I have to go to the doctor today . . wah wah wah . . . well somebody has to make sure these people stay in business.  I recently switched doctors.  Not that my other doctor was bad, as such, I’m sure he was a very talented and gifted guy, it’s just that when I was bleeding in his office, and he and his assistant were commenting to each other on the large amount of blood, I started to feel faint. They wanted to know why  in the world I was feeling faint.  Did I have diabetes or something?

And I let this guy operate on me.  Luckily I was asleep at the time.

I got a new doctor.  She seems smart. She’s a really good listener or at least she’s good at pretending like she is.  The office staff is friendly, and they have People Magazine (the other doctor only had Golf Digest and other icky guy magazines which should have told me something right there).

But I still hate going to the doctor.  I wish I could cancel my appointment, but it’s too late now.  At least I won’t have to have any tests done.  Last time I had to have a blood test done the lady stuck in the needle and nothing came out but air.  So, of course, I had to make a joke about how in the movie, The Jerk,  Navin Johnson sold so much of his blood that finally nothing came out but air.  It was so perfect!  What are the odds of getting to make that kind of a reference in one’s lifetime!  But, as rotten luck would have it, she had never seen The Jerk.  Never seen The Jerk?

I knew there was something fishy about people who take your blood.

My new doctor’s office is in another town and it takes an hour to get there.  Emotionally anyway.  Logically, I know I’ll be able to get there in 40 minutes but I won’t feel good about it emotionally unless I allow myself an hour or maybe even an hour -ten minutes depending on my anxiety level.  Oh sure I’ll be pretty early, which means a longer waiting time, but they do have People Magazine so it all evens out.

Once I actually get into the smaller waiting room (where there may or may not be People Magazines), it’s all downhill from there.  The waiting time in this room is in direct proportion to whether or not you’re being seen for a condition where you have to disrobe and put on a large, stupid piece of paper, or can simply stay seated  in the chair fully clothed and discuss your condition like a sane, rational person who got dressed before leaving the house — in which case the doctor comes in immediately.

Otherwise, you just sit there on the paper-covered table wearing your big, stupid piece of paper looking at the drawers and the stuff on the counter and looking out the window and wondering whether or not people in the other office building can see you.  It seems like they probably can if they wanted to but since they can do it anytime they want they’re just over it.  There’s always a big plastic model of some internal organ or other.  And it makes you wonder if it’s there for your information or if the doctor just doesn’t know his stuff.

When the doctor finally comes in, it’s always a relief.  They always knock on the door first to give you a warning that they are entering just in case you hadn’t been able in the last 27 minutes you’ve been waiting there to complete the task of either 1) sitting in the chair or 2) putting on your large, stupid piece of paper.

Phew!  That was a close one Doc!!

The best part of the visit is when you’re all done and dressed again and making an appointment for your next visit.  You make it and pretend like you’ve just got the greatest attitude about going to the doctor.  You put on a great show to the appointment maker that the time agreed upon will work perfectly for you and there is no way you are going to cancel all the while thinking  to yourself “I can always cancel later.”  When she hands you the  little card you pretend to put it  into a “safe place” in your purse all the while thinking . . . I know I’m going to lose this but they’ll call me and I can always cancel.

I’ll let you know how it goes . . .

Until next time . . . I love you