Marie called last night to catch up and see if my pencils are sharpened and my Trapper Keeper is shiny. I reported positively on the one school event I have yet attended (orientation), and then we covered the Health Report. Marie, for reasons unknown (and surprisingly not traceable to her husband or two children – I kid, people, I kid) has a mysterious pain in her… bottom.
Me? On top of unwisely playing soccer last night and feeling a dreaded "pop" and then pain in my calf (if I were a racehorse, I would have been shot long ago) I visited the doctor last week. The University of Maryland has deemed that any potential disease vectors – um, students – need to produce their childhood vaccination records. Since I am well beyond my teen years and the doctor who kept his hand loosely on the tiller of my youthful health retired about a decade ago, neither my mother nor I had any notion as to whether or not these documents even exist any more. I was instructed by the Health Center at UMD to visit my doc.
I like my doctor. Dr. Y is very no-nonsense with a droll sense of humor: my kind of medical professional. She is vaguely tut-tuttish that I don’t have the documents necessary, but tells me that there is no problem – I just need an MMR vaccine booster, then she’s free to sign the paperwork. And since we’re at it, when was the last time you had a painful tetanus booster, anyway? Um.
Then she squints at my electronic chart and notes that I’m going to be 40 next year and it’s been a while since I’ve had a blood panel done. Tippity-tap, she orders that up on her computer screen like a waiter at a chain restaurant.
Result: I get an MMR booster and a cholestorol check. Will someone tell me whether I’m entering kindergarten or early middle age, please?
