I went to a new doctor* today.
Seeing as I was tired of feeling like a bother when I called the former’s office (“Well, I’ve NEVER heard of THAT!”) and their inability to read my chart (i.e. wanting to put me on medication that I was already on and gave me migraines…) I figured it was time for a change.
As you know by now, I don’t really get along with medical professionals; except for Dad but there was a time we didn’t get along either… Basically, I know me better than anyone else, and when I tell you something [medically] about me, I expect you to pay attention to it. If it’s concerning enough for me to bring up to you, it should concern you.
I haven’t been on a scale since I picked up I Can Make You Thin, mainly at the authors advice. Plus, the scale and I have a hate/hate relationship. I stepped on the new scale, fully clothed (shoeless though) and found out I was three pounds lighter. Not quite the ten pounds I was hoping for, but with my frame, even five pounds (either direction) makes a HUGE difference.
So that was cool and means I’m down about a pound a week, which is healthy. And if I can keep up this pace (if not a tad more) I will meet my “Super Secret Goal”.
Once I actually met the doc, I felt so much better.
Plus, she’s cute.
I explained my humor-as-a-coping-mechanism (“I kinda feel like maybe we should go out to dinner or something first, I mean, I JUST met you!”) and she laughed. We talked about the crazy, the allergies, the baby-inhibitor…
In the exam room, there were cards and photos of babies and gushy moms “THANK you SO much!”, “And by ‘awesome’, I mean ‘AWESOME’!”, “I’m so lucky to have met you!”.
Once we’re ready to get underway (no pun intended), I say, “I’ll try not to crush your head.”
“That’s not allowed. Plus, I bite.” She says, smirking.
I laugh, perhaps a bit too giggly.
OMG, am I flirting with my thrice-a-mom-doctor?!?
I didn’t feel creeped out or violated afterward. Before she left, I went to shake her [clean, un-gloved] hand and she’s all “nut-uh-uh!” and so we handshake in the air. She cracks up again, “Oh, I’m going to like working with you!”
Not that this is something I want to do all the time, but it’s a breath of fresh air to not feel like an inconvenience.
And when I made it into work (after stopping for coffee, missing the train and walking to the office), it came to my attention that the doleful job I did of picking out a matching pair of shoes wasn’t so doleful.
One back pump, one dark brown pump.
*”Doctor” in this case refers to a specialist in um, women’s health.