Hurry Up And Wait

I hate to wait. We all have to wait though. I even wrote what I thought was a pretty good essay on waiting in line for my freshman composition class in college. I was so proud of my little paper, my first college writing assignment. My professor hated it, she gave me C, said she "couldn't relate"...really! Who can't relate to WAITING. Everybody waits. At the bank, in line at the movies, the grocery store...and at the doctor's office. (not in customs in The Bahama's, but that's another blog entry)

Yesterday, I tried a new doctor, one who's supposedly into all the buzz about bio-identical hormone replacement and some cutting edge new physical-therapy-meets-chiropractic approach called Airrosti. My appointment was at 1:00 pm, was supposed to take fifty minutes, and is thankfully less than five minutes away. Since I am a "new" patient and always early anyway, I got there at 12:45 to fill out the necessary paper work. From the get-go I knew I'd have to leave by 2:45 to pick up my kids at two different schools, plus I was picking up a friend's kid, so I couldn't be late...plenty 'O time...NOT.

I was called from the waiting room into that little purgatory place called the exam room fairly on time so I was totally powerless and entirely unsuspecting as I waited in my tiny cell with the fake oil painting of what looked to me like an elaborate weed, a weird exam table that was shaped like a pommel horse and a completely pristine issue of Southern Living, February 2010. I did tear out a super simple looking oven baked chicken spaghetti recipe. I hate that in-between time where we think, "I must be on deck, I'm not in the waiting room anymore." Yes you are. It's just smaller with no people to watch.

So, that's such a tricky little ploy doctors have. You think you're going in, but they're really just spreading around the wait. The doctor finally came in my room at 2:15. 2:15! More than an hour I've waited and now I'm talking a million miles an hour because I KNOW my time is short, but I desperately want the help for my back and my jacked-up hormonal situation. I talked so fast and she said all the right things that OUR time together was only fifteen minutes! Where's my fifty minute visit for my $25 co-pay??

The doctor ordered some blood-taking so she could establish a base-line for me before deciding what hormone therapy I should have so she left to get the phlebotomist. Never saw Doc again. If you're keeping up, it's 2:30 now and here's a piece of advice: NEVER tell the twenty-one year old child with the needles that you're really in a hurry.

Both arms, two technicians, at least seven needles, and twenty more precious minutes. Once the real phlebotomist got the single vile of my red stuff that they needed I tore out the door knowing I'd be late for the first school that lets out at 3:00.

I sped off the main street toward the first school and came to a screeching halt, for the pick-up line stretched almost three blocks...so, I WAITED. As I sat in my car, Sirius radio set to the E Street station of course, I began to feel the pain in my arms and noticed one of the bandages had actually bled through. Ouch. At least the pick-up line had me waiting long enough for my blood to coagulate. There is always a bright side, I suppose.

If you're worried about the other school, don't. Thankfully the release times are all staggered. I retrieved all my precious cargo and they all lived happily ever after.