As if it could get worse

It can always get worse. I make what was an innocuous stop at my Doctor's office today to pick up a jacket I left during my mad dash out of there at my last appointment, and to *schedule* an appointment. And damned if they didn't tell me they could fit me in right now. A Doctor. Could fit me in. Right now. So I asked:

Me: "When you say right now how long do you mean"
Nurse: "Like 15 minutes."
Me: "Let me get out my calculator and convert the Doctor Minute into the Metric Standard Minute"
Me: "Carry the one, convert the polynomial to a Fourier transform, run it through the quadratic equation..."
Me: "...uh, sure, why not."

Now I'll tell you "why not". Because I was unprepared for this. Usually I have to work myself up to a Doctor's visit. I rarely ever get sick and need to see one so I always know that my next visit will be 6 months away (for a HBP checkup). Usually I go through a process that can only be described as part Zen Buddhist meditation and part (95% at least) sheer terror and panic.

This occurs for at least 3 days prior to the visit. At some point I accept my fate and come to the realization that he will diagnose me with none other than the dreaded Non-Small Cell Multiple Lupus Aneurysm. I resign myself for this, put my affairs in order, and then I am ready.

However this time, I had to do all of this in a scant 15 minutes. This was not enough time. Without going into detail, let me just say that I ended up having a 20 minute conversation with the Doctor. Yes, the actual Doctor. He talked. In English, even. My BP wasn't perfect but it was better. He also mentioned that I might be suffering from "some sort of anxiety".... "Really?", I said. "Interesting."

Anywho I get a brand new prescription for happy pills. Again. Third time might be the charm...