Paperwork

Soooooooo...

I'm having a bit of a hard time here lately. Houston... there has been some heavy, hard core drama. Please abort mission. I repeat... ABORT MISSION... and head on back to home base. No need to discuss the issues with the public. Let's just maintain a low profile, take our licks and move on with life. Roger that, Houston. Over and Out.

I'm in need of a funny story. And luckily for you AND for me... I have one.

And... I GUESS... I'll tell it. Geez. Twist my arm.

When I was about 16 years old, my mom took me to the doctor for something. (I don't remember what. I'm 31 years old now... what do you want from me?) She checked me in and got my paperwork. Came over to where I was sitting and began to fill it out. And I was like, "WHA...? Mom. MOM. I'm 16. I think I can fill my OWN paperwork out. Thank you very much-ah. I've mastered the arts of READING and WRITING at this point. I attend, you know, SCHOOL. Also... I believe I know ME. Because I am... ME."

She was amused. Teenagers are amusing, I have come to realize. Being that they know everything and all... but still make some of the most EPICALLY stupid mistakes ever. Which is so odd considering all of that knowledge. And wisdom. And advice they have for us older folk. Which ultimately guides them on their path to the spiritual awakening of "Holy Shit. I DON'T actually KNOW how to proceed. Mom? Dad? What would you do? And... can I borrow $100? Also... can you watch the baby on Friday?"

Anyway... she handed me the clipboard with the paperwork. I felt so official as I began to check boxes. And write my FULL NAME and my SOCIAL SECURITY NUMBER... (which I had to ask my mom for). When was my last period? WHY... YES. YES, I DO. GET THAT. THANK YOU. ADULT WOMAN HERE. Filling out her OWN paperwork. Tampon user now, EVEN. (Oh. Well. Ok. Apparently they don't need to know that.)

Have I had any surgical procedures? YES. Yes I have.
"Tonsil"... ahhh...
"Tonsel"... hmmm....
"Tonsal".... welllll...
"Mom... how do you spell tonsillectomy?"

Also... they need to know my insurance information. Ummmm... "Mom... what do I write here?"

Now we're to the boxes of what illnesses I have and have not suffered from. Check yes or no.
Cancer?... pfffft. Easy... NO. Duh.
Hemorrhoids? (like for REALZ? *snicker* NO! Wait... wait. Maybe I should put YES. LMAO! Wait... she's looking. Forget it.)
Heart Disease, including arteriosclerosis, angina, heart failure or history of heart attack ? What am I... fat??!? 60??? Also... "angina"? Really?.... REALLY? BWHAHAHAHA!! (what is that?)
High Blood Pressure? How the hell would I know? Aren't they going to put that squeezy thing on me and LET ME KNOW? You're suppose to know these things before you go in?
Blurred Vison? Yes. But if you think I am going to check YES so she can make me wear some dorky ass glasses you're insane.
Rheumatoid arthritis, lupus, or connective tissue disease? Uhhhhhh.... (what the hell is all THAT? I guess... NO. Is guessing allowed?)
Sickle Cell Anemia? Ummm... what if I have had all this crap? I've been sick a time or two in my younger days. But with WHAT? I don't remember. Can you catch this "anemia" business? And why does it make your "cells sick"? Is that any different from like, sick... sick? Why do they even need to know all this anyway? Forget it. I am just gonna put "NO" on everything else because I am not asking her, so she can be like, "Ohhhhhhhh... I thought you knew enough to fill out your OWN paperwork."

So I get done with everything and I could tell she wanted to spot check it. But I was like, "Nope. DENIED. I got this."... and went over and turned it into the receptionist.

After awhile, the nurse came to the door and called my name. Mi Madre must have sensed that this day was some sort of milestone, so when they called my name, she kept reading her magazine and didn't look up. I was on my own, apparently. Heck YES! Finally. A little respect around here. A little recognition for my (inevitable) accomplishment of growing up. Thank you very MUCH-AH.

The nurse did her nurse stuff. Height, weight, temp, blood pressure. Then she left me alone in the room informing me that "The Doctor has one patient ahead of you and then will be in shortly."

While I waited I read Better Homes & Gardens. It's what all the "adults" read while they wait for their doctors.

15 minutes later, the doctor knocked on the door and then entered. But it was all wrong, because it was a MALE doctor. WHOA. WHOA... now. Do they not know that on days when you have grown up enough to fill out your own paperwork and then do your whole "appointment" by yourself, you need to be assigned a same gender physician? How do they not know this? Didn't the receptionist notice me in all my adult glory, transforming before her very eyes as I took care of all of my OWN information? Uncomfortable this will be. Perhaps I should get my mom...

BUT NO. NO I WILL NOT. Perseverance. That's adult and shit.

He started asking me questions about whatever I was there for, as well as my medical history. Then he paused for a minute and said, "You've had Pertussis?"

????? "Uhhhhhh... I don't think so. What is that?"

"Well it says right here on your paperwork you have had Whooping Cough. How old were you when you had Whooping Cough?"

"Oh! No. he he. I've never had "Whooping Cough", I guess. But I have had a "Whopping (big) Cough" before that made my throat hurt. You know... like a whopper of a cough. I thought that was the same thing."

"Ohhhh... I see. You filled out your own paperwork today. Why don't we get your mother in here just to be on the safe side, then?"

DAMMIT.