The Doctor Visit
Disclaimer: I have fallen in love with Ree and The Pioneer Woman’s Confessions. Thing is – she’s pretty honest and gets personal sometimes. I think it’s HYSTERICAL. But all you guy readers or any reader that reads my blog sometimes and says “TMI!!” (that’s too much information) may want to skip this one. I think she's wearing off on me.
Yes, I’ve been here for a few years now but today was my first trip to the doctor in Connecticut. I’ve had the appointment several months now, as Dr. G (I’ll call him), is very hard to get into. He is David’s doctor and David actually had to call and “talk me into an appointment” because he is not taking new patients. I almost turned back in the elevator. I HATE going to the doctor. I started sweating on the way up. I really didn't want to go. I'm not sure why exactly. I'd just rather not, if you know what I mean. But I made it up the elevator and through the door.
I walk into the small office and hand the receptionist my insurance card. “We need to take a photo to put you in the system”, she says. Boy, I thought, good thing I’m just here for a physical. I can only imagine the sickly photos they must take. I sign my HIPAA form and sit back down and wait my turn. It’s 9:15am. David warned me that getting the first appointment of the day is a MUST. He is a talker and takes all kinds of time with each and every patient. WONDERFUL when you are the one in the room, but DREADFUL for the patients waiting out in the lobby for hours on end because he is backed up from patient one. By 2:00pm, you're toast! The nurse pops out promptly at 9:16am. “Kimberly?” she cheerfully almost song-songs. “Yep”, I say and head back.
Everyone knows the first stop: height and weight. I pop off my shoes. Okay, let me re-phrase. I take off my 3” Jessica Simpson ridiculously uncomfortable black patent leather high-heels. The nurse almost gasps. “HOW do you WEAR those things?” she asks. I look down at her comfortable, sensible, most likely podiatrist approved, soft comfy shoes. “It’s not easy I say.” “Are they comfortable?” “No.” “I have women come in all the time and say "Oh they are so comfortable.” “They are LYING!”, I laughed, “They are definitely LYING!”
65 inches. Haven’t grown. Haven’t shrunk. Good news.
Next the scale. I had been dreading this and looking forward to it at the same time. We don’t have a scale in the house, so I’m not sure what my real weight is. I base it on clothes size. I have worn the same black pants for years and years now. (Since 2005 some of them.) Some years, I can wear cute little tops and belts with them. Some years the muffin top is covered with baggy shirts and sweaters. But either way, I try not to grow out of those pants. My version of weight management.
I’ll never be 115lbs again. I'm okay with that. About the only scene I really enjoyed in Eat, Pray Love was the one where Julia Roberts ate pizza in a little place in Italy. She was with a tiny, darling little friend who refused to eat because “she had gained a few pounds” on the trip. In her very Julia way, she starts in: "I'm so tired of saying no and waking up in the morning and recalling every single thing I ate the day before. Counting every calorie I consume so I know exactly how much self-loathing to take into the shower. I'm going for it. I have no interest in being obese. I'm just through with the guilt. So this is what I'm going to do. I'm going to finish this pizza and then we're going to go watch the soccer game, and tomorrow, we're going to go on a little date and buy ourselves some bigger jeans." And in Hollywood style, they do just that and happily turn in their Size 0’s for Size 2's.
I was pleased to find that I really only need to lose about 15lbs to get to a weight I'll be happy with, so I'll start that process...uuummm...on Monday. (That was about what I estimated to get me from sweatshirt to cute belt.)
Into the room and onto the bench? Examination platform? Doctor table? What is that thing? Anyway, as I’m climbing up onto that thin piece of paper trying not to tear it (I mean, really?) I hear, “Dr. G is not taking any new patients. How ARE you related to Wendy?” It took me a second, but I replied, “Well, I’m her ex-husband’s new wife.” We both burst out in embarrassment laughter. She turned and I was SO GLAD that I was already laughing, because the back of her head looked like she had slept on it the night before and forgot to look in the mirror (in the back) and “fluff” it out. It was smashed to her head. Surely, it was accidental. I mean, how could you possibly do that on purpose? I have no idea how to go about that look – gives the TIGI Bed Head a whole new meaning.
I start unfolding the laundry in my hands. Unfolding and unfolding. This thing is HUGE I think. Nice! I put it on and it falls somewhere between my knees and ankles. It wraps around me almost twice. This has more coverage than my bathrobe at home I think to myself. I climb back on the bench? Examination platform? Doctor table? What is that thing? Onto that thin piece of paper trying not to tear it and I wait.
I’ll spare you the details that I was going to include and just say that Dr. G was lovely. The exam was to be as expected and all is well. But I did lea:rn a few things about myself. One being that the “growth” for lack of a better term on my eyelid that I’ve had since I was a teenager is a “distraction” to my face. “People look at a certain triangle of your face and it’s in the view of that triangle” the doctor explained. “It’s a distraction to everyone who looks at you.” I’ll be honest, I didn’t hear much else. I was too busy telling myself “Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry” over and over trying to trick my swelling tear ducts, as they are in the "triangle" and might have doubly distracted the doctor. He gave me the name of someone to see about removing the hideous goiter and a much needed prescription for my skin.
Before leaving, the nurse came back in and took my blood pressure again. Back to normal! Whew....they didn't have to wheel me to emergency after all. Blood pressure....good.
And so I left my 9:15 appointment at 11:45. I have no idea what his schedule looked like or how much time they carved out for a "new patient" visit, but at 2 1/2 hours actually in the patience room, this was my longest regular doctor visit ever.....but he's a good doctor. Thank goodness I'm related to Wendy!
