Random Ranting Before My Doctor Appointment

I’ve got to go see the blood doctor at 1:00 about the fact that I have roughly the same white count as a neighborhood in Bed Stuy, so I thought I’d just make a quick list of things that tick me off. For your amusement and my own sanity.

You pull up to a major road and see that the car that is coming is about a mile off. You make a right and accelerate. If you have my four cylinder, zero to sixty is timed with a calendar. Though you’re trying your best to put pedal to metal, the driver behind you decides he’s/she’s not going to break stride and climbs so far up your ass you can taste exhaust fumes. This, apparently, is your punishment for daring to pull out onto THEIR road, causing THEM a moment of inconvenience on THEIR way to someplace very, very important to THEM. I can’t tell you how much I hate these people. Their ring in hell should include being constantly chased from behind by a midget demon with a pointy pitchfork. If you’re like me, you choose the time honored passive/aggressive retaliation tactic—do the speed limit. If it says forty, you do forty, thirty five, thirty-five. Except when there is a dotted yellow line, in which case you speed up. The only recourse you have is frustration, and it’s a good one. And if you’re one of those conscientious folks who says why didn’t you wait for them to pass before you turned, how very noble and mature of you. You probably apologize when someone bumps their shopping cart into yours. Good luck at the bottom of the mountain, sucker!

I’m frequently that sucker, but hey, I’m on a roll here.

When exactly did doctors and dentist start hiring former Nazis to constantly badger you about your next appointment? They call every day for a week leading up to the magic day, and then say you’ll lose your spot if you don’t call back and confirm. Excuse me, when I was standing in front of you and decided that the date you gave me four months from then was just dandy and you gave me that little card with the scribbled time and day, didn’t that qualify as a confirmation? Did you think I was just kidding, or was planning to change my mind? I’ve agreed to be certain places at certain times on many occasions during my lifetime, and nobody else had to call to ask, “Are you SURE you’re going to be there?” If you had a meeting with the Pope they wouldn’t check in with you as much.

But doctors are worth more than Popes, of course. The doctor’s time is moolah. If you get hit by a bus and can’t make the appointment, they losing billable hours they can’t get back and God forbid that happens. So he/she hires a bunch of bulldog thugs and throws a bone into the middle of them (us). You ever try getting a doctor on the phone? It would be easier to show up on the front steps of the White House and ask to shake hands with the President. Those women close ranks like they’re protecting Peyton Manning’s blind side. And you VILL be zare at ze appointed time, or zere vill be serious repercussions! Ach tung! Mary El once canceled a dentist appointment the morning of and got a call from the Office Manager. Uh oh. She left a message that sounded like part intervention and part threat of bodily harm. From now on Mary El could only make appointments through her and no one else, and she was here to help, and if you miss another appointment we will take your youngest child’s finger, have a wonderful day! Maybe these people could be the demons chasing the tailgaters…nah, they’d enjoy it too much.

While we’re on the subject of phone messages, who is trying to reach me from Arizona? We have that caller ID hooked up to our television thing, so we can see if we’re ignoring a friend or an 800 number. I’m really bad about answering the phone, and I’m sure friends of mine who try to reach me could write their own ranting blog about my hermit-like tendencies. The only weak defense I can offer up is that when I first got sick I had to go out on short-term disability and for eight weeks we suddenly had to live on 40% of my salary. We leaned heavily on the credit cards to get through and ended up in financial trouble. We survived to become the barely-over-the-poverty-line family we are today, but in between were a lot of nasty phone calls from creditors, banks, collection agencies, some guy named “Tank”–I think you get the picture. So when I see that call from Arizona pop up, the first thing I think is who do I owe money to? Either that or who wants to break my legs now? They already got my colon, what do they want some of my small intestine too? I’m running out of bowels here.

OK, off to the blood doctor I go. I hope I confirmed the appointment…

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