Yesterday I had my pre-op appointment at my general practitioner's office. I arrived and the receptionist and I eyed each other suspiciously. We have a mutual dislike for one another. I don't like her because about a month ago she gave me a hard time about coming into the office for a throat culture. I had the audacity to ask to come in a half an hour before the office closed because that's when I could procure babysitting for my FOUR CHILDREN. Apparently, she can't make concessions just because I have children. Other people have children, and jobs. I don't know these things because I am very, very stupid.
After this exchange, there was a pause loaded with tension and then I asked her very politely if I could speak with the doctor. There was another pause and then she said she would put me down for 4:30 but I'd better not be a minute late. She said this in a tone that I did not appreciate. I am ashamed to say that was the moment I got snarky. Now when I go in she barely looks at me and she gives me paperwork without explaining why she is giving it to me. I find this unprofessional. I'm thinking very seriously of doing something about it. Like complaining about her on my new blog.
I thought I would be in and out of the office, but they put me through a whole rigamarole. I was forced to wear some sort of tarp thing and they prodded my sore gallbladder (does this hurt? YES IT HURTS! I have ROCKS in my tummy!) and then they asked me all of these questions. All of this goes to show that you should never assume you won't have to take your clothes off at the doctor's and should therefore always shave your legs beforehand.
After they saw my hairy legs, they weighed me, made me pee in a cup, and sent me off to get my blood drawn. May I just say that my doctor's receptionist, DMV employees, and the blood takers at ACM labs are the most humorless people IN THE WORLD! But not me. I'm very fun. In fact, I thought it would be very fun to run off to the gym and have a quick run after I had filled several vials with my life-giving blood. There was dizziness. There was a little nausea. There were rocks jostling in my abdomen.
I got over it, went home and made a nice, low-fat, gallbladder disease friendly dinner (which three out of six of us ate), read books about pirates to my boys (Argh!), went to watch Lost and got pissed that it was one of those dumb recap shows, then went to bed tired and aggravated and sore and thirsty.
But John always brings me a full cup of cold water for my nightstand (yay hubby!) which always reminds me... grumpy receptionist and sore gallbladders be darned! (Sorry to use harsh words). I really am so blessed.