After complaining of stomach pain for four days I finally gave in and went to the doctor. (I had tried the local walk-in clinic on Christmas Eve and vowed to only return if someone takes me in whilst unconscious.) However, I had met this lovely woman at church who gave me her card and said she was a nurse practitioner in the next town.
Awesome! We all dream of having a special connection in the medical field, don't we? Someone, besides your grandmother, whom you can call at a moments notice and ask if that lump is cancer or a pimple. (It was always cancer at my house.)
So I dutifully grab the card and give the office a call. I explain that I had met her at church and she had given me her card (just in case she wasn't taking new patients and I had the golden ticket.) The receptionist confirmed my assumption when she said she would have to talk to Mrs. Doctor Lady and call me back. (I'm so in though cause I've got the card.)
She calls back and says that Mrs. Doctor Lady had no problem with it and would see me at 3:30.
I finally find the office; which is honestly some feat for the girl who is just now leaving home for the first time in her life. Walking up to the door, I find myself holding it open for several families. Grateful my hubby got off work early and I didn't have to bring my kids like those poor saps, I skip into the office. The lovely receptionist greets me without remembering that I had been the one on the phone that Willy Wonka had sent.
"What's the patient's name, please?"
"How old is Amy?"
Well now there's a question one doesn't hear often at a doctor's office right there in front of God and everybody.
The look on her face was priceless. "OH, YOU'RE the patient...I'm sorry. Please have a seat and fill out this paperwork."
Odd greeting, but whatever, I'm just here to find out about my tummy. I don't care if the mom and kid in the waiting room know my age anyway. Not to mention they have Ice Age on the flat screen and a pretty fancy surround sound system! I'm now almost wishing my boys could enjoy this office, cause it's pretty sweet from a mommy perspective. I mean, if you gotta take your kids with you to the doctor, might as well have them entertained. Right?!
Then I get called back.
Maybe it was checking my weight on the giraffe scale that should have tipped me off, but alas, it was not. It was the teeny exam table of which my 36" legs hung off like an octopus laying on a paper-covered rock. That was the clincher for me. "Um, so. I guess you're like a pediatric nurse practitioner, huh?" I ask the woman who had so stealthy slipped me my pass.
"Yes, but I do work with young women too."
Shoot me now. Just put me out of my 'that paper gown ain't never gonna fit' misery.