I’m very good about keeping annual appointments for the Scraping of the Cervix. And of course that goes double for the Smashing of the Breast. Two high points of my year.
My GYN has been after me to get a physical for the last several years. To check the health of all points in-between.
At last I had found a family physician who met my two major criteria:
• She is accepted by my insurance.
• Her office is next door to my favorite coffee shop.
Interestingly, this medical office complex now occupies the building of a grocery chain that went under last year. In fact, my new doctor’s office is located in produce.
I arrived a few minutes early to fill out the novella of paperwork. They called me in rather quickly which was annoying since I was unable to catch up on my reading. They even had the latest issue of People Magazine. The only time I take the time to read something cerebral is at the doctor’s office.
Now how am I ever going to find out who the hottest bachelors are?
The first thing I was asked to do was step up on the scales, which were located in a busy central area of the office. Good thinking. I kicked off my shoes, because those sandals add a good .25 % of a pound to my slight frame. While I stood there, willing the numbers to fall, the medical assistant had the nerve to ask me my age.
It’s not like she couldn’t just check out the reams of paperwork I had just filled out which ASKED FOR MY AGE ON EVERY SINGLE PAGE.
“I’m 38,” I answered. I stood there a second more. And it occurred to me that I’m not 38. This struck me as funny, since she didn’t question me. “I’m sorry, I’m not 38, I’m really 48, and the last 10 years have been a blur.”
I never lie about my age, I just don’t think about it. You can call it avoidance if you like. As you may know, avoidance is my favorite coping technique.
At last I was placed into a nice private little office, where I could continue to amuse myself by reliving the age thing.
I met my new doctor, and she was lovely. We talked about general girl stuff, and she became my best friend forever when she showed me the little wheel which stated plainly that I was not overweight.
I’ve got to get one of those little wheel thingies.
She told me that I needed to have a regular blood workup. “Have you fasted today?” Since it was close to noon and their were no dead bodies lying about, I assured her that I had indeed eaten that day.
She told me that I simply needed to fast from midnight on, on a day that was convenient for me to come in for blood work.
Fasting is never convenient. I even sneaked food into labor and delivery. And I may have sent Fiddledaddy down the hall to retrieve Pop Tarts from the vending machine two or 20 times. Just sayin’.
But fortunately the lab is open at 7:30 am, so if I can manage to sleep in till 7:10, roll out of bed, hop in the car, and get the blood sucked out of me at 7:31, I should be able to hit McDonalds for coffee and something healthy to eat by 7:45.
No one should have to die.
The conversation with my new doctor was easy and pleasant until she asked the question. “Have you had a colonoscopy yet?”
SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP.
Okay, that part of the conversation went on in my eyes only, and she must have noticed because she quickly added that I really could wait until I’m 50.
SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP.
I left the office, my mind reeling. I’m going to turn FIFTY in just a little over a year. I turned right and headed down the sidewalk to my old favorite coffee shop. Only to find out it had moved 4 miles away.
I had to calm my nerves with a quick right turn into Subway. Because the little wheelie thing said that I wasn’t overweight.
It’s a good thing those physicals come but just once a year. I don’t think I can take another dose of reality any sooner than that.