I walk into the small office and hand the receptionist my insurance card. “We need to take a photo to put you in the system”, she says. Boy, I thought, good thing I’m just here for a physical. I can only imagine the sickly photos they must take. I sign my HIPAA form and sit back down and wait my turn. It’s 9:15am. David warned me that getting the first appointment of the day is a MUST. He is a talker and takes all kinds of time with each and every patient. WONDERFUL when you are the one in the room, but DREADFUL for the patients waiting out in the lobby for hours on end because he is backed up from patient one. By 2:00pm, you're toast! The nurse pops out promptly at 9:16am. “Kimberly?” she cheerfully almost song-songs. “Yep”, I say and head back.
Everyone knows the first stop: height and weight. I pop off my shoes. Okay, let me re-phrase. I take off my 3” Jessica Simpson ridiculously uncomfortable black patent leather high-heels. The nurse almost gasps. “HOW do you WEAR those things?” she asks. I look down at her comfortable, sensible, most likely podiatrist approved, soft comfy shoes. “It’s not easy I say.” “Are they comfortable?” “No.” “I have women come in all the time and say "Oh they are so comfortable.” “They are LYING!”, I laughed, “They are definitely LYING!”
65 inches. Haven’t grown. Haven’t shrunk. Good news.
Next the scale. I had been dreading this and looking forward to it at the same time. We don’t have a scale in the house, so I’m not sure what my real weight is. I base it on clothes size. I have worn the same black pants for years and years now. (Since 2005 some of them.) Some years, I can wear cute little tops and belts with them. Some years the muffin top is covered with baggy shirts and sweaters. But either way, I try not to grow out of those pants. My version of weight management.
I’ll never be 115lbs again. I'm okay with that. About the only scene I really enjoyed in Eat, Pray Love was the one where Julia Roberts ate pizza in a little place in Italy. She was with a tiny, darling little friend who refused to eat because “she had gained a few pounds” on the trip. In her very Julia way, she starts in: "I'm so tired of saying no and waking up in the morning and recalling every single thing I ate the day before. Counting every calorie I consume so I know exactly how much self-loathing to take into the shower. I'm going for it. I have no interest in being obese. I'm just through with the guilt. So this is what I'm going to do. I'm going to finish this pizza and then we're going to go watch the soccer game, and tomorrow, we're going to go on a little date and buy ourselves some bigger jeans." And in Hollywood style, they do just that and happily turn in their Size 0’s for Size 2's.
I was pleased to find that I really only need to lose about 15lbs to get to a weight I'll be happy with, so I'll start that process...uuummm...on Monday. (That was about what I estimated to get me from sweatshirt to cute belt.)
Into the room and onto the bench? Examination platform? Doctor table? What is that thing? Anyway, as I’m climbing up onto that thin piece of paper trying not to tear it (I mean, really?) I hear, “Dr. G is not taking any new patients. How ARE you related to Wendy?” It took me a second, but I replied, “Well, I’m her ex-husband’s new wife.” We both burst out in embarrassment laughter. She turned and I was SO GLAD that I was already laughing, because the back of her head looked like she had slept on it the night before and forgot to look in the mirror (in the back) and “fluff” it out. It was smashed to her head. Surely, it was accidental. I mean, how could you possibly do that on purpose? I have no idea how to go about that look – gives the TIGI Bed Head a whole new meaning.
Made me think of Nanny, who before leaving the house would hand the pick over to one standing nearest to her and say “Check for holes!” The chosen one would then search for a missing spot and pick it and spray it until she had that perfectly rounded ball of hair. Nanny had BEAUTIFUL hair. And she was wise enough to know that you could spend all that time powdering up and wiggling into a girdle, picking the right shoes and pin to wear, but if you left the house with a hair hole, it was all in vain. This woman clearly didn’t have a “check for flat head” moment this morning.
The nurse put the cuff on my arm and started squeezing until my arm hurt. “Do you have high blood pressure?” she asked. “I don’t think so. But I haven’t been to the doctor in a few years. Maybe I do now?” “This was the child’s cuff. Let me try the adult one. No, still high. Are you nervous?” More laughter from embarrassment. “Yes, I guess so.” “Well, new office, New doctor. I’ll take it again before you leave. If it hasn’t gone down, we’ll need to look into it. Here put this on. It closes in the back.” Oh that helps with the anxiety, I think, taking the folded cotton. She leaves me alone.
I start unfolding the laundry in my hands. Unfolding and unfolding. This thing is HUGE I think. Nice! I put it on and it falls somewhere between my knees and ankles. It wraps around me almost twice. This has more coverage than my bathrobe at home I think to myself. I climb back on the bench? Examination platform? Doctor table? What is that thing? Onto that thin piece of paper trying not to tear it and I wait.
I’ll spare you the details that I was going to include and just say that Dr. G was lovely. The exam was to be as expected and all is well. But I did lea:rn a few things about myself. One being that the “growth” for lack of a better term on my eyelid that I’ve had since I was a teenager is a “distraction” to my face. “People look at a certain triangle of your face and it’s in the view of that triangle” the doctor explained. “It’s a distraction to everyone who looks at you.” I’ll be honest, I didn’t hear much else. I was too busy telling myself “Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry” over and over trying to trick my swelling tear ducts, as they are in the "triangle" and might have doubly distracted the doctor. He gave me the name of someone to see about removing the hideous goiter and a much needed prescription for my skin.
Before leaving, the nurse came back in and took my blood pressure again. Back to normal! Whew....they didn't have to wheel me to emergency after all. Blood pressure....good.
And so I left my 9:15 appointment at 11:45. I have no idea what his schedule looked like or how much time they carved out for a "new patient" visit, but at 2 1/2 hours actually in the patience room, this was my longest regular doctor visit ever.....but he's a good doctor. Thank goodness I'm related to Wendy!
Comments
J :)