Wednesday, June 06, 2007

Can't we just be friends, doc?

I've self-diagnosed myself with regard to my heart.

My cardiologist has a crush on me.

Now that is not hubris, I assure you. Rather it is just simple math. I noticed today that I am his youngest patient by 100 years. I am his only patient that walks into his office on my own volition without any aids--human or otherwise. And since there is absolutely nothing wrong with me, I must be an easy $300 office visit.

We did the heart sonogram today. It "was normal...basically." So, this means what? "I see you again in 2 months." 2 months? There is no rhyme or reason to these follow-up appointments. Nothing significant cardiologically speaking has occurred in 2 years, and I went almost a year in between appointments, so why 2 months now?

It would be a whole lot cheaper and more convenient if we just met for coffee instead.


Pricey needless medical tests gave me an excuse for a day out, though. You would be very proud of my organizational efforts this week--closet is cleaned, vacation meals prepared, baby equipment purchased, 3 workouts so far, 1/2 of freelance assignments completed, and it is only freakin' Wednesday. I am so seriously impressed with myself, I can barely stand it. I almost feel like a bonafide grown-up as my kids ate homemade dinners in clean clothes. I might even bathe them tonight for a domestic Trifecta.

So I treated myself with a new bathing suit, which let me tell you at 8 weeks postpartum is not that much of a treat, and a delicious club sandwich for lunch on this special day.

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