As an adult, I have made a career out of avoiding doctors. If it didn’t hurt or wasn’t bleeding, I didn’t go. As a child, I was allergic to everything except plastic, so was constantly in either the allergist’s office getting poked with a needle, or in the pediatrician’s office dealing with the bronchial problems that occurred when exposed to an allergen.
Oh, and then there were the multiple trips to the ophthalmologist over the years due to a retina injury and a corneal injury.
And of course there were the run-of-the-mill trips to the ER for potential concussions thanks to things like new tap shoes or neighbor boys with overzealous Big Wheel skills.
Anyway, by the time I hit the age of majority, I was done. On the upside, I stopped injuring myself with such regularity and outgrew my allergies. And with the exception of a few trips to dermatologists in an attempt to get a handle on my eczema, I brought a halt to my unpleasantly excessive visits to the people in white.
I now realize my life is moving forward in 18-year segments. First 18, doctors forced upon me. Second 18, avoided them like the plague. And now, entering my third 18-year segment, I’m apparently entering the “go to the doctor of my own free will” stage. And it’s weird.
If you had told me five years ago that I would be making elective doctors’ appointments that are resulting in things like CT scans, Hysterosalpingograms, endless blood tests and potential surgeries, I would have told you you were crazy.
It’s amazing what we’ll do to get pregnant, isn’t it?
I just hope I end up with a kid that I can torture with endless doctors’ appointments for the first 18 years of her life.