(*hum to the tune of “My Favorite Things”)
Last month, I went in for a physical. And some major blood work. And a tetanus shot.
Yesterday, I was able to meet with the doctor to go over my blood test results. Long story short: generally healthy, but lacking Vitamin D, and cholesterol was out of whack. Good was too low, and bad was too high, but easily fixable. No big deal. He suggested a few different medications, and then settled on Metformin, which (I am crossing my fingers) will be some sort of magic cure-all pill for the PCOS and the cholesterol. Plus, it’s supposed to help with weight loss, so really, who wouldn’t be excited to take it?
Then we moved to another room so he could perform a mole-ectomy. (I just made that word up, but it could SO be a real word.)
*cue dramatic music*
As this wasn’t my first time, I figured it would be no big deal. You get the numbing shot, then the scalpel, then the cauterizer, and then a band-aid. Easy.
This doctor used scissors instead of a scalpel, so after suffering through the “just a baby bee sting” shot (bee sting my PATOOTIE! What sort of giant killer bees sting YOU?), I had to listen to the “snip, snip, snip” of his scissors as he cut through the– *gag*– fibrous– *gag*– tissue. My cheeks started to feel hot, and I almost put my hand on the wall, in case I fell into it. He asked me repeatedly if I was okay, and I swear, I thought I was, but by the time he had finished his snipping, the room was spinning and there was this rushing sound in my ears. (How does a mole the size of a pencil eraser warrant 25-30 snips with sterile scissors? *shudder* I can NOT think about it any more. I’m starting to get light-headed.)
They had me lay down on the bed, and after a minute, they decided I’d do better sitting up. The doctor brought me a bottle of apple juice, and I laughed like an idiot, falling all over myself with apologies about how silly I was acting.
I felt like such a tool.
(Oh, and it gets better.)
The nurse thought the burnt-flesh smell might be what was making me sick, so they moved me down a long hallway and sat me in some chairs by the front door. I was fine walking, but as I sat there, the rushing sound came back, so I sipped some apple juice and rested my head against the wall. Almost immediately I felt hot, and I thought to myself, If I don’t put my head between my knees, I’m going to pass out.
And then I was dreaming.
Or so I thought…
I heard, “Kemi! Kemi! KEMI!” I opened my eyes and tried to remember where I was and why someone was waking me up. (Seriously– I could have been 16 again, and the nurse could have been my mom, calling me to get up for school. I was THAT out of it.) The nurse laughed at me (nicely) and said, “I think you just passed out.” Then she handed me my bottle of apple juice, which I must have dropped when I was unconscious.
(You can’t take me ANYWHERE without me making a fool of myself, I’m afraid.)
After at least 30 minutes of observation, they decided it was safe to let me drive home. I managed to make it there in one piece, but I was met at the door by five hungry people who wanted to know why I had been gone for two hours and what on earth they were going to eat for dinner.
We had cold cereal.
(Don’t you wish you lived at my house?) (That was rhetorical. No response necessary, okay?)
It was all worth it, though, because I have magic Metformin pills. FINALLY. 😀