Fit as a Fiddle

I have a little advice.

Let’s say one day you decide to open a hospital and a medical center in a small town. If you put them on the same piece of land, right next to each other, with buildings that look identical in design, they’d better be connected.

If you don’t connect them, you end up with patients who start off at the medical center and then have to have a procedure at the hospital, and your patient thinks the check-in station at the medical center is the main check-in station for the hospital too because it’s a small town- how resourceful!

What happens is that patient goes to the medical center to check in, explains why she is there and they check her in and send her to the lab where she sits for 30 minutes before someone finally figures out that she’s actually supposed to be checking in at the hospital; and by this point she’s very late for her appointment.

That may or may not have been my experience this morning (it was) and I was so embarrassed about my mistake and about being late that I hardly even had room in my brain to worry about the blood test they had to do to make sure I wasn’t pregnant. 

I could have told them that I wasn’t pregnant. A waste of good blood that my body has worked so hard to create and maintain. TANGENT: If you want to torture someone who can’t get pregnant, make them get tested for pregnancy. Even though that person just had her period, she will inevitably sit in the waiting room daydreaming about you coming in with the miraculous news that she is pregnant.   It sucks.

The procedure went as expected and, drum roll…… I’m perfectly healthy. I suppose it was worth the time, stress, nausea, blood loss, and money to confirm that fact? I’m working on believing that.

The good news?

•  I’ve exhausted all the tests. I’m done with tests!
•  I’m healthy. I made it into my 30’s and doctors can’t find even the tiniest thing wrong with me. Whew.

Now that I’m done jumping through medical hoops, I’m off to jump through government hoops and find out where God is hiding my kids.