For some people, having a receptionist scream, Oh my God, do you have rabies?"" would be the low point in their medical history. However, as my existence thrives on awkwardness and uncomfortable situations, I should have known this could never be the case for me.
My doctor had ordered an echocardiogram. I don't really know why I needed an ultrasound of my heart; I stopped questioning the medical field long ago when I accepted the fact that they usually have only a slightly better idea of what was going on with your body than you do. All I knew was that I would soon be up close and personal with a nurse and there would be jelly and sensors involved. I was not excited.
Of course, having somebody take pictures of my heart through my left lady lump wasn't awkward enough by itself. Two days before my appointment, I decided to go tanning. I was doing OK, then I started to get drowsy, and suddenly I was out. Thirty minutes later I wake up, aching from head to foot and pinker than bubblegum. Maybe the jelly part of the echocardiogram wouldn't be so bad.
I had thought looking like the pink panther would be embarrassing enough for one appointment, but I wasn't done there. The day before my appointment I was babysitting my neighbor's two-year-old. She was watching something terrifying (like Boobah) as I applied aloe vera for the fourth time that morning. On TV, one of the multi-colored dust bunny things that could only have been created while on a psychedelic trip pinched another dust bunny's nose.
The two-year-old thought this was hilarious. I could see where this was going as she began pinching my nose and I would make a honking nose. Then, out of nowhere, this demon child decides to latch onto my girls instead. I tried to pull away, but it was too late. I now had identical bruises on my already severely burnt chest.
So I walked into the doctor's office feeling like some sort of strange abuse victim. I slumped into a chair in the waiting room and tried to tell myself it wouldn't be so bad. Nurses see the burned and bruised all the time, and I am sure whoever waited on me would handle the situation professionally. I had almost forgotten my troubles in a four-month-old People magazine when I heard my name called. I got up to walk in and then I saw the nurse. I ducked into the bathroom and hid in a stall.
""No, no, no, no, NO!"" I thought to myself. This had to be some sort of mistake, some cruel joke? It wasn't bad enough that I would have to explain my burns and bruises, which were totally unrelated to why I was in the office. No, I had to be receiving my echocardiogram from the mother of my ex-boyfriend.
There had to be a way out of this. I could not allow this woman to get farther with me than her son ever got. I took a deep breath and poked my head out of my hiding spot. My ex's mom was nowhere in sight. I dashed up to the receptionist desk, pleading that something be done. If nurses in the past had thought me rabid, this one probably assumed I was meant for the psychiatric ward.
Through tears, whimpering and bribes - little did she know I was bribing her with a lollipop I found in my purse from my last doctor's visit - I convinced the receptionist to send my ex's mom on lunch break and schedule me with another nurse.
I hid behind my People as my ex's mom brushed past me. It seemed the crisis had been averted. I could only hope now that my bruises would magically heal and my lobster-like shell of skin would peel before my new nurse could cop a feel and ask me awkward questions.
I heard my name called again and I looked up. There stood my neighbor; ready to go beyond the bonds of normal neighborly kindness and make sure my heart was doing its job. It was still going to be awkward, but at least it gave me a good chance to explain why she had come home the day before to find her two-year-old sitting in the naughty chair wearing oven mitts.
If you have ever been felt up by your ex's mom, please don't share that with Megan. Any other humorous stories may be shared at mcornett2@wisc.edu.
