I arrived at the doctor’s office a few minutes late, but nothing serious. I updated my paperwork, and waited for what seemed like a very long time – in reality, it was 40 minutes so I guess it WAS a very long time – before I was ushered into a tiny room and told to have a seat. Naturally, I started taking pictures instead:
A quick look at Twitter led me to Jen’s news, so I offered to help her out by stealing some stuff:
She didn’t need any of the drug samples but expressed interest in the see-through womb – unfortunately, I wasn’t carrying a bag in which I could smuggle the creepy-ass thing out for her.
Then it was time!
As uncomfortable as the whole “spread wide open for the world” thing is, I kind of want one of these setups for home. Who DOESN’T want stirrups attached to the bed for sexy times? Communists, that’s who.
The exam was fairly routine, except for my bumpy cervix. She asked if I knew I had a bump down there – no ma’am I did not – so she took a machete and cut the fucker off. Ow! It’s off to the lab for testing, but she wasn’t too worried – after all, if it was anything bad, it’s already gone because she cut it off. Great! I think.
I spoke to the doctor about my recurring issue of BAD TIMES AT VAGINA HIGH – unfortunately, there was nothing down there. I had an incident last week, but it is sneaky and disappeared before my appointment – so she sent me off with homework:
Next time I have an issue, I need to swab the decks and send any mysterious fluids off for testing to see what I’m mutating into. Hooray! Except, no. Still, it’ll be good to determine exactly what the fuck that thing is and if I need to take to flamethrower to it – I want it to be gone. Recurring things that are not awesome have no place in my vagina or anywhere else.
I got dressed to head to my next appointment, but as I was getting dressed I spied something unseemly:
What the fuck is with that walnut? I don’t want to give birth to children; what makes you think I want to give birth to a member of the Juglandaceae family? Terrible. And the Comic Sans? No. Just .. no.
I tried to get in to see the doctor with the pills, but he doesn’t work on Mondays so I made an appointment for this Saturday. A trip to the bank to deposit my pennies, London Drugs for some post-dentist pity chocolate, drive-thru for a refreshing beverage – but I still had 3 hours to kill, so I went to Winners to try on everything (it all sucked), and Old Navy (it also all sucked, but I got a lunch box). I scooted downtown in the scorching heat, parked at work, then went to Pacific Center for some food before the dentist. All too quickly, it was time:
I hated every second of the appointment, but truthfully it wasn’t THAT bad. I watched the last 10 minutes of Mythbusters and half a Buffy episode, and it was done – two new fillings, a chip fixed, and several old things pried out and replaced. When the freezing wore off, I was sore – but not nearly as sore as my Visa: my dental benefits for the year are maxed out, and the visit cost over $550 out of pocket. What’s worse, this was the first appointment of two to fix stuff up: I have another next Monday, and that one is scheduled to cost $640. All that for the privilege of a sore mouth and cranky face times? OH BOY!
Ed is going to submit the paperwork to his benefits and we might get some of it back, but he doesn’t know how much if any. This blows, and was totally unavoidable – the alternative was to continue thinking I needed a dozen root canals, and have things just get worse. As it is, I’m getting off lucky with the three minor fillings I need; it’s the replacement of my toxic silver fillings that are costing me millions. This is full of suck, but what’s to be done? Nothing. So, here we are.
Today is going to be better than yesterday, OR ELSE. In fact, I’m already ahead of the curve – no one is expecting me to open up so they can look inside and charge me money. Isn’t that kind of backwards? Shouldn’t they be paying ME? I am the worst whore ever.