Tuesday, June 26, 2007

What the BEEP?!!!! (-More like a shriek, actually)

So the power went out. Of my house. And my tirade. I was just getting a nice froth worked up there when everything shut down and the super-duper surge supressor thingy-muhgadget my sweet hubby has on the computer started beeping at me- more like a shriek, actually- as if to say, "You better get the heck off this computer in the next 10 seconds or I am going to explode and YOU'LL BE SORRY!!!". So I had to shut it down and post my blog as finished as it was. I had no closure. I felt empty all night. It was terrible. Like when you have sex and he finishes just before you get there. So I got back on here tonight with every intention of editing it to say what I wanted it to. And do you know what I discovered? I was finished. There was nothing more to say about that. (Would you like a chocolate?) It's a strange sensation to know that you hit your climax and you missed it. So weird.

So I've had more adventures in MySpace. I finally found some of the people I went looking for. Not Barneys. Mostly. It's been good. And sad. For the friends I loved who have ended up where I hoped they would, I am filled with a sense of happy satisfaction. It is lovely to see them all doing so well. For the friends I loved who have gone down other roads, I am filled with deep regret. I wish they were... well I don't even know how to say that without offending. I can only say that I wish the best for them.

Today I went to the OB/Gyn for my 6 week postpartum visit. (I'm almost 10 weeks postpartum, by the way. This was the soonest they could see me.) So I got there for my 4:10 appointment at 4:11. I felt a little pang of guilt for being late as I signed in. I was not overwhelmed by the feeling mind you, I'm late often enough that it's amazing I even still notice the guilt. You would think I would have become desensitized to it. Nonetheless, I felt it, if only for a moment. I sat down and pulled out my phone so I could catch up on my missed calls and messages for the twenty minutes I would be sitting there. (My apologies to anyone who is annoyed by this behavior, but I can't waste any minutes of the day. With 6 kids, time is just too precious.) So, I called my sister-in-law to chat. We talked for about 15 minutes and she had to go. This left only a few short minutes to sit and peruse a magazine before I would be called to go to an exam room. Or so I thought. Little did I know. I am very naiive considering how many visits I've made to lady-doctors in the last decade. By 4:40 I was up, pacing. At 4:55, I asked the receptionist how far behind were they running? I explained that my babysitters (aka- my in-laws) had to leave for southern Utah in a very short while and I really needed to get going. She said it would be "any minute now". Then she told me she would go check and see as soon as she finished
helping the person standing next to me and that I should go sit down. I did not go sit down and now as I think it over I'm wondering if what followed was punishment for failure to follow directions. I wonder this because from where I stood pacing and trotting in place, I witnessed her help four more people without getting off her fat butt to ask anyone anything. Then a girl from the book keeping office came out and they gossipped together for about 6 minutes until another patient entered the office. She helped that woman and then, after shooting a look in my direction, walked back to the nurse at about 5:08. She came back and said it would probably be about ten minutes. I'm thinking- ok, if I get back there in ten minutes, strip, get my "pap" smeared, talk-talk-talk, get dressed, I could be out of here by 5:35. So then I asked, "Once I get back there, how long will I have to wait?" She looked me straight in my eye and said "you won't have to wait back there". Ah, how comfortable a false sense of security can be! I happily stood there waiting, though a little antsy, for the ten minutes to pass. And they did. So did eleven minutes, and twelve minutes, and then pretty soon it was 5:50. When my head was starting to beep- more like a shriek, actually- as if to say, "You better take me back there in the next ten seconds and stick some swabby thing up in my nether-regions RIGHT NOW, or my head is going to explode and YOU'LL BE SORRY!!!", the nurse came out and said in the most irritatingly calm voice, "amy?"- like she fully expected anyone in their right and sane mind to have left by now. I walked back and she insulted me with her stupid scale and her "we need to get your weight"- if they ever took it that would be one thing. But they never get my weight. They all remain their happy little 120 lb. selves and just insult me with the fact that I am their weight if there were three of them. So, she "gets" my weight, we walk into the exam room, and she asks me pointless stupid questions like, when was your baby born? (it's in that chart you're holding writing down the answers to the stupid questions you're asking me. ON THE PREVIOUS PAGE!!!) Was it a boy or a girl? (chart! Hello?) What is her name? (Why is that relevant? She's not here and even if she were, she doen't know her name yet.) and have you had a period? Ok, maybe that one isn't so totally pointless, but asking it after all those others, seemed to make it ridiculous. Then she handed me a tiny gown and a teensy sheet and told me to get completely naked and put this on. At this point I had to ask, "How long is it going to be until she gets in here?" The nurse looked at me with the confused expression of "what-a-strange-question" with her head cocked to one side like a poodle, and said, "Probably at least 20 minutes. She has back-to-back IUD implants so that will take a while." I think my eyes must have turned some evil, luminous color at this point- I KNOW that my nostrils were flaring- but I just looked at her like- I am going to KILL that receptionist. BEEP!!! She left, and I sat there in my tiny hospital gown on that comfy butcher-tissue paper they always put on 2/3 of the table to make it all nice and clean for you with my naked ass hanging out. I picked up and read the only thing in the room- Us Magazine, whose cover story was all about Brittney Spears and her estranged mom beginning to make amends for the first time since Brittney went into rehab. and thinking "damn you, for not bringing a book." (Time is precious. And when it comes down to spending it onBrittneySpears... there just aren't enough hours in the year.) Well, fortunately, I only had to wait for the doctor for half an hour and therefore never really made it into the Brittney article. The tedious wade through all the Brangelina pages before the feature took up most of that time. In the silent space of that 30 minutes I could actually hear myself getting dumber. When I finally got to the suspenseful moment of revelation that all the cover headlines had teased about, I read one sentence and in came the doctor. Of all the moments she could have come, she had to wait until I was about to learn the secret inner workings of Brittney Spears and her mom's relationship. (A moment of silence. I think my standards died today. The bar dropped, at least....) And to think I felt guilty for being one minute late. BEEP!!!!!

So I had all that lady-doctor stuff they do done, and then raced to dress again. My sister-in-law called me ten minutes after I had left the office (6:30) and was amazed that I was just leaving. She suggested it would be something to blog about. I wasn't sure if I was up to recounting the longest afternoon of my summer, but then tonight when I got on MySpace I discovered that she has started her own blog and so I was inspired to put into words the story of The Eventual Lady-doctor Appointment From Hell.
So now I have but three questions about all of this:

1) What did they gain by having me wait an extra 4 weeks to have the appointment?

2) What on earth was that receptionist thinking when she looked at me and without blinking said it would be ten more minutes? Would it have killed her to tell the truth? Is she under strict orders not to reschedule any patient for a time that would be more convenient for them? Is that why we're called patients? Because we have to be? And how long can someone go before their head explodes and SHE IS SORRY!!!?


3) Will Brittney and her mom ever be able to overcome the rift that is between them? How will I ever know?

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