About a month ago I started feeling really crabby and wanted to go see a doctor. I didn't exactly look forward to the poking and prodding, but it would be nice to have someone do a check-up and tell me any ailment was imagined. You know, kind of like when you take your car to the shop and it works perfectly while you're there, only to begin the same ole antiques the next day...?
I complained to my boss and suggested that if our medical insurance company can't find it in their hearts to approve a doctor in the area, maybe we should change company. Both my employer and I pay a lot of money for that insurance each month.
He said, "Well, what do you need done?"
"I need to get my blood pressure checked, and get some asthma medicine."
"Get your blood pressure checked? You can do that at Publix."
Sure, but what good would that do me?
I stood my ground, and he said, "Well, if you really want a doctor, find a gynecologist."
I would normally find the comment hilarious, but since I really haven't been feeling good my patience isn't what it should be. I gave a deadpan glare. I don't think my medical problems stem from my ovaries.
He gave up on the discussion and gave me the phone number to our company contact.
She found a covered doctor in no time - even though the insurance company claimed they weren't any - and just like that I had an appointment. So far so good.
My appointment was today, and I expected a quick in and out. It didn't quite turn out like that.
|In my mind I'm as cool as Xena. Complete with armor.|
What the hell is happening?
I'm used to being a model of health, and all of a sudden I'm expected to eat pills and I'm forbidden to use salt.
Good gravy. Or, wait, there can't be a good gravy without salt.
For now I'll just sit here and sulk. By tomorrow I've probably had the time to convince myself I'm invincible again. Just like Xena. I always wanted to be Xena.