A whole lot of nothin' for a $25.00 co-pay.

"How are you?" the smiling, green scrub-clad doctor asked me.
"Well, aside from being bat-$hit crazy, I guess I am doing okay" I said.
He chuckled.
I didn't.
Then I cut right to the heart of the matter and brought out my notebook.
Oh yes, I did.
I wrote it alllll down.
I didn't want to miss a thing.
He nodded thoughtfully and made notes as I spoke.
I am pretty sure he was just doodling, but he made a good pretense of the note-taking.
I rattled off everything that was going on with me. Physically. Emotionally.
Then, when I got to the end of the list, he looked up nodding in that knowingly slash sympathetic way and said "you are text-book premenopausal."

Emphasis on text-book.

I seriously can't grasp why guys like this get paid real money.
Google told me I was premenopausal.
I bet there is a Wonderpets episode on menopause.
I want help, not an obvious diagnosis.

I told him that.

Then he said, "99 percent of women that come through that door have one of three things they are concerned about: not being able to lose weight, non-existing libido and lack of energy. If I could fix those things, I would be a very wealthy man."

I knew right then, that this visit was not going to go as I had planned in my head.

We talked a while longer, and he offered to put me on birth control.

I was wondering if he knew that the best form of birth control EVER would be to just keep me like I was.
NO ONE LIKES ME LIKE THIS!

Birth control?
Really?

There were other things mentioned too, don't get me wrong, but apparently there isn't a quick fix for me.
I can't just get Advil Menopause with Anti-Crazy.

I am pretty sure my thyroid is off, so we are starting there, and then beginning a journey down what looks like a very long road of try and try again.

Then, he hands me a very large paper towel festooned with flowers, and looking very much like the roll of Bounty in my kitchen, and leaves me to the undressing for the exam.

I am sure I am not the only woman in the world who undresses, ready for a virtual stranger to see all her business, yet feels compelled to hide her underwear.

There I am standing in nothing but tissue,(my back-end not even covered) and stuffing my bra and undies into the leg of my jeans so they can't be seen.
What is that?

Sparing you the details of the exam, it was over quickly, and this year I scooted down far enough the first time. Yay me.

"This might pinch a little." is a huge, big fat lie of an understatement.

Then some blood work.
Then back to the car.

And when I was in the car, I realized that nothing was accomplished.
Nothing.

Granted, the blood work will be a start.
I need to have patience.

But I was still a little frustrated.
I felt sweaty.
So I went to Wendy's a got a large frosty.
The End.