How Often Do You Go To The Doctor?

I was in the city on Friday for two doctor's appointments. I've been lazy to find local ones, so once a year I go in to see 'the doctors'.

My boyfriend thinks that I'm obsessed with going to the doctor. No, I have a father who was/is neurotic and obsessed with going to the doctor. His thinking is, if you have the insurance, then get your money’s worth. I do have an army of doctors. General practitioner, Gynecologist, Dermatologist, Ophthalmologist, Dentist, and Physical therapist, although that one doesn't really count.

I see the following less frequently but they’re on my speed dial. Urologist, Rheumatologist, plastic surgeon, Orthopedic surgeon, Neurologist, Acupuncturist, thinning hair doctor, and podiatrist. I had a bunionectomy awhile back. Nothing says old jew like a bunion.

I parked my car and walked to the subway, only to see the R train pulling in to the station. I excitedly hopped on. You know why the train was just pulling in? Because it was the downtown train and I needed the uptown. I rode it to 34th, got off, walked over to the uptown platform and marveled at how after so many years, that I could still be getting on the wrong trains.

My yearly check up was first. The nurse called me into the room, told me to pee in a cup (if you’ve been playing at home, you know that I’ve gotten very adept at this (see why) and then that bitch weighed me fully clothed. Are you crazy? She didn't even offer to subtract any pounds for the clothes. I didn't say anything, because I'd already weighed myself that morning, completely naked (I even took my hair clip out) so I knew what the truth was.

And she didn't measure me. I've Pilates'd (sp) my brains out and I’m convinced that I've grown. She left the room so I could get into my paper towel gown (from the waist up) and I laid on the table, waiting for her return.

She came back in and started hooking me up for an EKG test. Man, she ripped that gown open, exposing my supple bosoms, and started sticking patches all over my chest. She totally rushed through it, like she had a train to catch. No sweet talk, nothing.

The rest of the exam was boring. It took all of 10 minutes. So worth the drive in.

Here's a little advice for anyone planning to visit NYC or who lives there. Please don’t walk more than two people across on the sidewalk, when there’s oncoming pedestrians. And if you can, single file that shit up. There were people walking 4 and 5 across. The friggin streets aren't big enough. Please be considerate.

I still don't know how women walk the streets in heels. I'm going to be seeing you in my Pilates classes! http://talkingismybusiness.blogspot.com/2007/09/no-sex-please.html

I have a male gynecologist, and I always wonder how they don’t get excited examining their patients (I know they’re professionals, but they’re also human) especially if a fresh and sexy 20 something, with a rack that rivals any VS model walks into the office. Hell, I'd get excited.

Is it wrong to greet my doctor with a hug? A part of me thinks it is but I don’t know if that’s the uptight part of me, who’s constantly searching for the right and wrong in situations.

I laid on the table, this time naked from the waist down, cooter slightly exposed (those paper towel gowns don’t cover squat) waiting for my doctor to get the hermetically sealed instruments out of their package. Awkward.

The exam commences, and the exam ends. Then he says that he sees a lot of Pilates Instructor's with tight pelvic floors, who have painful sex. Wait. Is he saying I have a tight pelvic floor? Is that bad? But I don’t have painful sex. AHHH! Check please!!!! Stop! I don’t want to talk about sex with you, painful or otherwise! I get it, I’m a Pilates instructor, we’re all about the pelvic floor, tight or otherwise, you’re bonding with me, but please stop talking and let me get dressed.

He finally leaves, but not before we kiss each other good-bye on the cheek, like I do with my girlfriends. I’m so confused.

UTI: PART DEUX

I know many of you were concerned about my UTI, which is why I'm revisiting the topic. Actually, it's revisiting me.

I woke up this morning at 5:30a. It's baaaccckkk. And once again, I went searching for the clinics number, because of course I couldn't find my receipt from the last visit and I never thought to take a business card. Why should I? I wasn't going to be returning.

I found the number online, which was no easy feat because I couldn't remember the actual name of the clinic. Why should I? I wasn't going to be returning. My urethra had other ideas.

I canceled my evening Pilates classes, which I absolutely abhor doing, but I had no idea how long the line at the clinic (Clinic sounds like a place where you go to illegal and naughty things) was going to be and when I'd be released. That, and I was feeling crappy crap.

The only bright spot in this whole ordeal was driving my Mini Cooper to the clinic. I love my car. Someone in another Mini actually waved at me when we passed. It was like a secret handshake.

And with the purchase of my new Mini, comes a free weekly car wash. I know, I was so excited. And there's usually donuts or cookies and coffee in the reception area. Could my purchase get any better?!

Anyhoo, I arrived at the clinic, signed in and took the last available seat. It was standing room only. At least I brought my Kindle. About five minutes later, I heard a faint, "Dani" coming from the reception area. It couldn't have been me, because there were so many people. And it sort of sounded like Dena. Thirty seconds later, there was another, "Dani?" I moved in a little closer because I still wasn't sure. Great, in addition to a bacteria infested urethra, I'm now losing my hearing.

And then the receptionist screamed, (No joke, it was a scream) and really who could blame her, "Daaannniii?" I jumped up out of my seat and walked over to the receptionist. I felt every eye of everyone sitting in that room, piercing a hole in the back of my head. I was a little embarrassed because now these strangers were going to think that I didn't know my own name, or that I was slow.

The receptionist was holding a pee pee cup in her hand as she read from a piece of paper. And when I say that she had a loud voice, I'm not exaggerating. There's no way that the entire waiting room did not hear the following conversation.

Receptionist: "So, what are you here for? A recheck of your urine. We're going to dip it again and test it."
Me: (Whispering, hoping that she might get the hint) "I guess so."
Receptionist: "Okay," (She turns) "Doctor Rittenberg, you're going to test her urine again? (Remember, she's projecting!) Here's the cup. Use this clean wipe first and then leave it on the other side in the back. They'll test it right away."

She did not just tell me and the listening audience to use the clean wipe. Do I look like I'm four years old? What is wrong with you, woman?!

Me: "Can I wait back there as well?" I didn't want to turn around and face my public. Instead, I wanted to disappear into thin air and reappear in the bathroom.

Receptionist: "You can wait here, or you can wait in the back, I don't care."

I should've asked her to take it down a notch and show some restraint in advertising my business. What I heard was her yelling like a Circus Barker, "Ladies and gentlemen, she's about to pee in a tiny plastic cup. Step right up."

The doctor, once again, confirmed what I had known at 5:30am this morning. She sent me off with another prescription of antibiotics, which I hate taking. The visit was free and this time I left with a business card. You don't have to tell me twice. But if you do, can you whisper it in my ear.