The Doctor Will Look In Your Nose

Actual photo of me at my 32 year old well-visit

A few weeks ago I went for my 32 year old well-visit.  I had to do MATH to figure out how old I am for this post.  I honestly couldn’t remember.  I’m glad they knew how old I was at the office, it would have been awkward to pull out my phone calculator and do the subtraction problem. Also, I don’t actually see a Doctor.  I see a CPN or a CNP or something like that.  I get those letters confused a lot but the important thing is I see a person who can do a pap-smear and not a person who can do my taxes.  Or maybe she can do my taxes, too...I’ve never asked.  I’m going to put that on my list of questions for my 33 year old well-visit.

I took my one year old, Zola, with me for emotional support and because she can’t stay at home by herself yet because she is too short to reach the phone in case of an emergency.  Also, she doesn’t know how to use a phone.  Also, we don’t actually have a home phone.  So I loaded up the diaper bag and took her to meet the CIA or whatever the not-doctor is called.  

The visit started well.  The nurse asked if I had any concerns, asked me if I had felt depressed in the last month (she said she was obligated to ask that question but I think the fact that I showed up in my pajamas and hadn’t brushed my hair gave her a red flag as to my mental health.) Joke’s on her because I’m not depressed I just don’t own real pants. She took my blood pressure, my pulse, and my weight.  I didn’t look at what the scale said because it is my firm belief that my purpose on Earth is to live a life that gets me the reward of Heaven.  And, as far as I know, there isn’t a scale at the Pearly Gates.  She left the room after that and I changed into an open-in-the-front dress and put a napkin across my lap--you, know, for modesty.  

It was in this moment that Zola started fussing.  So I had to hop down off the table and dig a cracker out of the diaper bag for her to chew on while we waited.  Hopping back up proved a bit more difficult but I managed. The CNP came in and asked some questions, then checked my eyes, ears, NOSE!, and mouth.  She did not tap on my knee with the knee-tapper but I guess they don’t do that anymore.  Which then begs the question: why does the knee-tapper come in every doctor toy set? I mean, if we want our daughters and sons to think about being a doctor shouldn’t their set come with the right equipment? I don’t want Zola showing up on her first day of Harvard Med School feeling like she was duped her whole life. I digress. After the initial stuff she did a breast exam and a pap-smear.  I’ll save most of the details of this but the important thing to know is: 1. Zola cried the whole time. 2. I didn’t cry at all.

That’s it.  Sort of a boring post...but it’s important none-the-less.  It’s important because someone reading this needs to know that getting checked out at the doctor (or CNP) is important.  It’s annoying and inconvenient and quite frankly, boring.  It is all of that...but it’s also one of the best things you can do for you and those who love you. Your ONE body, the case for your organs and soul and all that jazz.  Without your body you won’t be able to yell at your kids for clogging the toilet (I mean, we have talked about the courtesy flush), you won’t be able to tell your partner that they need to pick up laundry soap on their way home from work, you won’t be able to go online and look at photos of puppies at 11:30pm, the time when it is ALWAYS a good idea to adopt a puppy.  For real.  Make the appointment.  Go to the Doctor.  If you are scared or worried or not wanting to go because you’re afraid they will say something is really wrong or they will tell you that you need to lose weight or you are sensitive about how your nostrils look, then read this post and take courage.  I brought a baby, a dirty nose, and pajama pants with me to my appointment.  And it was fine.  Their job is to check you out, and your job is to let them.