I was at the doctor today for my yearly appointment. The nurse seemed to think I needed bloodwork done. I love how they call it “bloodwork,” by the way. I think that’s great. We should add “work” (or “job”) to the end of all that we hate to describe just how horrible it really is. Anyway, the nurse shoved her giant needle in me and let it sit there for a few minutes. Either her vile came in a size XXL or she is a vampire, because I thought she took a bit more than she was entitled to.
Then came the worst part: sitting naked on a piece of paper, waiting for the door handle to move. If I’m to get naked, I don’t want it to be for someone with sterile gloves on. I must have sat there for a half hour. I can’t be sure, because doctor’s offices are tricky and they don’t keep any timekeeping devices around (that way you don’t know exactly how much of the day has expired with making you wait). I had plenty of time to think about if improving my posture would make my backless robe stay on my shoulders (it did help, actually).
The door handle finally tilted, but at the same time that a secretary or nurse or receptionist called out the doctor’s name and began bitching about some patient. I listened through the thin walls to what this woman’s problem was. I wondered if the nurses ever talk about me behind my back. Perhaps they discuss what I look like naked? Do they talk about weight and patients’ family history of illness? I know there are HIPAA laws, but I also know no one gives a shit about them.
Finally the doctor was in to see me. His jokes were the exact same as twelve months ago (“there is a side effect to this birth control – you can’t get pregnant”). Perhaps he thinks us annuals have forgotten our last appointment by the time the next one rolls around, but he obviously doesn’t know me. I might not know when my anniversary is, but people’s idiosyncrasies I never forget.
We made idle chatter. He said I had a small cervix, but that was a good thing, right? (He was asking me? I don’t even know what it is). I told him I was the only person in the waiting room who wasn’t pregnant other than that one teenager’s mom. He laughed, but perhaps was disturbed by my barren womb. After all, us annuals don’t keep him in business (the Catholics do). I told him to notify me if I can ever get my prescription renewed over the phone, but in the meantime I’ll see him next year.
I have been losing any baby fever I once had as each day passes. Yesterday I suggested to Steve that we get a second dog. I quickly realized that a second dog family means a no kids family, and just how close we are getting to becoming that. We have already sent out a photo Christmas card which included our dog, so now we’re only one step away from buying him a Santa hat and sticking a red nose on him and making believe he is our offspring.
So, long story short: no, I didn’t drink the water at the doctor’s office (yes, of course he said that – he’s all about the recycled jokes). But yes, I did consider what we would do with these empty rooms if we weren’t to have kids. More than one guest room would turn this place into a bed and breakfast, more than one office would mean I would need a matching important job. I refuse to make a junk room because we have a basement and I hate junk. I don’t play instruments or do crafts. I already got my library. There’s really only one logical explanation to why we bought a four bedroom house (and that explanation doesn’t have paws). In the meantime, I will have to put up with a few more years of hearing the same jokes.