I am sitting in my doctor's office, shivering in a paper hospital gown. I am getting my yearly physical. She is great, but as per usual, I can tell she is in a rush. A long line of patients came before me and a longer line will trail after me. Now we are going over my vitals.
"Stop me if you have any of these symptoms," my doctor says, before rattling off a long list of ailments. "Headaches, dizziness, chest pain, nausea?"
"Depression, trouble sleeping, anxiety, irregular periods?"
"Changes in weight? Sudden loss or gain?"
"Well, it hasn't been sudden, but I'm pretty certain I've gained weight."
"Really?" my doctor asks, looking puzzled.
"Yes. I'm sure I've gained ten pounds. Of course, I can't be certain because I don't own a scale."
She shuffles through her papers a minute, comparing numbers from this year and last year's charts. "You didn't," she says, finally. So matter of fact.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. Exactly the same as last year," she says, looking up at me, looking tired.
"Okay," I shrug. "Well, cool. I'll take it. Hey, it's kinda like I just magically lost ten pounds!"
My doctor does not laugh. She does not seem amused by my body issues.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
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Oh, I know this so well. Except, I'm usually unpleasantly right. I hate getting older.
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