"Because Michelle ******** is an over-involved bitch," I answered.
Admittedly, it had been a while...just a little over a decade.
The nurse tried valiantly to maintain a poker face as the gaping holes in my medical records grew to crater-sized.
"Primary care physician?"
"I don't have one," I replied, watching her fight the frown from her face.
"When is the last time you've seen a doctor?"
"About a decade."
A small sigh filled the tiny room.
"Family history?"
"Adopted."
"I'm guessing we can rule out prescription meds?"
I shifted in my paper robe, feeling somewhat exposed.
"Alcohol?"
"As soon as I leave here," I told her.
"Any surgeries?"
I tried to explain about my bundled surgery but it sounds idiotic and implausible, even to me.
UFO: An Unidentified female object
The nurse finally gave up and sent in the doctor...all four foot nothin' of her. I tried not to stare as I speculated about her age. Fourteen? Her feet didn't reach the floor as she settled on her spinning stool. I tried to reassure myself that this also meant that she had teeny-tiny little squirrel hands when it came time to root around in my woman parts.
She, too, looked at the computer screen with some resignation before spinning toward me and smiled broadly. I silently inventoried my bag, wondering if I had a lollipop hidden in its depths.
The doctor asked some clarifying questions about my disturbing lack of medical history and then gently asked...not WHY I was here (Michelle was now their office mascot...signs and t-shirts were being printed while I was still in the examination room.) but WHAT had kept me from coming here. I sputtered out my usual self-deprecating excuses: Negligent. Lazy. Irresponsible. She frowned, shaking her head, and then, softly, asked me again. Tears clouded my vision. I gasped out some indecipherable answers. My new friend, Gidget, sat quietly, her large, empathetic eyes concentrated on me.
Once I had exhausted myself, my doctor immediately transformed into a cheerleader. "I am so glad you're here," she proclaimed. I wish I could say the same. I just sat there...hating Michelle. "Let me tell you what we're going to accomplish today and then set some manageable goals."
Oh, no. I knew this language. I've sat in on those meetings where we worked to build up the academic or social skills of struggling students.
"You have already accomplished the hardest part...getting here," she smiled, clapping.
Actually, Michelle and Brad Mosiman (parked outside the door to block me in case my flight response kicked in) did that.
"You are obviously high-functioning," Gidget continued, pretending not to notice how that term made me visibly flinch, "but that must completely drain you. You shouldn't have to power through a UTI. You shouldn't have to attempt to abbreviate surgical procedures. You should feel safe and comfortable as you go about your life. Let's make a plan!"
So Gidget made a plan.
I also made a plan. To kill Michelle.
After the examination, Gidget told me how lucky she felt to have me as a patient. This was AFTER she threatened to check up on me that I would follow up on my (her) goals to make a mammogram appointment and reached out to the primary provider that she recommended. Before I knew it, we were hugging.
I was hugging my gynecologist.
I'm going to KILL Michelle.
The office had erected a balloon arch to commemorate Michelle's success in getting me to go to the doctor. The staff had gathered like the Munchkins to see Dorothy off. "Good-bye! Good-bye," they sang as I ran out the door and to my parked car. Brad Mosiman immediately drove me to Dunkin' Donuts where I proceeded to have a melt-down when I learned that they had discontinued the Dunka-chino.
"How did it go?" my friend, Marissa texted.
"I'm supposed to schedule a mammogram," I said, concluding my essay-long text-rant on my Team 4 group chat, "I'll get around to that in the next twenty years."
"I vote Team 4 mammogram field trip!" Marissa shot back.
When on earth did we all become breast friends?
And if all this isn't bad enough, in addition to all my other neuroses, I also suffer from test anxiety.
How do I cram for a breast exam?
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