missfrifri

I had to do something really traumatizing on Tuesday- go to see a doctor. Since I’m a hypocondric my friends get surprised when I say that I hate doctors and hospitals (they assume that I’d love getting examined and tested for everything since I always come up with new illnesses that I think I might have). That’s not the case, both because I prefer living in ignorance – what you know can’t kill you, right? (Which clearly, when it comes to illnesses, is NOT true…) But mainly because I hate being among ill people. Being in the waiting room with sick people breathing around me and at me, caughing… information posters about cancer, rashes… Well you can imagine that with my slightly neurotic brain things can easily be twisted.

Right, so I had to go through with this hell since Alex has persuaded me that I have to see a doctor so I can be referred to a physio. Since I haven’t been able to move my head properly for a week I thought it might be time.

At 8 in the morning I start calling to get an appointment (you have to book the same day here, and so have to call right when they open). After 45 mins of calling every 10 seconds I get through to a receptionist who tells me they’re out of appointments and can I call back tomorrow. I say that I’ve had a migraine for a week. She says that she’ll give me an emergency appointment but it’s gonna be about 1 hour waiting time. Fine.

After 1 hour in the waiting room, sweating and half- panicking because I’m surrounded by ill people (Alex kept texting me to make sure I didn’t leave…) I finally get to see a doctor. Careful not to TOUCH ANYTHING ANYWHERE, and after opening like 300 doors with my elbow (being happy that I brought my favourite hand disinfectant with me- yes I have favourites, my sister gave it to me. It’s from Victoria’s Secret and is pink and scented, with sparkles…), I think wow, this is it- maybe this is when my life is going to turn around and I’ll be able to move my head again and not be in pain for the first time in like… 6 years.

HELL NO.

The doctor looks at me and says “have you tried stretching.” I explain to her that yes, I’ve tried stretching. She says: so you know how to stretch your neck (and bends her head to the right then left). I look at her and am considering punching her. “Yes, I’m familiar with that exercise.” Then she says “maybe you should exercise a bit sometimes?”

Ok. Honestly now. I know my fat percent needs to go down but DUDE, how unfit do I LOOK? Do I look like I never ever exercise?

I explain to her that I exercise on average at least 4 times per week, stretch my neck several times daily and could she please refer me to a physio? She says maybe, but he’s just gonna teach you stretching exercises. I say that that can’t be true, because I’ve been to physios before and they can also massage you if they have to. She says they won’t.

She says that she might be able to refer me if I come in tomorrow. I ask why she can’t refer me now. Oh, because this is an emergency appointment. (Yes..? I know, I still don’t get the problem.) Apparently I have to come back another day to be referred. But she recommends I take some paracetamol. Because if I take painkillers, it won’t hurt. Since this is an emergency appointment, she does not have time to talk to me any longer, since there are other emergencies.

3 hours of my life that I’ll never ever get back.