Even the title that they give them makes me want to run screaming. Colorectal Surgeons. That’s probably because I have an intense loathing hatred for the word “rectum.” I feel like I’m entitled to this hatred given my life experiences to date, but whatever. Nine years later I still hate that word. 🙂
I had to make a little emergency visit to the doctor a few days ago to make sure that everything was ok. Eight people were in the waiting room as I walked in. They all looked at me curiously as I was obviously the youngest to enter the room by at least 30 years. They look at me like I’m a drug rep until I grab the standard paperwork and insurance forms. Then with a grin on my face I look at them and think, “Unless one of you has cancer, which I pray you don’t, I bet I could out do you all.” The familiar smell of doctors office and cleaner was in the air. I tried to keep to myself, toying with my iPhone and typing away at an email.
There are rules about sitting in this particular doctor’s office. If you ever have to enter one, you should at least know this one. You don’t talk to the other people who are there unless they came with you. I mean you all know what is about to happen. You are about to seriously violated and you would be anywhere else in the world right then if you could, because you know what’s coming. I choose my seat in these offices very meticulously so no one can sit next to me. The lady in the corner clearly did not know the rules.
She spoke. She spoke to anyone that would listen. I think if the other little elderly ladies next to her weren’t listening to her she would have talked to the 1980’s wall decor. She hurled questions at her neighbors like nosey little darts just to fill the silence. I wanted to tell her that her rainbow colored headband was ugly. Her “slacks” were hiked all the way up to her boobies, making her look like she was about 6 months pregnant at 80 years old. First she talked about how handsome she thought John Calapari was and how much he has done for the city of Lexington. Gabbing, she talked about how normal he is because he lives on Main Street. I wanted to say, “He has the largest gate in Lexington around his house to keep the crazies like you out!” I also know that she lives in Louisville and her grandson’s name is Christian. Then came the big kicker. She began to tell a story about her daughter who went down to Florida recently, near the oil spill. With the other little old ladies wide-eyed she stated, “And I want you to know that my daughter took a picture of that there sky with the clouds. And when that picture came out, the name of our Lord Jesus Christ was written in the clouds! And in Revelation and the end times there will be signs and wonders I tell you. Signs and wonders!!!” I wanted to throw the crusted magazine next to me at her as a sign of wonder while I prayed that the Lord would make her be quiet. I wanted to yell, “I bet you are 80 and still have all of your digestive organs. Hush!”
I sat there, averting eye contact with all 14 people collected in this little room. My attention was caught when a younger, fairly good looking guy walked in with his mom. I heard him check in and immediately started to battle my will to break the rule of silence. I wanted to strike up a conversation. “What are you in for?” “Nice wrist band, I have one like it. Crohn’s or Colitis?” “Oh look I have an iPhone too! You wanna get married? We have a lot in common clearly.” “You brought your mom. Party foul.” But I mean really what would I say? He looked good for someone having a surgery follow up and the last thing I would like to lead with is, “Hi, my name is Sarah and I don’t have all of my digestive organs.”
Since I like to add insult to injury, I was sick on top of having to be at this particular office. I could feel my cold medicine wearing off and I getting irritable. Just when I was about to jump ship, my name was called and I was whisked back to a room where nothing good can really happen. The positive side is that I don’t have to do this as much any more and the thought that it was once almost a weekly part of life makes me thankful for how fortunate I have been post surgeries.
Seriously Dr. Sharp, where ever you are in Nashville, you should know that if you had just stamped your seal of “Dr. Sharp Official J-Pouch Masterpiece” on the inside of my little make shift colon it would have saved me from the “chit chat” of doctors who ask questions while they admire your work (much to the dismay of the girl with a scope where she would rather not have it!)
I never promised the blog wouldn’t be honest. 🙂 I should be good for another two years. Scoped. Complimented. Set free to roam again. Everything is still looking good in there 😉
One Wild Hair 