I take a medication that requires me to get a monthly blood test. It's not a big deal, they poke my finger and get a reading to see if my blood is clotting too quickly. After it's done, Trent and I go and do something fun and exciting like stop at the grocery store or drive through Sonic for a Coke Zero. I know, what a life we lead, right? The paparazzi follow us a lot to see what the really chic people do for fun. We got to the doctor's office really early, and I was surprised at how many people were in the waiting room. I grabbed a magazine and sat down to savor the wait time. When you've been to as many doctor's appointments as we have, you learn you have two choices for your attitude toward waiting. You can look at it as an excuse to just savor some time in which you can just relax, or read a book, or do a task on your phone or tablet. Or you can be grumpy, and then even grumpier.
It was obvious that one older couple fell into the latter category. One of the ladies at the front desk told them that Josie, the person who usually does my test, was running behind in her appointments due to computer problems. The man, who was the one with the appointment, started grousing to his wife. "Why'd they have me come in here if they were too busy to see me? They should just call me when they want me to come in." His wife didn't say anything, at least that I could hear, but he kept complaining. "I'm gonna give them just a few minutes, and then they can call me when they want me to come in. They should have someone here when they're supposed to be here." About thirty seconds after he made that comment, he jumped up from his chair and went to the front desk, his wife hurrying to keep up with him. He shook his finger at the staffers up front and said, "You can call me when she gets in," and stormed out of the office, grumbling.
Meanwhile, I had taken my handy-dandy notepad out of my tote. I like to keep it nearby for shopping lists, and it's always good to have around in case I get a brilliant idea for a blog post. This time, it was handy for an adult version of passing notes in class. I subtly held my tiny pen, hidden behind my notepad, pointing in Mr. Cranky's direction. The note said, "C.O.B. - Cranky Old Bastage!" Trent chuckled under his breath, and then Mister and Missus left the office. Then Trent told me that the couple had already been rude to him before I sat down. When we walked in, Trent said, the man pointed at the tattoos on his ankle and said something to his wife, and they both started laughing. Apparently they were the two people who were better, smarter, and more important than anyone else in the world. Good riddance to bad rubbish, as Gram often said.
Poor Josie was so busy that another person took me back for my test. I told her about the COB in the waiting room, and let her know that I appreciated all of the hard work they were doing. She was noticeably happy that she wasn't being yelled at, which made me feel good. She offered to give me my annual flu shot, and I gave her the go-ahead. As someone whose spouse has had a transplant, it is especially important for me to have one ever year. So within a few minutes, I had my shot and my test and was done. I saw Dr. Mike sitting in the common work area and talked to him for a minute, said hi to Josie, and made a return appointment. And when I got to the door, I started to feel pukey. I told Trent, and he said he didn't feel well either, it was probably because we skipped breakfast.
We took the elevator downstairs, and by the time it stopped, I knew I couldn't make it to the car. I sat down on the steps while Trent went to open up the car. Within seconds, I was a complete mess, sicker than I don't know what, and drenched in sweat. It amazes me how clear and logical and quick your brain can be at moments like this. How am I going to make it home? Does the bathroom on the ground floor need a key like the one upstairs? If I can't make it there in time, I might have to puke in my tote bag! So this was how I ended up stumbling out the front door and collapsing on the curb, stomach revolting big-time. Thanks to the missed breakfast, it was just heaving (sorry to be gross!). And at that moment, sitting on a curb, air-hurling, I just found it strangely funny. Here I am at high noon, sitting on a curb, puking like a drunk party girl, and I haven't even had any fun yet! How pathetic is this?
Apparently my funny thoughts did the trick. Trent helped me get up from the curb and we were on our way home. We decided to forget about stopping on the way home on this trip because I just couldn't face it. We went home, ate a tiny bit of food, and I had a bit of rest. I thought I really ought to write about this almost slapstick office visit, but was not really in the mood to do it when evening rolled around. But I was back to my usual self (I won't say back to normal, so you won't have to say, "Yeah, right, is that what they're calling normal these days?") by bedtime. Yes, I had a few really icky and rough minutes there, but I'm glad I could laugh at myself about it. And I won't be hurt if you laughed, too!