Like most normal people, I don't like going to the doctor. It's such a beating in every way.
Drive to the boring brick building. Get in an elevator with sick people and try not to touch them or breathe their air. Go through the awkward check in process where you aren't sure if you are supposed to just sign the clipboard or talk to that lady behind the glass that's ignoring you. Sit in a chair and read outdated magazines that are undoubtedly germ city (can you imagine what it would look like if Dr. Oz took a blacklight to those magazine covers and chair arms? GROSS OUT.)
Then some overly chatty nurse comes to get you and makes you stand on the scale (backwards, so I can't see the numbers, like I'm some eating disorder nut job). Go to the exam room, climb on the too-high, paper covered, chair-slash-bed and wait. Notice the size of my thighs against that chair-bed and try to arrange them in a more slimming way. Impossible. Wait. Read weird posters on wall showing a dissected bladder. And wait. And then...Knock! Knock! Doctor is here. Doctor spends about 3.5 minutes with me, diagnoses the issue, and then peaces out. I'm never really confident that they had any clue what I came in for. If I'm lucky, however, I'll come out with a prescription for some medicine that makes me sleepy. Mmmmm num num - me + sleep medicine = LOVE.
This is my week of doctors visits. I have three. Eyeballs (that puff of air!), dentist (judging me for not flossing) and the gyno (all up in my lady bits).
Yay!
.... Should have been a fly on the wall when in Honduras, women seeing a gyno for the first time, (even though they may have had 6 children,)
ReplyDeletewould scramble up the back of that chair-bed, saying, " You want to do what?"
Had to try to post- ( I usually hover in the back ground) but since Barb couldn't do it- I had to figure out what was so hard....
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