Thursday, May 27, 2010

Le Freak

I was chowing down on supper last night (hamburger sans bun, with some sweet potato pom frites on the side) when I noticed something was amiss. My arm looked different somehow.

After careful inspection, I noticed "it." One singular arm hair blowing in the breeze.  How can one singular arm hair blow in the breeze you might ask? Well, it can if a) it's an inch+ long and, b) you are an arm-hair freak and/or a character in a Dr. Seuss book. Paging Thing Two.

It reminded me of my nephew Zach. He may possibly not talk to me EVER for sharing this story. But hey, that's the price you pay for being related to a blogger. Zach has one singular armpit hair that's like two inches long. Not exactly shocking for a 14 year old boy except Zach has no other armpit hair. None. It's so freaky!  Even more so because he decided to name it his "pet", and balked at shaving it. I'd hate to see Zach's future therapy bill. 

No therapy for me though (this week anyway, my doc's on vacation). I did a little arm-hair-ectomy and yanked it right out. Not exactly dinner table manners. But hey, that's the price you pay for being married to someone with OCD a blogger.

Thursday, May 6, 2010

What's Up Doc?

After Waterslidegate I decided it might be best to find a family doctor.

I found a list of local MDs accepting patients and called numero uno on the list (she was also the only doctor on the list but that a whole OTHER blog post) and took the first available appointment.

Three weeks later...

I wasn't sure about snaging a female doctor. I wouldn't be able to use my double entendre "what's up doc?" Pap smears would be...ok, they'd still be icky at best. But probably slightly less pleasant with a femdoc. When I was single (so very long ago *cough*) getting naked, save for that very fashionable paper half-dress, ensured my body would be viewed by at least one guy on an annual basis. And one who knew his way around (much like my Grade 12 biology lab partner Matt).

I fought the urge to run screaming from the waiting room, and sat patiently for my turn.

An hour and a half after my scheduled appointment time later...

My turn! I walked into office #5 as instructed by the receptionist, and waited for the doctor. Let's call her...Dr. Nice-At-First (Note: NOT her real name).

Dr. Nice-At-First came in, and started asking some basic doctoresque questions. She made notes. Now I'm not a doctor, and I don't even play one on TV, but I think if a patient told me certain things, I naturally would be prompted to ask some follow-up questions.

Example #1:
Femdoc: "How many children do you have?"
Me: "Two."
Femdoc: "So you've had two pregnancies."
Me: "No, only one."

You could practically hear the crickets in the background. Now, if I was the doctor, I'd want to know how my possible-patient had acquired a child she didn't give birth to. But maybe I'm just exceptionally curious.

Example #2:
Femdoc: "Any recent injuries?"
Me: "Yes, I tore all the tendons in my left foot."

NOTHING. Nada. I could have been run over by a car driven by aliens for all she knew. Ok, so Dr. Nice-At-First didn't necessarily have good Q&A skills. I've dated lesser men. And I was willing to overlook it. After all, you never know when you are going to need a family doc. And it's best to get one before you do, or else you're left with...THAT doctor. The one that steps on your breathing tube while trying to take your blood pressure via your ankle in ICU.

I reassured Dr. Nice-At-First I was only looking for a "just in case" doctor, and wanted to stress I am not one of those head-cases that will be in her waiting room every week. Unless they're giving out free samples. The more I talked about it, the less she seemed convinced.

Femdoc said she wanted to take my blood pressure, which was routine. And what do you know...I had a high reading. This was doing nothing for my I'm-normal and don't-need-a-doc routine.  She told me to relax, and took the reading again.  I wonder if that's what they tell you at the airport while they snap on rubber gloves.

High a second time. I haven't been high twice since university. Dr. Nice-At-First reassured me that in order to be considered someone suffering from high blood pressure she would have to get a high reading on three seperate occasions. Phew - what A relief.  I confessed that usually my pressure is so low, they call the coroner. Femdoc ignored me, and proceeded to tell me why my blood pressure might be high (coffee), and why I should keep an eye on it. Oddly she did not mention the fact that Paul mixes whites with darks in hot water washes as a possible cause. Naturally, I listened partially BEFORE I scoffed at her psycho-medicinal babble and went on the defensive why the reading was not accurate: I hadn`t been working out (torn tendons, remember?). Seriously, this doctor had the attention span of my four-year-old nephew. Sorry Ethan.

At the end of my appointment time, Dr. Nice-At-First thanked me for coming, and was showing me out the door of office #5. I turned and innocently asked what happened next, as this was my first doctor-patient try-out. Was Dr. Nice-At-First going to be our doctor? She waffled, and said she'd have to meet Paul first before committing. What the cuss? I felt like we'd just been on a first date, and was asking about date #2, and getting the "I'll call you" line. Had I'd known she wanted to meet Paul, I would have taken him with me. She said getting a doctor was personal, and maybe Paul wouldn't like her. Oh come now Dr. Nice-At-Frist, now's not the time to get insecure. I assured her Paul was looking to jump medical ship as his doctor moved. She thought maybe Paul might want to stay where he was at. What the cuss? Was she even LISTENING anymore?

I was so annoyed that I decided to give Dr. Nice-At-First the ol' heave ho. I mean, who was she to be so picky about being a "just in case" doctor?

So I'm back to being a free medical agent. I guess I'll have to lay off the waterslides for a little while longer.