Doctor's office saga

There is a reason I get into such a verbal arm wrestle when my mom attempts to convince me to go to the doctor. She even threatens to come to Milwaukee and drag me there. While I take her threats very seriously, and if you know my mom you would too, this is what a visit to the doctor entails and there are reasons why I fight it.

First, I must walk over to my friend's apartment late at night to get keys to a vehicle (because I'm not currently a car owner) in my boxers that have penguins drinking hot cocoa. This is an issue because 1: at the time I couldn't stand up without feeling like I was about to pass out from how dizzy I was and 2: I didn't realize my penguin boxers weren't cool until I started walking past crowds of people heading to the bars.

Second, I must wake up two hours earlier than normal so I can get into the walk-in clinic and hopefully be back before I have to be to work and not have to explain that I was seeing a doctor. I hate complaining, regardless what this blog otherwise suggests.

In order to get to the clinic the moment it opens, I must become confused by the one-ways of the city in which I have lived for 3 years and then park illegally because I don't have quarters for the meters.

As soon as I walk into the clinic it is absolutely necessary for all of the symptoms which had been getting progressively worse over the past 4 days and tortured me the night before making it impossible to sleep must IMMEDIATELY disappear so I sit on the table with the crackly white paper and look like a completely normal, healthy individual complaining about non existent symptoms.

At this point, I must forget to request everything my mother told me to because I feel incredibly silly sitting on that table when at that point I only have a headache and a sore throat.

I will then get told it's a virus, and it will get better in a week to ten days.

Within the hour, all of my symptoms will return and I will feel miserable all day.

I will then spend a lot of money which I would rather spend on shoes on a number of over the counter drugs to hopefully make sleeping possible and work bearable the next day.

When my mom calls me to ask what the doctor said and I have to explain that I was completely normal for the hour and a half I was in that building and was unable to talk myself into convincing the doctor I needed bloodwork done she tells me I need to go back tomorrow, because of course, as I talk to her on the phone I sound really ill. I tell her I'm not going back tomorrow.

I feel like I could go back 24 hours in my life and feel just as accomplished as I do in this moment, but then I suppose I wouldn't get to have the joy of waiting for the bill and getting to see how much I got charged to be told something I already knew.

Oh, by the way, I'm really not this bitter. I'm just sassy tonight.