Friday, January 9, 2009

Is There A Doctor In the House?

I caved.

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?"

"Amy Davis."

"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.

Seriously, How Old Am I?!

We moved to NC three weeks ago. The first two weeks were consumed with boxes. Not that there aren't boxes still, but they aren't floating around the house like icebergs.

Feeling pretty good about our progress, I decided to join a gym. No, we can't afford it, BUT they have FREE CHILDCARE which at this stage in my life with only one friend in the area and no family, free childcare is a huge bonus. So we joined.

Here's the thing with the opportunity to have my kids playing with someone else for two hours at a gym. I tend to over do it. I haven't left them in there for the full two hours yet, but it's been close.

In that time, I've managed to work out my hips and thighs to the point of not being able to put one foot in front of another. Not to mention that 45 minutes of ab work will most certainly keep you from being able to sit up for about a week. And those are muscles that you can't exactly stretch out. So getting out of bed in the morning is pretty much an exercise in will power. (Which it always has been but NOW I have an excuse.) Every single day, I have laid there trying to decide if my hips were well enough to roll over on or if my abs would consider letting me use them just this once to get up. What ensues has been an internal battle with myself.

First, I don't want to get up anyway, so any excuse to lay in bed longer is welcomed. Not to mention that at 5 years of age, one would think that the eldest could surely feed himself and the littliest one without my assistance, right?!

But then again, the thought of bending over to clean up the floor full of cereal and milk is almost more than my abs can bare.

Damn the free child care.