I googled my Doctor's name yesterday looking for her phone number and inadvertently discovered she had made a 2,000 donation to G. W. Bush's campaign fund a few years ago.

I was all set to like her.

Two weeks later and no biopsy results? TWO WEEKS?

Then there's the matter of her receptionist who is not only rude but stupid.
Why are you here today?
I have an appointment to have stitches removed and another excision.
For today?
Uh, yeah.
We don't have you on the books.

I yanked the appointment card out of my wallet and handed it over.
OK, have a seat.

I will never be dismissed and will never have a seat. I remained standing, clutching the counter with my finger nails while brewing escalating blood pressure. I've attitude coming off me like torpedoes and can turn into a crew of wet bitches within five seconds.

I want to know the results of the biopsy and I want you to either call the lab or give me the number so I can call.

Within 30 seconds I was escorted to a room, heard apologies about the lab running behind (oh give me a freaking break) and watched as the tech cut and pulled nylon cord out of my breast.

Then Doc made her appearance wielding a knife and needle and told me I was just getting a local. Oh goodie, we can chat.

What's up with this donation to Bush
, I asked.
She paled. How do you know about that?
I explained the google info and she confided her former husband must have made the donation. Sure.

Besides, she said, What does politics have to do with medicine?

I waited and when she didn't join my laughter, I guffawed.

She looked peeved.
You're joking, right? Have you seen SICKO?
She quickly changed the subject when I made a comment about the rude and stupid receptionist, Miss Personality.
I'm firing her soon, she said, she just isn't nice.

That sort of made up for no lab report but then she said:
The lab may have found something and they want to do more stains.

Guess who else is getting fired?

Here's the two week old incision. Red arrows indicate my allergy to adhesive which is always insult to injury. Latex free bandages make no difference. Add to: allergies to narcotic pain pills (most distressing) and all known antibiotics.

I exit to the hallway where I spot an ironic EXIT sign.

I'm relived I don't find signs in the Doc's bathroom portentous.

On the way back I marveled at the rosy dusk settling in TG Park.
HOME. All better.

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