Now, if you have read any of my previous blogs, I am starting to make Woody Allen look like Mr. Calm Cool and Collected in comparison to MY level of anxiousness. I say this: I am justified. As I mentioned earlier, I went to the dentist this week for a routine filling that turned into a root canal and another filling.
I am not going to lie: I am a big baby when it comes to stuff like that. There is something about being stuck in a chair, with someone drilling inside of your mouth, bone flying out, spit dripping down your face, wearing a clown nose (because I HAVE to have the gas if you want my cooperation) that would make anyone anxious. I would *almost* be more inclined to give MYSELF a Brazilian wax than go to the dentist. *almost*.
I don't recall a lot of dr. issues until I moved down here, the veritable armpit of hell for healthcare. I am sure there's worse care in third world countries, but it can't be by much. My first visit to see the gynie was one that will never be forgotten.
I filled out all the necessary paperwork, and sat. And sat some more. Almost an hour went by before I was called in. At this particular office, there are no magazines to read as apparently the OTHER clientele steal them. I don't know about you, but the ONLY good thing about going to the dr. is the chance that I will get to read a newer issue of People. Not so much here.
I was maybe sitting for 15 minutes before this VERY NASTY lady came in and sat down right next to me. There were at least 58 other available chairs that were NOT right next to me, but she decided that the chair next to mine was the perfect one. To say that she stunk …would be an insult to the word "stunk". At the petting zoo in Chicago, they have this pig "farm". I swear to you, THAT smelled better than she did.
I didn't want to rude by just getting up and moving, I decided the best course of action would be to just ignore her as best I could, and possibly spray some perfume in the air to knock down the rankness if I could get away with it. Ignoring her became impossible 5 minutes later when she fell asleep on my shoulder. I thought I was going to die.
Her nasty hair was touching my face. So, I did the forceful shoulder shrug and nudged her back into her own "area". I considered moving, but stayed put. What can I say?…I am dumb sometimes.
It was the second time that she laid her head down on my shoulder that I ended up shoving her back into her area, and then got up and went up to the "registering station" to ask where the bathroom was so that I could wash my hands, my face…and anything else that she might have come in contact with.
When I came back, I did find another place far away from her, and she was still leaned over towards my former chair…now, drooling.
Finally, when I was called in…the nurse instructed me to get on the scales. Hahahaha…riiiiight.
I don't get on the scales for anyone.
I told her it was going to take a lot bigger nurse than she was to make me do it. She didn't quite get that I was already fairly pissed off at this point for having to wait so long, and having had Homeless Hattie trying to take a nap on me that I was in NO mood to deal with scales. I told her what my weight was (minus 25lbs of course) and said that would have to be my "official weight".
I must have looked a little "crazy" because she went along with it, and instructed me to put on the gown made of toilet paper.
Now, up north…we were given cotton gowns, not ones made of Charmin. I was a little put off, but I figured I had won the scales battle, I didn't see winning this one.
So, there I sat…in my roll of Charmin…for ANOTHER HOUR…waiting for the dr. Again…nothing to read, except the wall-size pictorial of the anatomy of a womb.
By the time he came in, I felt fairly confident that I could play pin the tail on the vulva blindfolded…if I had to. The dr. introduced himself, extended his hand…and I noticed that he was missing a finger, and that he was a Sasquatch of a man, with 9 HUGE fingers. I thought, "Mother of God…I know where he is going with those fingers"…no good can come from this. So, I got my feet in the stirrups and was tried to hide the fact that I was so nervous.
Unfortunately, when I am really nervous…DUMB things pop RIGHT out of my mouth at the worst time. Case in point, I am at the most vulnerable point of the exam in which he is about to use a medieval looking torture device on me, the dreaded speculum, and this pops out: "So, uhhh...how'd you lose that finger???" See…I was THINKING IT…but totally did not mean to say it.
I saw the nurses eyeballs pop out, but the dr. didn't even miss a beat and told me what happened. In retrospect, I am sure that sort of thing happens all the time.
That turned out to be my one and only visit to see this particular dr, and I decided that driving 50 miles to Jackson really wasn't that bad of an option. You see (and this might sound ugly), I have broken a finger before and could barely wipe my own butt properly. While I am sure he has compensated the loss of that finger, it is a personal choice that I believe that my doctor, in this case who is a surgeon as well, and potentially having to operate on delicate areas of my body, should have all of his digits. I'm just sayin'.
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