I sat quietly and read a magazine. No, not really. I thumbed through it and counted carpet squares until I heard my name. I sighed and walked the long hall, passed tiny cubbies and indifferent nurses. I was stopped.
"Here we are..." sang a plump little grape of a woman. If she were wine, I would guess perhaps a Grenache.
I gave her a tight smile and scanned the room for a place to put my stuff.
"Oh Sweetie, here. Put your stuff here." her voice was high and a little grinding; like a screw stuck in a pencil sharpener.
I hate being called Sweetie.
"Step right up and lets check your weight." She clicked her pen and tapped it on her clipboard.
"Can't we just put down the same number as last time?" I asked kicking out of my shoes (every little bit helps).
"Mm. No." She smiled too brightly and began to slide the weights. "WHOA. Not THAT one." she giggled and shoved the one resembling an anvil far away from the others. She playfully scooted one, then another, then anoth..
"Ohhh Come ON! THIS is what I weigh~and I quickly "abacus" the weights so that the pointy part stays still. This is NOT rocket science.
Ms. Grenache stared at me. She clicked her pen and wrote it down, doing it twice more to drive home her irritation with me. I huffed and stepped off showing I was no happier with her company at the moment.
"Roll it up." No more Miss Fine Wine. Nope. She was all Boone's Farm now. She took my blood pressure. The cuff seemed a little tighter than usual. I was able to feel my pulse in my teeth.
"Hm." She chuffed and clicked.
"Good?"
"You're alive and kicking." Her eyes rolled sarcastically from the paper to me.
"And happy to be here." I added,sighing like I was Julie Andrews on top of the mountain about ready to burst into song. I shrugged and wiggled my toes driving sock lint to the floor.
" Everything off. Gown open in the front. We'll be back." she said dryly ;sashaying out the door.
"Thanks Sweetie." I dripped. I heard one last click. I'm thinking she clicked a dirty word at me.
Quickly I stripped down hopped up on the "Taouch" (table + couch) and kicked the bobbi-sock covered stirrups. One clanked heavily. I did it again. The other one rattled. I began to bang out Simon and Garfunkel's "Cecelia" and sing it in my head to amuse myself. I knew that Grenache was going to make me wait. So you know, right? It's true. I was waiting for the annual "Hoo-ha Hello". The visit that makes every woman squinch her nose and frown. Some of us even roll our eyes and add "Ohhhhh." It's not a celebrated event. I was not happy.
In strolled my doctor of about twelve years: a cute little woman who has a great personality. She's funny, honest, down to Earth and approachable. She's helped me a lot in some tough times. Best of all, she's FAST.
"Hey! How are ya?" She's already slipping into her gloves, reading my chart, prepping tubes, sticks and sample containers. Its my own little chemistry set.
"Good. No complaints." my knees automatically lock together.
"Good. Makes my day easier." She too clicks her pen like Grenache but somehow it doesn't offend me. She rubs her hands together. "Okay, lie back. I'm sorry if my hands are cold."
She begins to talk to me. She's asking questions. This is worse that the dentist's office. I can't talk to her NOW. Not with her hand over here in my blouse! Gown. Paper towel...whatEVER this thing is. And why is there a TIE on here? Even if you USE it, they whip it right open~ Ohhh JEEZ! Don't pinch it! I'm not a transistor radio. We won't pick up any cool songs while you're doing that.... I'm staring at the ceiling trying to hear her and pay attention to what she's asking me but am failing miserably. I think I hear something about golf but to be honest, she's so busy trying to roll bread dough outta my boob that I just "yeah" and "umhm" my way through the conversation.
"Okay fine. Great." she chirps. "Let's move on." I realize she's not listening to me either; not really. She quickly glances at my chart again and we discuss what medical issues we must. We discuss "my pal" my tumor and what he's doing in there. We touch base on our treatment philosophy and firm it up. All's right with the world. She pats the end of the table.
"C'mon."
I sink back on my elbows and do what I must. I hate this. We all do. She peers around my knee. "Relax. Some pressure. Relax. Breeeeathe. Oh hey. Happy birthday. "
"WHAT?!" I nearly stand straight up...in the booty covered stirrups. The vision I have is that in my haste, I snap her handy dandy speculum right in half , break her arm and bolt for the door. I'll show you some PRESSURE sistah~ git outta there with those b-day wishes. WRONG WRONG PLAIN OLD WROOOOONG.
"Happy BIRTHday." she peeps again and leans out a little more so I can see her face around the little tent created by the half blanket laying across my jacked up knees. It's as if they don't want you to see what's going on. Seriously? You think I don't know? and she smiles...
I feel almost dizzy. I didn't mean to say it. I was under duress. I was caught off guard and we all know what happens when I...
"If you even THINK of lighting a candle down there, I'll kick your teeth in. I swear to God."
I heard the clatter of metal and felt the tray bump the table. I couldn't see her face. NOW she was hiding? C'mon doc. "Ollie! Ollie! in-come-freeeee......" I saw her shoulders. Then slowly she stuck her head out so I could see her. Tears were running down her cheeks. She was laughing. HYSTERICALLY. I was so embarrassed.
"Oh my God! I'm so sorry....I didn't mean...I would never...I ... I...."
"Holy SHIT that was the BEST one EVER!" she hee haws and props her elbow on the crook of my ankle, resting her head. "Oh ... Ohhhhh. I can't stop. My sides hurt." she rolls back fighting for control. I of course begin to giggle and quickly descend into one of my "spells". We are both guffawing and laughin it up. So much so that Grenache knocks.
"Everything okay?"
"Oh yeah. Yeah." we both cough and wipe our eyes.
"Robe off. Robe on." she says simply and leaves the room. I put myself back together and meet her at her desk where she fills out my insurance papers and writes my scripts. She tells me when the results will be in and that we'll meet again.
"This is a big birthday for you. Will you celebrate in grand fashion?"
"If I did, it couldn't top you." We giggle again.
"Get out before she comes back." she gives my arm a shove. "Hey."
"Yes?"
"Things look good. Have a very happy birthday."
"Thank you. I plan to."
And I do. Wednesday brings the big "four-oh" Tess' way; the first of all my Yayas. What is my wish? Selfishly, it is to have all the years my mother did not. I love my life and the people in it. Although I am afraid, there is a greater anticipation of the many wonderful things to come. Thank you for all the laughter we share. And to think that better days lay ahead my friends...so MANY more of them~
