I am at the start of a tip to toe inspection by the doctors in my life. Today was trip 1 which resulted in appointments for trips 2, 3, and 4.

I am resuming my hate-hate relationship with fluorescent lights. I hate them and they hate me right back. Really, isn’t the whole ordeal at the doctor’s tough enough without the fluorescent lighting? Couldn’t they add a small table lamp, a floor rug for ambience? And instead of making me wear a paper doll outfit, they could provide a fuzzy blanket to wrap up in while I wait. I put my coat on after a while it was so dang cold in there! (Cue the visual) I had to wait long enough to read 5 long chapters in my book.

It’s tough waiting on the doctor. My appointment was for 330pm and I didn’t leave until 5. As I sat there in the igloo-ish exam room wrapped in paper towels and working hard to tamp down my frustration, I had the following thoughts: “Okay, this is not news. I know that afternoon appointments always have a wait because he’s had all day to get behind. I knew this coming in, I was ready for this.”

Then, one of the other girls who live inside me spoke up, “But damn, this is ridiculous, making me wait in here on ice for 25 minutes! My time counts too! I’m gonna have to say something.”

But, then again, do I really want to antagonize this particular guy? No, that answer is a definitive no. I want this guy in a good mood and I want a good relationship with him. I want to make this guy my one-stop-shop for personal health from this point on, the one who knows all. And that's the rub! He holds all the cards! He gets to keep me waiting for geological periods of time and then come sailing in all breezy and smiling because he knows I need him happy.

But I do like him, he’s nice. He’s thorough and compassionate and kind and he takes time with me and makes eye contact and shakes my hand and pats my back. He even prayed with me at my last visit in mid-March. I was blubbering on his exam table, he was probably praying for himself as much as for me, but still, he held my hands and bowed his head on my account.

This time he didn’t pray (I wasn’t crying either), but he did say, “I will take care of your physical health, but I urge you, if you haven’t already, to take care of your spiritual health as well and find a home church to attend.” (I didn’t think it necessary to discuss my theories of “church on the bike.”) What a way to disarm a frozen popsicle of a mad patient.