I started out the day in a fantastic mood. I’m wearing my red heels, and they make me insanely happy.
Then I drove to the Lady Doctor so she could take a gander at the Hey Nanny Nanny and give me some refills on the NOMOREDAMNBABIESPLEASE pills. The entire trip was annoying, from the stupid bitch holding up traffic while putting on eyeliner and brushing her hair to the 1 hour backlog going on with the doctor’s appointments. It was almost a waste of a red shoe day, really.
When I finally made it past the waiting room, we moved directly into the cattle call weight and height measurements. Yay. Only not. Am I the only one who starts shedding shoes, purses, and belts like I’m trying to make weight for a high school wrestling tournament? I’m like, “This sweater is bulky. May I get down to my bra and panties in the hallway here for a more accurate depiction?” And by accurate depiction, I mean grasping at straws. Big fat, chocolate lovin’ straws.
Why do they have to announce your weight? I see it. You see it. Shut your goddamn mouth, Princess, before I take it upon myself to just eat you! <------ not in a sexual way, but in a “get in my belly kind of way.” By the way, I like my nurses fat. Fat nurses don’t auction out your weight, says the woman who hides Halloween candy under her desk. Moo.
After feeling like a Red Angus at the county fair, I took a seat in the exam room. They had a new computer system, so I was told I’d have to go through my entire medical history. I’ve had the same doctor for 11 years, so you can imagine my annoyance with the guilt trip on the 5 year smoking addiction I gave up 11 years ago. How many packs a day did I smoke? Fuck if I remember. I can’t remember what I ate for lunch yesterday. I do remember that, as a smoker, I was thinner and less focused on food. Is that relevant? You should put that in the computer.
Good thing I’m healthy, because I had to go over EVERYTHING so this woman could log it into her system.
Then we moved right into frequency of alcohol consumption. I wanted to jump off the exam table and inform Princess Judgey Nurserson, “That’s in my file! The doctor knows I’m a lush. She thinks it’s funny. I think. Probably. I’m here for my Hoo Hoo, not my liver. So unless you’re planning on getting me drunk and taking off my panties, stop talking about my vices. I only have one vice! I’m not running for President. It’s fine.” Instead, I smiled and stretched the truth. “Oh, probably about 2 glasses of red wine a couple of nights a week. Never more than two.” Those of you who have seen me get sloppy and throw my shoes, you may laugh now.
My mood at that point was a little sour by the time my adorable doctor presented herself. Something about having a speculum shoved in your Hey-Nanny-Nanny then peeing in a cup just pushes the mood completely into a dark place.
I need a hamburger and glass of wine now. Maybe even a Kit Kat… from under my desk.
That speculum thing looks scary. But then I guess that's the price you pay for having your good parts safely tucked away inside you. For us guys, just a mean person's hand can be scarier than that thing, 'cause we're all out there vulnerable and exposed. Save some of that wine for me. Every time I think about such things I need a drink.
ReplyDeleteGAH that pisses me off when I have to go over all that information over and over. It's like, it's fucking 2011, could you not transfer your patient files to the new system? I saw a doctor one time (and only one) who hassled me about some information I'd filled out on the paperwork regarding weight gain. I pretty much half ass those forms, and this bitch was very overweight herself. Pissed me off.
ReplyDeleteMemphis Steve, That speculum thing is very scary. :) I will save you two glasses.
ReplyDeleteMo, Weight gain. You're tiny. I would take issue with a fat doctor talking about my weight. Dr. Rao never says a word about my weight. This is probably why she's been my doctor for 11 years.
I always say two glasses too. I think they must know it's code...
ReplyDelete