I think I've already documented my severe dislike of the doctor's office. But I'm not sure I've ever told you how deeply and passionately I hate going to the doctor.
I hate it.
Hate with a capital H. Hate to the thirteenth power. Hate, hate, hate.
Also? I hate it. Because . . .
1) It's flipping expensive. I have pretty good insurance (eh, eh, fellas? Want a piece of that action? I've got a bare finger!) but even still all those visits add up! I can think of a ton of things I'd rather spend $100 on than my third CT scan for the year. (A box of puppies is top of the list. Also, twelve Cafe Rio salads.)
2) They tell you that you're going to die. Okay, maybe not in so many words but I know what they're implying. I don't think I'd want to know if I were dying. I'm probably that person who would do crazy things like buy a Lamborghini (spelled it right on the first try! Kim wins life!) on credit and dye her hair purple. Also if I knew I was dying soon I would tell people that every time yOu do ThiS oN yOur bLoG, a puppy is born without paws. If you make the text multicolored, the puppy loses its legs and will to live.
3) Your personal space is not respected in a doctor's office. They're like, "I'm not sure what's wrong with your head but why don't I just stand here breathing on you until I think of something else to do. Oh, and maybe I'll massage your face with my armpit because, why not?" Also, sometimes they make you be all nekkid. And sometimes they poke you with things.
Things Kim does not like
a. being poked
b. being nekkid in front of strangers
c. being breathed on
But, guys? Sometimes the doctors pull through for you and are 100% star-gazing amazing. And they finally figure out what to do to make you all better.
And when that day comes, you will forgive all the bills and the poking and the incessant breathing because finally, finally, finally you are back to normal.
And that is a very good thing.