It kind of a been stressful weekend. Thursday morning I was having some "Male problems" (I'm not talking about commitment issues either), one of the boys was acting up. So it was worrisome enough to make me go to the doctor. That was a little tough, the doctor poked and prodded and grabbed me in such ways that we are now considered married in 12 states. (no dinner or anything, men are so grabby). After that little ordeal, he orders a ultrasound, or as a friend likes to call it a manogram. Of course they couldn't fit me in until Monday. So the good doctor gives me something for my nerves, because I would have been freaking out all weekend otherwise.
Since The Little Boy’s Disneyland annual pass was going to expire on Monday we took him on Sunday. I don't think I've ever been on so few rides. Turns out, that when you are on "something for your nerves" and hurt, it's a small world is a pretty damn good ride. We also descovered a new character at Disneyland, “Capt’n Cranky”. We’ve even got photographic proof.
Yesterday was the manogram. I think the most interesting thing about all of it is the little rooms they make you wait in. Three of them to be exact. You just wait, they call your name and then you go to another room to wait to be called. Finally Andrew came for me. Andrew was about 6 foot tall, dark hair, and eyes, and sounded as if he was from eastern European descent. Andrew asked that I step behind the current and remove my clothes from the waist down. I involuntarily shouted out where my grandma hides her money. He asked me what I said, and I replied "nothing". Then he had me put the gown on, and lie on my back on table. I complied. Then he dimmed the lights and turned on some smooth jazz. I have to admit this bothered me a bit, but it is only a test I tell myself don't get up and run down the hall, (the gown that was opened in the back was one of the deciding factors.) After twenty minutes of the procedure which felt like two hours, Andrew said I was done, and that my doctor would get the report in two business days. He wished me good luck. Which I took to mean, there wasn't going to be that awkward moment when he asks for my phone number, and I’d have to explain that I am already married to the doctor.
So I am back at work today, trying not to think about the test results. And hoping the doctor will call me in a couple of days and just say it's some sort of infection caused from sitting on my butt too much and not the dreaded "C" word.