Doc in the Box

A couple of weeks ago I fell quite ill.

My stomach was in knots, I couldn't eat, I could barely sleep and I knew what I had to do...

I had to go to the doctor.

Now let it be known that I truly hate going to the doctor, for many reasons. Namely, I don't like being weighed by a stranger and then have to watch them record the number with the knowledge that they will be passing it on to another stranger. It feels too much like middle school when someone gets ahold of a piece of paper that you've written Colleen Timberlake all over and then passes it around to the whole class. It's just too much personal information being unnessascarily exposed.

Another reason I hate going to the doctor is that I recently lost my health insurance when I turned twenty six and I am not a rich person. Believe it or not, I wait tables to pay bills, not just for fun. Weird, I know.

But the main reason I hate the going to the doctor is well...

They. Always. Think. You're. Pregnant.

I mean really.

If I went in there and told them I got hit by a bus or that my toe hurt, they would make me pee in a cup to "rule out pregnancy."

If you are a follower of my blog then I'm sure you know why this part of the doctor experience is a lot for me to deal with.

If you are new to my blog, well then allow me to be more specific...

The morning I decided to go to the doctor and make sure I wasn't dying, my best friend Taylor came and walked with me to my appointment. This Taylor Walsh guy is a real gem and he sat patiently in the waiting room while I filled out my paperwork.

"Do you want me to go in the room with you?"

I stopped and thought for a second and I decided that I did want him there with me to hold me responsible for my less than healthy life choices. It's easier to lie about how much coffee you drink when there isn't a person in the room who can call your bluff.

So he graciously stayed by my side and vowed to hold me accountable...because I'm clearly a child.

Now when I asked him to stay with me I had forgot about all the embarrassing questions the nurse asks you before the doctor actually examines you.

"Please step on the scale."

Ugh.

"When was your last period?"

Oh. Dear. God.

Not only is that just a personal question that I don't freely and openly talk about, it's also a question that leads to that infamous plastic cup that demands to be peed in.

My already upset stomach sank as the nurse shuffled me off to the bathroom to "rule out pregnancy."

She closed the door.

I stood there.

I stood there some more.

I stood there and knew that if I didn't just pull my pants down and pee in that damn cup things were gonna get awkward fast in this doctor's office.

Now, as I had told you previously, my stomach was a disaster and I couldn't eat or drink anything without wanting to be sick, thus the doctor visit. So trying to pee was a task to say the least.

I was in that bathroom for upwards of a half an hour trying to make myself pee. I was imagining waterfalls, fountains, rain showers, all while letting the sink pour water into the drain.

Nothing worked. My bladder was closed for business.

I started to panic because I knew that if I didn't walk out there with a full cup of non pregnant pee, I would have to tell them that there was no way I am pregnant and to be honest, I didn't want to have to deal with their doubt and judgement that morning.

So naturally I text Taylor from the bathroom with a frantic:

"I. Can't. Pee."

He then suggests drinking water.

Oh...right. There's that whole logic thing again.

So I sneak out of the bathroom and successfully make it to the lobby to grab water. The Pregnancy Police didn't spot me. So far so good...

As I try to slink back into the bathroom, the doctor spots me.

NononononononononononononononononononononononNO!

He guides me into the examining room where Taylor is waiting for me.

Taylor spots the empty pee cup in my hand and the full water cup in the other hand and we share a knowing look.

This will not end well.

The doctor asks why I didn't pee. I coyly say:

"Just need some water, heh."

He then proceeds to have me lay down, unbuttons my jeans and begins to push all over my stomach. As I stifle my urge to throw up as he presses down hard on my abdomen, I begin to explain to him that I recently went vegan and that I think the diet change on top of a bout of anxiety may be why I don't feel well. He agrees and lectures me on how I need to be more careful with my diet change. He then prescribes some acid reflux medicine. And just when I thought I dodged the pregnancy bullet, he asks me to step into the bathroom and fill up the cup just to...what's that? Yeah you guessed it "to rule out pregnancy."

I look at Taylor for courage. He smiles and I almost instantly blurt out:

"If the pee is to just rule out pregnancy, then we can go ahead and rule that out right now."

He looks at me blankly.

I continue...

"I've never had sex."

He looks at me like a deer in head lights.

"REALLY?"

He couldn't even hide his shock and dismay.

"Yeah..."

He then looks at me sternly and holds up his right hand crosses his fingers in a "scout's honor" fashion and says:

"Promise?"

I reluctantly and embarrassingly hold up my right hand and cross my fingers:

"Promise."

"Who's this?" he says pointing at Taylor.

"My best friend."

"Oh...How old are you?"

Suddenly I am nauseous again and I pathetically utter a:

"Please don't ask me that, sir."

Silence.

"I'm 26."

Silence.

I sit there waiting for some kind of crack about how I wouldn't die if I were in a horror film or if he can have my phone number in case he finds himself up against some incurable disease and a drop of virgin blood is the only hope or something...

But he then says...

"Good for you girl. I'm proud of you!"

Great. The doc in the box is proud of me. Scratch that off the bucket list.

As he exits the room, Taylor grabs my leg as I sit there with my pants still wide open. He looks at me like a baby who just fell down and he desperately tries to fill the room with smiles and laughter and before we both know it I am sitting there exposed and crying like a damn baby.

Low point.

But as I cried I quickly replayed what just happened in my head and I start laughing really hard.

"HE MADE ME CROSS MY FINGERS AND PROMISE! WHO DOES THAT?!?!?! WHY WOULD I LIE ABOUT THAT?!?"

We laugh. Hard. Taylor then points out that, the doctor probably sees a lot of girls my age come in with their boyfriends complaining of stomach issues that are actually pre-baby issues.

We laugh. Harder this time.

The proud doctor re-entered, handed me my prescription for heartburn and saluted me with a:

"Keep doing you, girl."

I buttoned my pants. Put on my jacket and we left.

But I left with a little more than a prescription. I left with a little more courage.

You see the thing is, I am who I am and I can't and won't apologize for it. And yes, that means I am a weirdly old virgin. I'm not gonna be ashamed of that anymore. Because honestly, it's not a big deal. It's not some big moral choice I am making. It's more of a result of the life that I've lived, the things that have happened to me or not happened for me. I can't change that and as much as I hated that doctor that day, I am gonna take his advice and I am gonna "keep doing me." (Pun intended).

With that said I would like to take this opportunity to let you guys know that I am currently working on turning my story into a show of sorts. Why not? Right? Right!