Doctors and Tofu

Yesterday I went to the doctor. Now, my doctor in Florida was a wonderful old man, graying, sweet and just…a peach. It was easy to tell him about embarrassing things that you don’t want the general population to know about your body. When I hopped on the scale, I wasn’t happy about it, but it wasn’t too awkward. He was old. And gray. He probably had dentures.

So fast-forward to the events of January 13, 2009. I left work early to get to my appointment on time (with my boss’ okay, obviously) and trudged over to the doctor’s office. It was in the Village so the train ride was about 15 minutes but I had allotted myself 30 in anticipation of some directional malady that never manifested (despite the fact that I have been to the Village a million times). I had been nervous about the appointment all day (the anticipation of blood being drawn, which I knew would happen on site) and my nervousness made me overcompensate. Which was fine, I filled out my forms, and read my book until my name was called. By this point I was sweating, not from the heat (in fact it was freezing) but from my nerves. Damn, sweat glands. I hate the doctor.

Some assistant showed me to the examination room. I waited there, trying to calm myself by organizing my symptoms in my planner and trying to look professional. I was constantly tired, excessively thirsty all the time, my hair was falling out, my skin was much drier than normal, I had low focus and I had inexplicably gained almost 15 pounds in three months.

Then I waited. And waited. I crossed my legs one way…then crossed them the other when I noticed my legs looked thinner from the other angle. I wrote down my recent expenses in my expense tracker. I read the “Eyes, Throat and Ears” poster across the room. And then, just when I was thinking about getting my book out, the door opened and in walked…an attractive man in his early thirties. I kid you not. Instinctively I looked for a wedding ring…no such luck.

The first thing out of his mouth after I told him about my symptoms was, “So, have you gotten a pap smear?” Then, “Are you sexually active?” To which I replied, “Um…no…I’m waiting until…later.” And he was like, “Later?” To which I said, “Hmmm…yes…later.” He gave me a strange look and said, “Could you hop on the scale?” At this point the voice inside my head was screaming, “WHERE HAVE THE ELDERLY DOCTORS GONE? RUN!!!!” But I forced myself to get on the scale. It was mortifying. After that it got a little better when I somehow managed to bring my dead grandmother into the conversation and then I got so worked that when he asked if I lived in the city I said, “Yes…of course.” Even though I live in Brooklyn. And he could clearly see that I lived in Brooklyn because I wrote my address on my paperwork. After a few more minutes he said we would do a full work up and that he was concerned about my thyroid or depression. So we’ll see how that goes. I’ll have the results next week. But I can guarantee you, he’s not going to be asking for my number.

In other news, I made an amazing stir fry last night with tofu, mushrooms, red cabbage, snow peas, garlic and brown rice. It was fantastic. I just ate the leftovers for lunch.

Ciao for now, chicas!