Today, I criticize health care (and also I refer to three movies and one song)

I’m up late because for the past few days, I’ve felt like some demonic little troll has been stabbing my left side with a pitchfork from the inside of my body. Whenever I move, the evil bugger stabs me double time and has literally made me double over in pain, gasping and cursing. During one such internal stabbing attack by the troll, my boss even noticed something was wrong. It was then that I decided a visit to Urgent Care was in order.


I spent all of Friday morning at Urgent Care, where, incidentally, my doctor was MAJOR eye candy (seriously, seeing him almost made it worth having to be there), only to be told that after various tests of my bodily fluids and five X-rays, Hottie Doctor couldn’t see anything wrong with me. (I almost asked if X-rays are to trolls what mirrors are to vampires, but then decided not to, as I didn’t want Hottie Doctor to think I was crazy. One MUST keep up appearances, you know.)

OW!

Not wanting to question Hottie Doctor’s intelligence and medical degree but at the same time wanting to be rid of the damn troll inside of me, I (shamelessly) turned on the waterworks.

You see, this Urgent Care visit was merely the latest doctor’s visit in the long line of doctor’s visits this year. I, who up until this year never went to the doctor, have been in and out of my doctor’s office at least twice a month since December 2007. I kid you not. I have had a range of tests over the past few months: a CT scan, thyroid ultrasounds, “fluid” tests (I will NOT elaborate on that one), and X-rays. I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve had blood taken. I’ve been exposed to so much radiation that even Hottie Doctor was worried about doing today’s X-rays. His exact words: “Poor thing, I’m surprised you’re not GLOWING from all the radiation.” (Oh, I was glowing, baby, but not from radiation. It was his fine self that had me glowing like Robert Downey Jr.’s chest thingy in Iron Man.)

Sadly enough, my testing days are not done. Lucky me, I get to go have a thyroid biopsy. What does that entail, exactly? Well, grasshopper, that means that I get to have a needle (which in my imagination equals the size of the one used in Pulp Fiction) shoved in and out of my poor defenseless thyroid. Is it any wonder that I’m procrastinating on scheduling this particular appointment? Given the choice, I’d much rather cut my own Achilles’ tendon with a dull and rusty razor. (Did you just shudder? I know I did. But I really don’t want a ginormous needle going into my throat.)

Getting back to today’s visit: I usually don’t cry at the doctor’s office. I’m a big girl now, and according to Fergie, big girls don’t cry. But today I summoned up some tears, hoping to garner sympathy (or possibly a little cuddle) from Hottie Doctor. (it didn’t work. Well, actually, it did a little. But not the cuddle part. Damn.)

I don’t understand why these ridiculously expensive tests and doctors with years of schooling and fancy medical degrees can’t figure out what’s wrong with me. Don’t get me wrong, man. It’s not like I want something wrong with me, because I certainly don’t. I would have been happy to go the rest of my days without knowing what it’s like to get a CT scan and I REALLY would not mind if the words “thyroid biopsy” were not part of my lexicon. But since something is wrong with me – I’m sure most normal people don’t have angry, angry trolls inside of them (unless your name is Rosemary and you’re in a movie called Rosemary’s Baby and in which case, dude that sucks) – I would really like it if someone could tell me what’s wrong with me.

On the up side, I did get a prescription for Lortab. On the down side, I got a hideously bruised arm and tape residue.

And you know something else? I don’t like how 49 flavor jars of Jelly Bellies always load up on the bellies that taste like caca. Peanut butter, buttered popcorn, caramel corn, and mango – I’m looking in your direction.

Boo yah.

**Update: Please note that this is for entertainment value only. I am not looking for sympathy, attention, or threats to go medieval on the doctors. There are so many more people who are worse off than I am. I have had time to gain perspective and see the amusing side of the situation. I only wrote about this in order to help myself laugh about it, and to perhaps remind everyone to count their blessings.