Take 2 Geritol and Call Me in the Morning

After 3 weeks of limping around on a lame knee I gave in to hubby dearest and went to the doctor. I had put it off up to this point for the simple reason that I just knew the Dr. was going to ask for a round of x-rays and mri's and other costly tests that I had neither time nor money for. Oh, and when they get the test results back?
Mrs. Moya?
Yes?
Your tests are all normal.
But? I'm still experiencing (insert symptom here)!
Really? Hmm, well I don't know why because your tests are normal. Are you sure it's not just in your mind?
No, no, they never really say that part, you just feel the implications oozing from their tone of superiority...Nevertheless, I went - hoping against hope that this time it would be different. The nurse took me to the room and began her routine - weight, blood pressure, temperature, blood sugar, urine sample, blood sample, skin culture...ok, you get the idea...and then asked me all the obligatory questions - do you still take this medicine? why are you here? how long have you had these symptoms?
Tell me, why do they ask? You know that the doctor does not pay one bit of attention to what the nurse writes on that sheet of paper because when he finally does decide to walk his self into the office and spend all of 1 minute with you, he will ask you the EXACT same questions. I think one day I will tell the nurse I'm here because I think I'm pregnant and I may have bubonic plague just to prove my point.

So I waited in my room and rather than the doctor, in walks a young lady in a long white lab coat. It took me a minute to realize that she was a medical student. She introduces herself, tells me she is indeed a med student and that she has read my chart and knows why I'm here...Ok, no not really, they train them to ignore the notes on the chart the first semester. What she really does is begin to ask me the EXACT same questions that the nurse did and then proceeds to talk about my weight (duh) and what am I eating (huh?) and what is my weight loss goal (I'm sorry?). I tell her I'm striving for Angelina Jolie's figure, but I would be happy with Tyra Bank's figure right about now and just what in the name of eating disorders does that have to do with the fact that my knee needs to have some serious attention? More inane questions follow but I humor her. I figure what the heck, she's a student, they must have to complete a check list or something, so why not? Then she says something to me about how she thinks it may be such and such and they will probably have to run this or that test, blah blah blah. Then she turns to me, places her hand on my knee and says in a 'I'm talking to a 3 year old' voice "I know it's hard to accept, but it happens at 40."
"It happens at 40?" What does? People begin talking to you as if you are an idiot? Ladies who are possibly 3 or 4 years younger than you speaking to you as if you are 110 years old? No lady, I don't think you understand. I fell. My knee hurts. I can't walk without screaming so loud that the neighbors have called the police out several times thinking we are torturing large animals. THIS does not happen at 40! And what did I say to her? Well, I wish I had a really good comeback, some witty little remark that put her back in her sand box playing with her stethoscope. But alas at 40 my brain thinks it's fun to play hide and seek with words. Yes, that happens at 40. I just sat like the sweet little old lady I am and waited for her next insult. When she was done she smiled, patted my head said "THE DOCTOR WILL BE IN SHORTLY" (cause at 40 you become hard of hearing as well) and walked out. "Thank you deary." I think the daggers that I visually threw at her back as she left just missed her by a gray hair. I must need to take my Centrum Silver.

I've never had a problem with aging. I think it's cool that I'm 40 (soon to be 41). I look forward to aging (further) with grace and with humor - especially humor. Don't get me wrong, I will not go quietly. I am not at all ready to accept the gray hair that is beginning a hostile take over of my head, so trust me I will keep L'Oreal in business until then. I have a friend who reminds me that the bible says "gray hair is a woman's crown of glory." I kindly tell her I want my crown to be a lovely shade of golden brown.
Well I guess I should tell you that when my Dr. finally walked in and began to ask (you guessed it) the EXACT same questions I told him that at this point I couldn't remember why I was there. He told me that happens at my age.