Sunday, June 22, 2014

Sunday Confession: At The Doctor

This week's topic:

I sat in the waiting room.  Head down.  Not looking at anyone around me.   Anxious.  Embarrassed.  Dreading the moment when I would be called back for my appointment and I would have to explain why I was there.

When the nurse called my name, I got up and collected my things.  She took my height.  Then my weight.  As I walked with the nurse to my exam room I tried to remember what I had weighed before my surgery (the week I started dating my ex) and as I quickly did the math I realized just how detrimental my former relationship had been to my waistline.  The knowledge of just how substantial my weight gain was during the relationship only brought my already hanging head lower to my chest.

I talked to the nurse who took my blood pressure and asked me questions about current medications and when I had quit smoking.  I picked at my hangnails as I waited for my Physician's Assistant to come in.  I cried as I explained to her what had brought me there that day, discussed what I felt I needed and her professional recommendations, and then decided on a plan of action.  She left the room so I could take my clothes off and change into a gown for the exam.

We made chit chat about her kids, how my nephew was doing and what other changes had happened in my life since the last time I had seen her.  The exam was fast and I hoped that meant everything would be fine.  As she walked out she advised me to get dressed and she would be back momentarily.

Maybe I was overreacting.  Maybe I was paranoid.  As I sat there scared and occurred to me how many other people had sat there feeling the same way for the same reason, for different reasons, for reasons I couldn't imagine or understand, for reasons so much more serious than mine.

And then I remembered being in a similar office at another time thinking about how my life could change and it would take less than a minute to happen.  It felt exactly the same and it was for something completely different.

In the end, I was overreacting.  I was paranoid.  And thankfully, I was perfectly fine... but what about all of those other people?  What about those people who weren't overreacting?  Who weren't paranoid?  Who weren't fine?

When I'm at the doctor, even for the smallest things...that's what I think about whether I want to or not.  And then I send some kind words and love and hope out into the Universe for those people who might not have been so lucky.


  1. A beautiful thought. It's supposed to be a place of healing and hope that too often ends up a place of fear and sadness. I'm glad to see you add to the hope that's needed by so many.

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