I went to the doctor the other day because I suddenly realized one day it had been a long time since I’ve been to one.
I hadn’t been to one in a long time because in between the monthly OBGYN visits for my pregnancies and constant visits to the pediatrician for various kid plagues and vaccination jabs, I feel like I’m constantly at the doctor.
Because I am. I’m constantly at the doctor … just not for myself.
The reason for my visit is because since I had children, I’m pretty terrified of dying. My Facebook feed is filled with stories of young mothers who have tragically died because I can’t help but click on those terrible stories. It’s an obsession. And because I click on those types of stories, the beautiful / terrible FB algorithm throws more of those my way. Until I have convinced myself I am surely dying and will leave my children bereft of a loving mother who constantly stands around in yoga pants, looking at her phone.
So I made a doctor’s appointment (on ZocDoc, because hell if I’m talking on the phone and scheduling something).
I liked this doctor I found off the Internet right away, mainly because she had a pretty incredible ‘stache. Her impressive facial hair made me feel comforted; I knew she wouldn’t be ducking out of work early for something superficial like a face waxing. Instead of self-maintenance, she was using her time to save the lives of young mothers.
She listened to me say I was worried about dying of colon cancer. “We can order some blood work, see how your iron is,” she said. She listened to me when I said I was worried about dying from breast cancer. “Let’s get you in for a mammogram, just in case.”
She did say I looked and seemed very healthy. I mentioned I had lost weight due to diet and exercise. She said, “That’s great.” And I said, “But what if it’s not from diet and exercise and that I’m really just dying from cancer?”
She nodded and said, “It’s probably the diet and exercise. I mean, you aren’t THAT thin.”
See? You can see why I liked her.
She then did a body check where she closed her eyes and pressed under my ears and my throat. She closed her eyes when she checked my breasts and listened to my lungs. (I loved this, not only because I could get a better look at her impressive upper lip, but also made me feel like she was really paying attention. I highly recommend this method for your next work meeting. Just shut your eyes and calmly nod and your coworkers will be taken by how deeply you are absorbing their thoughts on metrics.)
Anyway, it was good. I’m happy I went, even though I was anxious I picked up the flu while in the waiting room…and then dying from the flu. And I got sad about how I’d have to look down on my family from heaven while my son would say something like, “I miss how Mommy would shuffle around the house, picking up things off the floor and sighing.” And Nat would say, “I know. And isn’t it funny how the floor would never be clean, no matter how much she would do that?” And then they’d cry a little bit and gaze longingly at the shrine they made of me from pipe-cleaners and googly-eyes they found shoved in the china cabinet where I stashed them in a desperate attempt to clean up the house before I died.
Or not! Maybe now that I have this doctor, she would prescribe me some Tamiflu and I’d live to see another day of hanging up jackets and pairing socks together, the way God intended.
(On a serious note, I know you don’t really read this typo-ridden blog for health advice but I guess you are reading it because you are a parent. And if you haven’t seen a doctor in a while because it’s impossible to make time for yourself, you should really try to make the time. It’s important. You’re important. Your health is important. Remember that.)