May 21st came and went and sadly I was not raptured… I was, however, a little disappointed because that was going to be my greatest excuse yet for not making it to the doctor. As many of you know from a previous post “What’s Your Excuse?” I will do just about anything to avoid going to the doctor, even pray to be raptured. 🙂 But since Jesus did not come back this past weekend, I had to finally stop making excuses and I went to the doctor–if I had just waited a little longer I would have yet another reason not to go, I would have seen that the end of the world has now been rescheduled for Oct 21. Damn it.
I have to admit it was extremely difficult for me to drive myself to the doctor and I considered a multitude of reasons not to go. With all of my worries that stem from the possibility of losing my “Youterus,” I was not looking forward to that conversation with my doctor nor the pink waiting room full of happy pregnant women. I am not upset with anyone for wanting a baby, it’s just that I was just not in the mood to deal with their insidious questioning of, “Are you pregnant? How many children do you have? Did you have them natural or c-section?” and the list goes on and on. I wanted to get in and out of there and not be bothered.
I did have a small glimmer of hope that things would go better than they did in the past because I was going in to see a new doctor who would hopefully have a different view of my situation.
So here I was walking into a new building to see a new doctor while trying to be hopeful yett fully prepared for the worst when I was completely caught off guard.
Have you ever showed up to a party which you had been dreading to attend and you were sure it was going to be awful? You arrive late with that irritated look already on your face but slowly the look softens and you begin to interact with the people around you. At some point, you find that the party is actually not that bad and maybe, dare you say it is enjoyable. That was how my visit to the doctor’s office was.
I am sure you are wondering how on earth a trip to the doctor could possibly be compared to a party–well let me share the highlights.
The room was decorated. There was not a spinning disco ball or strobe lights but instead of finding the normal mauve waiting rooms that you walk into when visiting the gynecologist, I stumbled into a room with purple and brown chairs that looked more like they belonged in a salon. The lights and pictures on the walls were just as pleasing to the eye. And the women sitting in this room were not bothersome. They read their magazines and kept to themselves. The whole room caught me off guard so much that I was quickly distracted from my worries and picked up one of my many high-tech devices and texted my girlfriend BMI-Sally and told her I completely understood why she recommended that office–she loves purple.
I made it into the in crowd. Silly I know. But we have all been there when a group of girls is all together and unless you are their friend there is no way you are getting into that conversation. Well here I was sitting in the waiting room about to come up with yet another reason to leave since the girl at the desk was initially short with me when she took my paperwork. Then ten minutes into my impatient waiting I hear one of the women at the counter say “Carrie” so I looked up and headed her way thinking that I had forgotten to fill in something or I had missed a question when I said “yes.” She then smiled and said “First we love your shoes.” Now she did not even need to say another word at that point because she had already begun to break through my wall and I liked her. When my love for shoes is appreciated by others, I can’t help but like them. But still I was waiting for the error I had made to be revealed to me when she then said “I love your hair. How do you style it like that?” I actually think I gave her a look of shock and said “What.” because she asked again. I had made my hair wavy that day, it really was nothing special in my eyes but apparently between my shoes and hair I was in with the girls and there was no looking back. I then spent the remaining time in the waiting room explaining how you wave your hair using a flat-iron. Seriously, in what doctor’s office does this happen?
There was an altercation with the “big” girl. This moment came and went and it wasn’t until I was laying in bed rethinking about my visit when I realized what I had done–not my proudest moment but fitting when comparing the doctor’s office to a party. Here I was called back by the nurse and immediately taken to the scale. Prior to stepping up on the dreaded machine, I say to the nurse, “Let me take my shoes off and put my purse down, I don’t need to add twenty pounds to that number.” No big deal right? We all do that. The problem that I realized later that night was here I was weighing in at 107 pounds without my purse and shoes and I had just said that to a lady who was at least three times that size maybe even more. No wonder she just looked at me and did not say a word. I am sure she thought I was being so inconsiderate. So here I was the bitch of the party who degrades the big girl. Nice move Carrie.
Are you starting to see the similarities to a party?
I ended up on my back. Being an adult and mother, this is not how I end up in parties today–that happens once I return home with my husband. 😉 But what party, especially in our youth, did you not see people wandering off into rooms to do, well, maybe some penazzling and scrotazzling. 🙂 And here I was laid down on a table, legs up and being taken advantage of–at least it felt that way though I was not having any fun.
Lastly I went home with drugs. I walked into the party/doctor’s office clean and prescription free and left with pills and instructions including combinations and timing directives. I am a little surprised the doctor did not say, “Take this red pill and this blue pill, then wait an hour and pop the green.” I am not fond of pills and I am not sure this is going to solve anything but at least this doctor was willing to try out a few less invasive things first before we get to the dreaded options.
Looking back at the day I have began to wonder is it possible that going to the doctor is not so bad? Or was it all of the similarities to a good party that made me feel good about the experience? My husband thinks it was the purple furniture and shoe talk that got me. I think maybe just maybe, going to the doctor wasn’t so bad–at least this doctor, but my husband better not push his luck.
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