When I was a kid, our family dog gave birth to puppies. I watched my mom tenderly help the best dog that ever lived push out nine babies. Nine. It never occurred to me what a traumatic experience that was for our dog as she whined and went from one end of our porch to the other. All I wanted was a tiny furry thing to play with. My mom on the other hand is probably still not over it.
I spent the majority of last year in and out of a doctors office. With my pants down and lube on my belly.
So when it came time to get a prescription refilled, I was none too excited to be forced into paying a co-pay just so my G.P. could write out a script for Singulair. It also just so happens that they lost my chart. LOST MY CHART.
This may surprise you, but I really did not point out the irony in the fact that they won't refill a prescription if you haven't seen the doctor in year, but they have no problem being willy nilly with a patient's medical information. I've seen monkeys do a better job at organizing.
This means, I had to come in early and fill out all of those forms...again. So they could make a new chart. I seriously questioned my need for Singulair and whether or not I could just order it online from Canada.
My G.P. is drop. dead. gorgeous. She also makes intense and uncomfortable eye contact.
Which spells disaster for me.
Because apparently I'm incapable of lying to a hot female doctor giving me the laser eye like she knows I'm not being completely up front with the truth.
So when she asks if there are any other issues I would like to talk about, I was forced to tell her, yes, there is one minor issue bothering me...like a fruit fly on spoiled bananas.
It's been seven months since LB was born and my lady goods are more 'a river runs through it' than an 'affair to remember'. I'm not even expecting them to go back to what they were before, but for crying out loud people, I plan to spend LB's high school years on a football bleacher...how do you propose I do that when I can't sit on a hard surface...and you can forget my lugging around a donut to sit on, husband. Not. Happening.
When I gave her the short version of events in the delivery room, my G.P. made the "Sweet Jesus" face and from then on gazed at me with the laser eye of pity. To which I was still incapable of lying to.
ThankyouverymuchDrThorough.
She referred to my 'ordeal' as a 'trauma' and it would take time for that to fully return to normal...but that it would...eventually.
I was so happy to hear this that in my honest, unable to lie moment, I told her I was afraid to bring it up because I thought she would want me to drop trou right then so she could get in there and root around to take a look at things and to be honest, I was not in the mood for that.
I just wanted to refill my prescription for Singulair.
Two hours later...I finally had my prescription. AND...I got to keep my pants on.
What I didn't know is that I should have had her call it in to the pharmacy for me. Because the too busy updating my facebook page, self-important pharmacy assistant interpreted my "I'll be back after lunch" as "sometime before the Apocalypse" and not at around 1pm which is AFTER LUNCH.
On a positive note, did you know they make greeting cards for people who have a loved one that is incarcerated?
Apparently, there is a market for that.
So while you wait for your prescription to be filled, feel free to peruse the greeting card aisle and pick up a sympathy card for your Great Aunt Cathy to let her know you are thinking about her since her son knocked up that liquor store so he could feed his meth habit and who is now in the federal pen with a roommate named Buck.
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