What the heck was I thinking, making my doctor’s appointment at 8:00 in the freaking morning? Obviously I wasn’t.
Going straight from waking up to taking a quick shower to going out the door leaves me no time to mentally prepare for the appointment, which I rather sucked at doing in the first place. Maybe probably sounds silly–“mentally preparing” for an appointment, but I get rather nervous about going and need a little time to calm myself (which means going from a 10 to a 9).
I’ve made my pros and cons list for my new medication. I’ve written stuff down on this blog over the past few weeks. I should totally know what I’m going to say, right?
Yet when I picture actually being in there and being asked “So, how are things going?” my mind is drawing a complete blank.
Gah. Words. Why must I suck with them?
I should just go all Shakespeare and prepare a monologue.
Or steal bits and pieces from various Shakespearean monologues. From Hamlet. Namely, Hamlet. Because I ❤ him.
Doctor: Has the new medication been working?
Me: To be, or not to be, that is the question—
Whether ’tis Nobler in the mind to suffer
The Slings and Arrows of outrageous Fortune,
Or to take Arms against a Sea of troubles,
And by opposing, end them?
Doctor: Ah, I see. Well, why do you think that’s happening?
Me: How the fucketh shouldst I know?*
Doctor: Can you further describe your symptoms?
Me: How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable
Seem to me all the uses of this world!
Fie on’t! ah, fie!
Probably wouldn’t get any stranger looks than normal.
Nah, might be better to just shove that pros and cons list (which is complete with my husband’s “acting less like a zombie”) in her face and hope there are no further questions.
*Not found in the first three editions of Hamlet.