Honestly? No one. Everyone who is in my life, is in my life by choice.
Because this was such a dunce of a question, I would instead like to talk about when I went to the doctor to find out about depression, and antidepressants.
Because that’s still truth. It’s the truth about my most embarrassing doctors appointment ever.
I was scared stupid. I behaved much like a woman buying condoms – you know, where you don’t want to look like a sexual deviant, so you strategically place bread, milk, cotton buds, and cereal around the box? Your hope is that the person ringing you up will look and see a well-rounded person, who just happens to have a box of condoms.
I arrived a full half hour early (I’m never early. To anything. Ever.) and sat in the waiting room uncomfortably trying not to stare at the wall of brightly colored pamphlets about aids, gonorrhea, crabs, and rape counseling.
(Here’s an idea: how about to make people more comfortable in waiting rooms, doctors put out less confrontational pamphlets? It’s not like anyone is EVER going to pick up a pamphlet about gonorrhea, or chlamydia in a busy waiting room. And doctors always have a draw of that stuff in the exam room anyway.)
When my doctor finally appeared, she ushered me in and watched at I wrestled myself out of my overcoat, handbag, and backpack. Apparently all those fine-motor skills I use for unbuttoning things go to hell when I’m nervous.
I finally get myself free and drop, exhausted into the chair.
“Ok, what can I do for you today?”
“I’d like to talk about the itchy bites on my back, mole mapping, my blood pressure, depression, weight loss, PCOS, my period, and vitamin B supplements.”
The Doctor sat back in her chair, looking a little stunned.
“Um, I made a list.” I explained, gesturing vaguely at my bag.
“I see.” She didn’t see, in fact she was confused.
We sat for a moment while I blushed.
“You realise that this is only a 15 minute consultation, right? How about we just pick three.” She said, managing to get back on track much faster than I would have given her credit for.
It got better from there… Thankfully. Now when I go in she knows exactly what to expect of me, and is hardly ever thrown by my ridiculous lists of questions.
(I say hardly ever, because the time I wanted to ask about early-onset Alzheimer’s disease threw her for a couple of seconds.)
(I like to make her day more interesting when I can.)
(On the other hand, I’m pretty sure she thinks I shouldn’t be allowed access to google anymore.)
Want to check out some more truth?
Other Bloggers answering Day 10’s question: