to sign in on the ever present clipboard. Only to be handed another clipboard with enough paperwork to make a small tree.
Ok let me see...name, well that is easy. Birthdate, got it. Social Security, telephone, address, shoe size, favorite foreign food, childhood imaginary friend's name....ugh!
Paperwork is done and taken up to the window. Copay is paid and then it is time to wait. I hate waiting. I inherited the lack of the patience virtue from both The Mom and The Dad. Plus this anticipatory waiting to see the "For Females Only" doctor makes this waiting ten times worse.
Oh that was my name called! Now through the door of doom and down the hall. The nurse is nice but automatically points to a door "Write your name on the cup and put it in the silver door" Ohhh groan! I abhor peeing in a cup! Whoever thought of peeing in a cup should be shot. I had known I would have to do this and it seemed like all morning I had to go to the bathroom. Of course you want to hold it because what if you get to the doctors and you don't have to go?
Why did I write my name so pretty on that cup? That is just wrong. I am a freak. Lets get this over with and be done! Ok cup in silver door, hands washed and out of there. Now what? Oh we have to weigh me? Not good. I weigh what? Hmm your scales are broken.
Now down the hall and into the dreaded box. Yes it was to standard. Vanilla walls with two florescent lights overhead. One examining table complete with paper sheet. One chair for patients, one rolling chair for doctor, old magazine, white nondescript cabinet, sink in the corner with various medical pamphlets and pictures on the wall. Ohh let us not forget the sterile aroma that assails the nostrils upon entrance!
So there I sat to wait (waiting again!) for the doctor. See leaving this Imp in a room, with an overactive imagination is a bad thing. The doctor had four heads and I had given myself some unnamed disease before reality returned as the doctor entered the room. Ohh thank heavens he is friendly! I calmed down some and then he showed me the special paper outfit you get to wear when you go to "this" doctor. He left and I changed. Ok this outfit was not made for fashion that is for sure!
Once again I am waiting and once again this is a bad thing! As I am sitting, I look across the room and half-read a brochure box sitting in the window sill. At first glance I thought it read "Read this for B*tch control that last up to 3 years"
Well that brought a double take! Upon further perusal I realized it said "Read this for Birth control that last up to 3 years" Ohh well that started the giggles. B*tch control would probably sell really well! There I was sitting in a paper outfit in a sterile vanilla box laughing about perceived b*tch control.
That is what happens when you leave an Imp alone too long. Insanity.
So the doctor comes in and the dreaded moment is upon me. It proceeds as norm and teeth are gritted to get through it. The doctor is easy going and makes light conversation to relax the whole situation. I was feeling abit of relief because it was coming to an end when something happened.
The doctor went Mhmm
Mhmm? Mhmm? What the heck does Mhmm mean? Mhmm is not a good word to hear when you are in the situation I was in at that moment!
As I lay there paralyzed in an overactive imagination's fear grip, the doctor says all done and helps me sit up, says meet in his office and the once again I was alone.
Endless scenarios play in my head as I get together then go to his office. He is not there. UGH AGAIN with the WAITING! Imagination runs wild with possibilities of things wrong, crippling diseases, defects, strange alien babies!
He comes in all cheerful and oblivious to the fact that his simple mhmm had thrown me into the black abyss of indication! How dare he smile when I was sure I had something wrong with me!
"Everything looked normal and fine."