There are two things I especially dislike about going to the doctor: the weigh-in and getting my blood drawn.
It’s no secret that I’ve gained weight. I’m not proud of myself, so when the time came to show my hand at the doctor’s office, I wanted to avoid it.
When the nurse called my name from the waiting room, I followed her down the hall to the dreaded scale. She instructed me to set my purse down and face the moment of truth (my words, not hers).
Instead of complying, I looked her in the eye and said “I’ll give you five bucks if you write down the same number as last time… but I’m going to need change for a twenty.” She burst out laughing, said she wished she could take bribes and then told me to get on the scale.
My next challenge was the blood drawing. One of the worst things about this experience for me is the anticipation. I was devastated when I entered the lab to find three people in line ahead of me.
The waiting area was small, so I was forced to sit in a chair with a view of the blood drawing area. Fortunately, when the first name was called, I was able to move farther away from the torture chamber.
When my time finally came, I sat in the blood-letting chair and squeezed my eyes shut, imagining the needle the size of a javelin. I made terrible faces, started to hyperventilate and turned my head as far away from the needle as possible.
Without giving eye contact to my tormentor, I asked her to do me a favor. I said “If I pass out, please finish drawing my blood before you revive me.” She asked if I thought I was going to faint. I told her no but I wanted her to promise anyway.
She drew my blood without incident but I wish I had fainted. The memory lingers like a bad dream.
I’m thankful my appointment is over – safe for another 6 months.
May the farce be with you!