"this is the dr's office...you know, the one who pokes, probes and scrapes you...well, we just wanted to call and leave you a friendly message to tell you that we have your test results back, but we're not actually going to tell you if you've passed or failed, we're just going to leave you hanging, and then when YOU call back, well, we're not going to be available to take your call at that time, so you'll have to leave a message for us asking about the test results...and then when we try to call back, well you wont be there, so we'll leave an even shorter message, and this will go on all afternoon until you begin leaving threats on our voicemail about bodily harm with a speculum."
"your results showed glandular cells, blah, blah blah. dr. "poke 'n probe" would like you to come in again, blah, blah, blah, it's probably just inaccurate because of the time that you came in, blah, blah, blah, she would just like to be sure, so she wants to take the scraping from a little higher up."
where exactly, my left ventricle?
not to beat a dead horse, into my now 6 storey soapbox, but i am not a sickie. i do not revel in the ritual of form filling, cheque writing, and flicking through tatty copies of people magazine from the 1980's. i realize that for some individuals, this is both an opportunity to take time off work, and then upon returning to work, a way to bore the shit out of the rest of us with the intricacies of their sinus problems. however, in the past month i have been to: the mole doctor (who cut and burned my skin), the yukky doctor (ky jelly and a backless paper gown), and the UTI doctor (thankfully no lube or branding). now i have to follow back up with the mole doctor so he can check that the aforementioned wounds are healing (they are), in addition to shelling out another copayment to rule out the less than 1% chance of ovarian cancer because the front desk scheduled my uterus at it's most "inflamed".
my fuse is short, must be the pms. so...obviously the appointment is scheduled for next week.