Gosh, I wouldn't blame anyone if they stop reading right there.
So! What I thought would take 15 minutes took an hour, what with their insisting on weighing me (I don't want to talk about it) and taking my blood pressure (which I made them do twice, because I didn't like the first numbers) and the doctor's ordering x-rays of my back and hips before she would put in the referral.
Did you know you have to take off your bra to do a lower back x-ray? I was not happy.
Anyway, all that took an hour (which really isn't bad, considering the x-rays) and then I had to run out of there to pick up David from school; and my dinky cellphone, which only rings when it WANTS to, missed the call from the doctor, who left a voicemail telling me there were apparent "arthritic changes" in my back.
You know, I knew that already. I could feel it. But hearing it? Really depressed me. So now I am being forced to focus on the fact that I have become an arthritic, overweight person by age 50. Oh, and the triage nurse, adding insult to injury, gave me a little present.
|Personally, I don't want to read anything that contains the words "fecal sample."|
That's a DIY stool collection kit that I send off to a lab so some lucky technician can search for microscopic traces of blood in my poop. Everyone who is 50 gets one. Aren't we lucky?