Blog Dare Writing Prompt – The Last Straw Part II

Later on that year, after bringing my 15 lbs gain back down a few notches to around 162 lbs, I began to search for a new primary care physician because I had not been to see one as my last appointment was my 6 week checkup with my obstetrician.

I had flat-out refused to even see another doctor until I had at least taken some of my regained weight off, plus the PCP that I had gone to for years (male) did not want to honor my requests for checking my hormones for the menopausal symptoms that I’d been experiencing (this took place a couple of years before my mom passed).

He proceeded to tell me that I was too young to be having those symptoms and that I was simply depressed about my mother’s illness. Then came the offer for Lexapro.

Okay, I admit that I was extremely worried about my mother and yes, it was very saddening. I’m sure that I was depressed, but that was pretty much the norm for me from the first day that I entered junior high school where I endured endless teasing.

I was teased for being skinny, short, not putting out, and anything else that those who taunted me daily could force their severely compromised brains to scrounge up. – (at least until I began to practice the art of cussing so well that I created new levels in the craft and the teasing stopped.)

Those same teasers suddenly became quite friendly.

So I was already well acquainted with what I call ‘the black hole’ at an early age and if I didn’t let that kill me, there was no way I would go off the deep end and not be able to help my parents.

Anyway, when I told the doctor about the hot flashes and mood swings, etc., I asked, “Well, why is this happening if it’s not menopause?” He replied that he did not know and wrote me a prescription for the Lexapro.

There was no further discussion with him and it was also the last day that I visited his office.

Back to the new doc…

I had been to see her for my very first 6-weeks check-up ever. She was a nurse practitioner at that time and was great, though I found it a bit uncanny that she was working under my former doctor’s father’s practice.

When I found her again several years later, she had her own office so I decided to switch over to her for my belated and somewhat dreaded annual. I was okay with this because I figured if she was good while working under someone else, my next experience with her had to be even better since she had her own practice.

The inside of the office up front was nice, neat, and the lady at the front desk was friendly. After all the preliminaries (weight, BP check, etc.), I was then led back to an examining room.

I think that I should explain that when I go into any medical facility, family practice, dentist, or anything else, my radar always goes off and I end up looking around the room to check for cleanliness.

I have always been this way for some weird fear that I will end up receiving an exam with unwanted germs to go along with it.

It’s just a strange little ‘ism’ of mine that I can’t seem to get rid of, but I could see dust on the tables where medical tools are placed and dust on the floor set off my internal alarm.

I thought to myself, “There will be no pap-smear here!” as the nurse walked in. Despite seeing evidence of one of my most despised pet peeves (dust), I was still eager to go ahead with the blood tests that I had requested.

Hormones, a re-check of my vitamin D to see if my levels had improved, thyroid levels, and anything else that I could think of. That process went over with no problem and soon after the doctor came in for a brief exam and our consultation.

Hello, doctor…

After going over my family history and discussing my exercise routine, my stress, insomnia, and all of my other annoyingly ever-present symptoms, she told me that my results would explain everything and not to worry.

Then, she asked if I would like to start on some type of birth control. I politely refused as after over 15 years of marriage and not having at least 15 children, controlling births must have been one of my strong points.

So after about three more polite refusals, she finally relented and said that I would receive a call when all of my test results were in.

At this point, I was annoyed, but still willing to move forward. It was time for my exam.

The exam consisted of nothing but the normal check of eyes, ears, glands, etc., and then it was time for me to lie back so the doctor could check my belly… you know – when they press all over and ask if you feel pain or pressure.

As soon as I raised my top she goes, “Whoooo! You told me you were sure you weren’t pregnant, but are you really sure? You look like you’ve got a bun in the oven right now!”

At that very moment, I conjured up an extremely clear mental picture of me raising up and slapping all freckles from her left cheek while being witness to said freckles gracefully flying into the air before falling like fresh snowflakes, travelling down diagonally by a light winter’s breeze on the way to their silently awaiting bed of dust on the floor.

Curiosity may kill the cat, but pure satisfaction brings it back.

So despite my ‘eating habits’ and the scarlet letter ‘O’ that was symbolically stitched into my forehead, I felt a sense of comfort in knowing that I actually did have some semblance of self-control, though my mental picture remained just as it was.

I calmly replied that I was not pregnant, but was having a problem losing weight and needed to know what was going on with me internally as I had tried to stress before. She assured me that I was in good health – maybe a little too healthy, but that I would be fine once I cut out eating all of my favorite greasy foods.

(The slap vision immediately came back, only this time involving freckles from right cheek.)

Just for the record, I bake and boil damn near everything and fry not even on every blue moon! But I explained this to her nicely. Determined, she suggested that since my belly was already out there, I may as well ‘go for another one’.

I reminded myself of how well I’d kept my composure earlier and informed her that I did not want to have more babies and had been successful at accomplishing ‘no more babies’ for a good while on my own.

I distinctly remember stating, “I believe I’ve reached an age where I’m old enough and have enough experience to not need a planned parenthood oriented consultation…I’m way past sixteen, but thanks.”

My attitude may have been present in my voice or facial expressions, or maybe by some miracle, she could see the mental pictures of patient to doctor freckle killing slaps…I don’t know. But somehow, she finally came to her senses and said I was free to go.

Lesson learned…

The last straw for me must have been due to my negligence in missing the breaking news report on the fall of professionalism in the medical field before I made my appointment.

At that point, my next move was to get my results and fire this lady who had apparently changed for the worst immediately after her move up the ladder, but I would still move on with my life. I knew that I didn’t need any pats on the back from anyone, and if I had no support from paid supporters, I simply didn’t need it because it was my life.

This realization led me to find yet another PCP (so much better) who actually has all the quality characteristics that one who resides in the medical field should.

I have since been ‘working on myself’ but this time, it is not in desperation or because I don’t love myself as I am now…it is because I do.

I don’t know if the doctor meant harm or not as she was the joking type. What I do know is that a person with a vulnerable complex could be crushed by what others say about them when ‘others’ speak before they think.

The results from feeling crushed will show up sooner or later – even if not realized until later.

With all disappointments thrown out of the window, I now embrace my downs as well as my ups and keep it moving.

Though I still deal with being self-conscious about buying new clothes or going out in public, I am still determined to make my way through this battle victoriously and that particular straw will surely be the one that breaks the camel’s back in my behalf!

Just for the record, I think freckles are darned cute, but in this case and at that time, they were mere minions used to install a new flight to the ongoing spiral staircase of the fortress that surrounds my empire of retaliatory fantasies dwelling within the dungeon of my mind’s angry eye. My advice… keep the naturally conjured mental picture of choice, but don’t act on it. Be you and love all of you!

Thanks for reading.

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