One day after coming home for break, I told Mom I needed to see a doctor because of some mysterious rib pain (which still isn’t gone, by the way). She gave me a number and told me to schedule my own appointment.
Lady: Hi, how can I help you?
Me: Hi, I’d like to schedule an appointment for mysterious, annoying rib pain? (This is always said like a question for some reason)
Lady: Is this for you or for your child? (really, this should’ve been my first clue about this particular number)
Lady: Ok! Can I have your name and date of birth?
Me: Michelle… 1991.
Lady: Oh… [extremely awkward pause as she tries to figure how to word it] We usually only accept patients ages 0-18… Do you still want to make an appointment…?
Me: Um… I’ll call you back.
I bet she and her fellow secretaries all had a good laugh that day. “You’ll never believe what just happened… a 21 year old just tried to make an appointment with a pediatrician!”
But I also had some laughs… and some revelations.
First of all, did I not go to the doctor’s for 3 years?? Not even a check up? How else was I (mostly my mom, really) so oblivious to this?? I guess I’m the poster child of health then. Go me. On another note, however, if I die sometime this year, we’ll all know it was because of a lack of yearly checkups.
Or death by chocolate. Or overeating. I guess my death will actually be more of a mystery. Should I be leading a healthier lifestyle?