The Best Way to Start a Long Weekend

On my way to work this morning I realized the English muffin and yogurt I packed for breakfast were not going to cut it. My body was demanding some serious calories after an amateur dinner of a tablespoon of cheese wrapped in a tortilla and dipped in salsa. I was running a little late thanks to an incredibly messy and stinky morning gift from Hannah but decided a bagel was a necessity today. I had 12 minutes to get to work and debated which would be faster – Panera or Dunkin’ Donuts. I chose Panera (the employees usually move a bit slower but it’s less crowded than DD) and zipped into the parking lot, unbuckled, and opened the door before the key was out of the ignition. As I turned and stood, my back seized. I was frozen. After the first couple seconds of panic fizzled I told myself to walk it off. Two baby steps later I aborted my bagel mission.

I drove to work and decided to tough it out for a couple hours. I sit most of the day anyway and sitting seemed fairly comfortable as long as I leaned on my desk to take all the weight off my rear. The few times I had to get up gave me an excuse to finally work on my zombie walk, you know, just in case. Two hours later, when my left calf started to tingle, I surrendered and headed to the doctor.

The nurse ran through the typical questions. What brings you here today? Do you smoke? Do you take a daily vitamin? How much do you think you weigh? Are you still taking the antibiotic prescribed three years ago for an ear infection? What’s your favorite color? On her way out she handed me a robe, instructing me to remove my shirt and skirt and put the robe on with the opening in the back.

She apparently missed the part of our interaction where I had to climb on the exam table like a baby deer learning to walk. I was pretty much stuck in that spot. I assumed I was on some kind of hidden camera show where a nurse finds the patient in the most physical pain and tries to make her cry. You won, lady! Two fat tears sprung out of my eyes and landed on my skirt, the skirt that was not going to be removed.

A few minutes later the PA walked in looking all sorts of tall, dark, and…adorable. He looked like a 19 year old trying on his Halloween costume. He’s going as McDreamy and his buddy is going as McSteamy and it’ll be funny because they’re 19 and best described as “aww so cute.”

I explained the morning’s incident and my history of back pain. He made me do physical activities like lifting my legs, laying down, sitting up, bending (that skirt came in handy), standing, twisting, twerking. It was most certainly pay-back for mentally second guessing his doctor skills. The diagnosis was a mere pulled muscle and he explained the steroid and muscle relaxer he’d be prescribing. I had to cut him off because I forgot to inform him that my chubby, back-breaking baby drinks breast milk and well, it doesn’t take a medical degree to know steroids and muscle relaxers are not appropriate side dishes for infants. At this point Dr. McBabyFace realized I’d suddenly lost my mind and told me my options are to pump & dump for a week or deal with the pain. I shuffled out to the waiting room to wait for my ‘scripts, then shuffled back to my car.

This is when I realized I’d lost my mind. I sat there for five minutes trying to decide if I should go back to work or go home. The cuckoo half of me said “Go back to work! It’s safer there. Think of all the things you’ll want to do at home.” The slightly less cuckoo half of me countered with “Oh my good Lord are you out of your mind he told you to go home and relax and you could lay in bed and maybe take a nap are you seriously considering…” Fast forward to me in a bubble bath.

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