(The above picture is of our Golden Retriever, who couldn't look that mean on her own unless somebody was trying to harm Grumpy or I. You can actually see a blur of flesh on either side of her nose... those are my fingers, holding up her lips for her "Grrrrrrrrrrrr" Face. Cute, huh?)
I had to go to my general practitioner today for a thyroid follow up. See, my thyroid levels are "a little off", so we've been "keeping an eye on it" for 4 years. "A little off" meaning off enough that it *could* cause problems (like, say, contribute to infertility?), but not *off enough* to be able to treat, yet. "Keeping an eye on it" means that me, and 4 docs, have been regularly watching the levels for THREE FUCKING YEARS, waiting for them to be *off enough* that we can DO SOMETHING about them. So, today was another blood draw, and I should have results early next week.
I walked into the doc's waiting room, and darn near tripped over an infant, in her carseat, sitting on the floor. Adorable little girl (from what I could tell, only allowing myself to peak at her for a few painful seconds). My ten minute wait consisted of me playing chuzzle on my cell phone, trying desperately to not notice the nurse, receptionist, and technicians that kept pouring out of the back office to fawn all over the sweet little child. Fortunately (so I thought), the little bundle of joy and her parents were called in to an exam room a few minutes before me. Whew, public crying jag successfully avoided.
A lovely nurse calls me back to the exam area, by way of the MEAN AND EVIL scale, and then tells me I've gained 4lbs since I was in last. "Didn't want to see that number," I say. "BULLSHIT! It's winter in MI, I blame the clothes difference!" I think to myself. And, I've convinced myself that this is a perfectly reasonable explanation. After all, my last visit was in May; I was probably wearing a lightweight, short-sleeved top, capris, and sandals. Today, I was in jeans, Come Fuck Me Boots (minus the fishnet stockings), and 3 layers of shirts including an over sized fleece jacket type shirt of Grumpy's. TOTALLY 4lbs worth of extra fabric there, right?
So, I'm ushered into the exam room to wait for the doc. I rejoin my chuzzle game, already in progress, and prepare to wait patiently. And then I hear it. In the next room, the distinct wail of a little person in pain. That's right folks, she was in for her first round of shots. She cried, Mom cried, Dad cried... but I didn't. I bit my lip, I shifted uncomfortably in my chair, I slammed my phone closed, I tried to distract myself with a crappy dr office magazine (which, by the way, were ALL baby/family/pregnancy geared), but I DID NOT CRY.
And for that, I am very proud of myself.