When I was little, I had a friend who had a big sister who would often promise to do things with us. ”Sure, I’d love to take you to the movies next week!” ”The zoo? Why of course! We’ll have the best time when we get to visit all the animals.” Then, without fail, every time we’d get our hopes up, the day would come , and she’d suddenly become busy and wouldn’t deliver on her promises. It always annoyed me, and I swore I would never be like that. I generally like to think that I’m good for my word, but then I woke up this morning and realized that when it comes to blogging, I’ve turned into the sister full of empty promises.
This revelation causes me great cognitive dissonance, so I’m going to try to rectify the situation by not promising to post a certain number of postings each week anymore and by also delivering on any future promise that I do make. With that being said (and oh, I will redeem myself), I’m committed to posting every day until Christmas. Consider me your own personal advent calendar. Maybe advent is already half over and maybe I don’t provide tiny morsels of chocolate when you punch in my doors, but I’m counting down to Christmas nonetheless.
On this tenth day before Christmas, I’m currently in the throes of finals week. 2 down, 1 left to give. I have piles and piles of grading sitting on my desk, but knowing that in three days I’ll be free from whiny students for a month makes the task of grading seem a little more tolerable. My poor students seem positively exhausted, but they’ve all been in good spirits during their final and have been great sports with my requests for class pictures. Yes, I’ve made each of my classes gather together for a end-of-the-semester-picture. I think it’s a fun tradition to start, and I know that I’ll truly enjoy looking back at my past classes in years to come. Overall, I’ve received good feedback from my students, and, as nerdy as this may be, I’m starting to feel the beginning pangs of post-semester depression. I always get a little sad when the semester’s over, my classes end, and my students leave. As crazy as they drive me, I really enjoy my students and the relationships we build over the course of a semester. Hopefully I’ll be able to remember this feeling when I get into the middle of next semester, and I’m ready to strangle my students again.
On a completely different note, I had a doctor’s appointment earlier this week, and while there, I realized that there are times when I really should come equipped with a muzzle. I don’t know what it is about doctors’ offices, but something about the visits makes me nervous, and nervous Erin = blabber mouth Erin (see my previous post about my recent ob/gyn visit for another example). It’s like I feel like I have to say something, but then whatever comes out sounds strange, so, in an attempt to explain my strange comment, I just keep talking until I’ve made an odd comment seem downright crazy. If I could just learn to stop talking, I might be able to maintain the appearance that I’m practically normal.
Anyway, I’ve been having trouble with my hips, so I went to the doctor hoping to figure out what was wrong. While there, my doctor ordered a pelvic x-ray for me down the hall. The nurse brought me a gown and instructed me to take off my pants and put the gown on. In my Monday morning rush, I hadn’t exactly planned on traipsing around the waiting rooms in nothing but a micro-mini hospital gown and socks, so my already pale legs were looking dry, slightly unshaven, and dressed in knee high purple argyle socks. I realize that no one probably paid me much attention as people walking around in hospital gowns is a common sight in hospitals, but it still made me feel uneasy. Whenever I feel uncomfortable in this manner, I have the irresistible urge to tell everyone within hearing distance why I’m dressed/acting/whatever the way I am (e.g. after I fell on my face in Rome and came back to the states with a huge healing wound on my nose, I told literally every single person that I came into contact with that it wasn’t a monster zit or a some weird disease, but that I’m a klutz and had fallen on my face. The looks on their faces told me this was not something that the local grocers or postal workers needed nor wanted to know, yet I continued to tell everyone until my nose completely healed).
But back to Monday. As I sat waiting for my turn, I informed all those sitting next to me that I was waiting to get an x-ray (because, you know, the fact that I was sitting outside of the x-ray room in a gown didn’t clue them in). I continued to tell them why I was there and the duration of my hip issues. I’m certain they enjoyed the play-by-play of my recurring pain.
My name was finally called, and a young (as in too young for me) male x-ray technician got me situated on the table. As he was setting up the machine, he asked me if there was any chance that I was pregnant. That seemingly innocent question spurred the following conversation:
Erin: Oh no, definitely not pregnant.
Technician (sort of smirking at my emphasis): Definitely not, huh?
E: Nope, definitely not! (This is the point where I should have stopped talking. But no, I kept right on going…)
E: Unfortunately. Well, not unfortunately that I’m not pregnant, because though I one day want kids, I don’t want them right now. More unfortunately because it’s sort of a sad state of affairs that I know for certain that there’s absolutely no chance I’m pregnant because, you know, I’m alone and not dating anyone. But not that I can’t get a date, I can, it’s just that I’m picky and busy, and well, yeah.
Cue a blank incredulous stare from the technician.
Though embarrassing, I’m grateful he gave me a look that told me I was acting insane or else I might have kept going.
I like to believe that moments like this will be embarrassing enough to stop me from doing similar things in the future, but given that I’ve had many, many of these moments in the past, I’m starting to think I might be a lost cause.
Unfortunately, my humiliation didn’t end there. As I’ve mentioned before, I’m a rule following people pleaser, so when someone tells me to do something, I do it and do it well. The technician needed a total of four x-rays, and before the first one he instructed me to lay with my toes facing inward towards each other. I did as I was told, and he took the first picture. He took out the x-ray and went back to the little side room and started doing his thing for the next 4-5 minutes.
Now, I don’t know if you’ve had the opportunity to lay on your back and hold your feet inwards so your big toes touch, but after about a minute, it becomes increasingly difficult to keep that pose. He hadn’t told me to release my pose, so when he came back for picture number two, there I lay: a 30-year-old woman in a super short hospital gown and knee-high socks, toes locked together, and thigh muscles slightly shaking due to the fatigue of holding the pose for so long. He literally laughed at me and said, “um, you can relax when I’m not taking a picture.” Thankfully, the rest of the time flew by, and I was able to leave with what remained of my dignity.
The good news is that the x-rays didn’t reveal anything unusual. The bad news is that I’m probably going to have to find a new doctor again because I don’t think I can handle facing X-ray Technician ever again.
I sometimes have to wonder how a girl who can be so successful in some parts of her life can be so spastic in others. It’s just one of life’s mysteries, I suppose.
Hope your tenth day before Christmas is providing you with fun times and good stories! Thanks to those of you who regularly check my blog even though I’ve been erratic in my posting–it means a lot!