Monday, April 28, 2014

A Visit With My Doctor

I went to my doctor. Time for that see your doctor before you can get refills visit. Easy visit, right? Of course not! My doctor is a great guy. He has been my doctor for years and years. He KNOWS me. That is not always a good thing. He wrote out the script. I mention I am having a bout of tension headaches. He wrote out my script for that. It happens every once in a while and once they start it is really hard to get them under control. Just another fun fact of being me. But he doesn't stop there. He looks at me. I mean he really looks at me. Asks how things are going. Well most things are great. But there are a few really serious things I am dealing with. How does he know that?! I am tired. A lot. I wake up tired. I mention it. We discuss this. He decides to add a few things onto my script order. How about a full blood work up since I may be low on vitamins or hormones or chocolate. Whatever. Oh let's make it a fasting test. Wonderful. How old are you, flips through chart, I think you should have a full physical. Oh how much more fantastic can this get? And a mammogram. The place was all about women. It was a very nice experience. Except for that whole smashing my boobs to pancakes thing. I go to the check out desk. The lovely receptionist takes my paperwork. Our insurance went through changes at the beginning of the year. She tells me that I have to go to a different lab for the bloodwork tests. OK. I don't mind going to a different lab for my tests. Then we get to the mammogram part. It is a radiology office. Not the mammo only place. WHAT???? No one will greet me with some nice tea? No one will talk in a quiet calming voice while they walk me through this necessary but awful test? No understanding woman to actually perform the test and wait patiently why I work through a panic attack? I actually heard my brain screech to a stop. I felt the panic already start to build. I was on board up until this little gem of information. I think if I have to get one I should make it a memorable experience. Bring my own tea. Lay out a nice service. Perhaps even dress for the occasion. A nice bonnet. Gloves even. I wish I could pull off a nice British accent. I sound like Eliza in a really bad off-off-off-way-way-off Broadway production of My Fair Lady. That could only add to the memorableness of the occasion. I am sure I will also be slightly medicated, too. Either that or a panic attack. Sounds like fun. Wanna come? I'll have cookies.

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