November 13, 2011
Jana: Last week I had to see my doctor. I made the appointment to discuss birth control?, which is how I explained my reasons to the receptionist when I called to schedule the visit. Anyway, after work I drove to davis square, and arrived just about 15 minutes early. (I had planned to arrive one hour early and get SO MUCH DONE in the nearby Starbucks – that’s why I brought my computer, see – but then I had paid no attention while driving and taken the absolute slowest and most ridiculous route possible, thus arriving with just 15 minutes to spare). Luckily, that was enough time to go to Starbucks, buy one tea, and cry quietly while I drank it before heading to the doctor’s office.
When I got there I was told to wait. So I waited and waited and waited. I finished my tea. After 45 minutes, I decided to use the bathroom. With the receptionist’s permission, I went through the doctor’s door, out of the waiting room, to use the bathroom that I knew existed down the hall. On my way back from the bathroom, I passed a little office across from the examining room, and out of the corner of my eye I saw a tiny figure. And this is where my mind went: THE DOCTOR IS A CHILD, WHAT? WHAT?
It turns out that it was just an actual child, who I guess was having heart problems which caused the whole DELAY (I told the doctor that of course I understood about that and wasn’t bothered by it, but then when she left I cried a little thinking about all of the time I’d wasted that day, so you decide if my heart is in the right place when it comes to the heart health of children). The point is, my doctor is not a child, but for a brief minute I really thought she was.
Catherine: I find this entire story amazing. I wish that, someway, somehow, your doctor really had been a small, small child. And I would like to envision the part where the childdoctor goes, “What brings you here?” and you go, “Um. I need… uh, birth control?” And then the childdoctor looks at you and goes, ” What, you got something against kids? You think I shouldn’t be alive?” And you go, “Um. No. What?” Then the childdoctor goes, “I was just joshing you, let’s get you some pills. Hope they don’t make your boobs get any larger. But, that probably will end up happening.” You, “::tears::”.
Did We Do Something to Deserve This? 