A Completely Accurate Account of My Time at the Clinic

*EDIT: Not sure why I started making this blog post about my experience at the doctor's office, but since it was just sitting in my "drafts" folder and I haven't posted in an age and a half, I'd toss it on up here. Oh goodness, it doesn't even make sense, does it? It's just sort of an absurd stream of consciousness.. whatever, here it is.*

Going to see a doctor is not something I do often. I'm not a big fan of waiting rooms, or stethescopes, or needles, or co-pay or the feeling that you are cornered byfestering disease germs at all times- every easily-wiped piece of vinyl funiture secretly a cesspool of sinus infections just waiting to strike.

I'm also not a big fan of telling people all about my business, which is why it's weird now for me to be saying these words: Today I saw a doctor and here's why
Yesterday when I had a "tingly" feeling in my hands (like they'd just fallen asleep) for FIVE HOURS I went to the Health Clinic on campus, and told them about the tingling along with frequent headaches and moodswings I've been dealing with lately. They suggested I make an appointment for today. So I did that. And for once, I actually showed up to something I said I would attend....

Of course, whereas before I made the appointment I had been CONVINCED that my body was on the verge of crumbling and falling apart, -that maybe Web MD was correct, -that maybe THIS WAS THE END... The moment I stepped through the doors of the clinic for MY appointment, it was suddenly as if all my strange symptoms had completely subsided , and - oh no, what was I doing there anyway, wasting everyone's time? CERTAINLY THEY WILL SEE ME AS A FRAUD AND LAUGH ME OUT OF THE CLINIC: 'BE GONE YOU FILTHY WELL PERSON! WE HAVE NO NEED FOR YOUR KIND!!!' I could just see it in their faces!
Already things were going so splendidly.


Once we got past the awkward questions part ("Did driving to school make you feel weak? When was your last period? Do your brothers and sisters have cancer?")
I leveled up into the "strength test" challenge
After making a show of flexing my massive guns and nearly swatting my elderly doctor across the room upon her request to resist her gentle pushing she came up with this challenge: "I want you to squeeze my fingers as hard as you can"... I take her spindly index and middle fingers into my strong 19 year old hands, examining the delicate crepe paper skin, the tired fingernails, pondering the task at hand. I see myself pulverizing this woman's fingers instantly into dust in a b-horror movie sort of way. "Are you SURE you-"
"Yes, just squeeze my fingers, hard as you can."
We spend the rest of the appointment reinflating her pulverized digits.

After my spectacular display of superhuman strength came the final challenge. The big shebang. In assigning me my Boss Battle this doctor pulled out all the stops and solemnly stated "I think we should do a blood test." Aaahh yes, the blood draw. My old enemy.

Tentatively, I saunter into the tiny room of the clinic in which bodily fluids are collected and sent out for testing, trying to put on a tough face so that the needle isn't aware of how unreasonably terrified I am. The friendly nurse straps me into her highchair of death (seriously, there's a lap bar. I guess you're supposed to rest your arm on it, but all I want to do when I sit there is eat cheerios with my fingers. And make the dinosaur chicken nuggets eat each other... until a single nugget stands alone atop a hill of dinosaur/chicken carnage. Only this dinosaur shall be eaten, for only she has proved her worth...) with a giggle and prances over to her white vinyl cabinet of torture. Next she smiles ties a blue elastic around my bulging bicep so tightly that i can feel the stressed elastic fibers becoming one with my flesh. Here it comes... first the freezing antiseptic to make sure my filthy skin doesn't leak disease into my bloodstream, and then...

Drawing blood is actually super not a big deal. For most people. For me, it's either sitting in a chair for at least twice as long as the doctor expected me to while s/he watches the empty bag/tube and frantically tells me to pump my hand, wondering if I still have a pulse, or, on RARE occasions, it's a crimson monsoon unable to be tamed by mere cotton-balls secured with medical tape. This was one of those times.

After gasp-panting my way though the arduous task of having a piece of metal shoved inside me and plucked back out, the friendly nurse taped me up with my cottonball and sent me on my merry way, completely unaware of the blodshed which would soon ensue.
On my way down the hall to the checkout desk was when I first noticed that I'd already begun bleeding through the cotton ball "This seems odd, maybe I should-" NEXT! Called Friendly Nurse #2 - "ah well, I'll just check out first, and then maybe I can-" my casual thought is interrupted by a blood-eruption of arterial geyser proportions. Before I know what's happening, blood is spraying everywhere, Tarantino-style. In a panic, I turn back to the nurse with the cotton balls and as a result the entire hallway becomes a gory bio-hazard. Stunned students doctors and nurses are strewn about the office, some still staggering from the blast; others trying to piece themselves and and their bloody belongings back together. All of them looking like they just tumbled out of an episode of The Walking Dead. I turn back to Friendly Nurse #2 "...I gotta go"


And then I bought myself a muffin.
~Ali

Guys, guess who does not
Have hypothyroidism...
That would be this girl!