once a year is too much

I know this blog is co-ed, so I'll try to keep this comfortable for everyone involved. I don't know why, though, because the once-a-year dr. visit is anything but comfortable. Why should I be forced to keep that all bottled up inside? I thought I'd outsmarted them this time; I had made my appointment first thing in the morning. No waiting, right? Wrong. I did get to leave several jealous people in the waiting room shortly after the time of my scheduled appointment. My visit with the nurse went swimmingly. She gave me my new outfit to wear, a magazine to read, and left me to wait for the doctor. About 20 minutes later she came in and told me that he was at the hospital delivering a baby (am I the only person who schedules things like childbirth?) But I digress. I had made it through about half of Entertainment Weekly, which, by the way, I must commend for giving Winn Dixie its well-deserved kudos. My doctor arrived and introduced himself to me, not because we hadn't already met (we had), but because he was flustered and confused. I think I would be, too, if my job required that I run willy-nilly back and forth between the wonderful miracle that is childbirth and the mundane and uninspiring well-woman check-up. Anyway, about 3 minutes into our riveting conversation about my wellness issues, he was paged back over to the hospital. Apologetically, he explained that he'd probably be gone another 30 minutes if I wanted to wait. But what choice did I have, really? So I grabbed another sheet from the cabinet (Why is it always freezing cold in there?), pulled out the table extender, and settled in for the second half of my complimentary reading material.

True to his word, my doctor made it back in 30 minutes and I was out of there in a jiffy. On my way out, I was hoping to smile knowingly at the poor women who were in for the wait of their lives. But wouldn't you know it? Apparently they'd all chosen to come back another day. Well, at least it's over for me. Until next year, that is...