Left work at 2 a.m. today, marking a 12-hour shift punctuated with three hours of newsroom mayhem as first the news that President Barack Obama was going to speak broke, then mutterings about Osama bin Laden, then frenzied conjecture, and the confirmation shortly followed by Obama’s speech to the world: bin Laden is dead and “justice has been served.”
As if that news (and a system malfunction) isn’t enough to keep you awake at night with leftover adrenaline, the prospect of seeing a new primary care doctor for the first time certainly will.
It’s a new thing for me: a serious attack of White Coat Syndrome and First Visit Jitters.
I’m going to see this new doctor based on a suggestion from a friend who is her patient. I really feel like the disdain and bad attitude at my former doc’s office is something I can’t go back to. But the thought of hashing out my medical history, dragging in those pill bottles and talking about them one by one, trying to explain where I’m coming from and how I feel … it’s actually exhausting. I’ve never had so much anxiety about going to a new doctor. Usually I just think of the usual “forms-history-don’t check my weight plz” as a run of the mill pain in the butt, and repeating your story over and over is tiring. But this has had my stomach in knots, to the point where I’ve considered canceling the appointment.
But I don’t have any options left. No pain meds, more pain, questions about this weird and sudden breakout I’ve been having … yeah, I should probably see a doctor.
Plus I’d be charged $50 for canceling now. And that is the line.
So grateful that my boyfriend is going with me for support. Will let you all know if I get any sleep tonight … or any help in the morning.