I know Wednesdays post was long but that was even after some judicious editing.
Below are a few little vignettes (I know look at me all fancy with the French words) that amused me at the time but were ruthlessly cut. I hope in reinstating them they, may prove diverting for you.
Whilst in the waiting room one of my favourite Doctors emerged from his surgery (him of the Doc & The Dude fame). He looked at me blankly, "Are you here for a scan?" he enquired.
This is a man who has worn me like a glove puppet, yet he looked me full in the face without a hint of recognition flickering across his countenance. As he moved off I grumbled quietly to the husband that I should be sitting in the waiting room 'fud oot'. (A charming Scottishism which can be essentially translated as 'exposing one's vagina'). However, the Doctor redeemed himself some minutes later by popping back and saying, "Sorry, I do recognise you now. Good Luck!"
And no, before you ask I wasn't flashing the second time he came past.
Rather than haul me back in when (or if) I get my biopsy results the Doctor asked if it was OK if he phoned me. He asked for my phone number. (All this whilst the husband was sat right next to me - I didn't know where to look!) Anyway, he whipped out a hand-held mechanical device to note down my number, "Don't worry" he assured me "this is completely secure." I peered closer to see what high-tech spyware he was using.
Using the standard notebook app.
He still hasn't called.
Once again the Doc was keen to impress on me the risks of IVF.
Twins, he said, were just about alright, triplets were a worry. Bashfully I admitted I would be happy with twins, being one myself. "Not from IVF" the doctor chortled. It wasn't a question, it was a statement.
Now, the oldest IVF child is Louise Brown, she is two years younger than me. So clearly I couldn't be an IVF child. Fair enough. But the doctor didn't even glance at my date of birth on the medical records before him. One look at my care-worn face and he dismissed the very idea that I could possibly be within the IVF age bracket. Bedside manner my arse.
When I went to collect my drugs and paid approximately 5% of their street value to take them home, the keen, fresh-faced pharmacist tried to get me to sign up for a prepayment scheme for his medicinal goodies. Telling me it would mean that "next time" I would have to pay significantly less for my potions. I gently pointed out that I rather hoped there wouldn't be a next time.
I'm not sure he got it.
So um... that's all I got really. Amuse me with an anecdote in the comments about your recent appointment.
I need distractions.
(Yes Wig, even you, you've been uncharacteristically quiet during this pregnancy. Can't think why. Was it something I said? xx)