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Wednesday, April 22, 2015

The Right Side

I went to two doctor appointments today. I left my home at 7:45 a.m. for the first stop at my primary care doctor’s office. Bloodwork. She’s monitoring my Vitamin D levels. Wow—is Vitamin D all the rage or what? TLC’S D has been low. Little Leighton’s (LL) D? Ditto. Seems like the “experts” are learning more and more about this vitamin my generation knew we needed only for strong bones—not for the benefit of our entire immune system.

Because I lost my left breast to a modified radical mastectomy twenty-one years ago, and because they took all the lymph nodes they could find under that arm, I don’t have my blood pressure taken on my left side. Nor do I have blood drawn from that arm. My doctor's nurse procured lots o' blood out of my right arm.

My second stop (after picking up an Egg McMuffin—YUMMO—I had had to fast from midnight on…) was to a large medical clinic in town. I was meeting with a surgeon who is not only a good friend of ours, but also a fantastic doctor. Last summer, I promised my primary care physician, for the third year in a row, that I would get a colonoscopy. I had my first one when I was 47. I was due for my second at 57. I’d somehow gotten way, WAY past that deadline. Last year I almost got this accomplished in Ft. Worth—because this doctor didn’t take my fabulous (tongue-in-cheek, don’tchaknow) insurance. For several reasons, I cancelled a scheduled scope right before Christmas. Then I was forced out of my previous policy by the Affordable Care Act (Obamacare) at the end of 2014. The new insurance I secured has my friend as a Provider—so I’ve been anxiously waiting to find the time to visit him and schedule this (non-fun) colonoscopy with him.

I won’t bore y’all with ALL of the details of my two-hour visit to this doctor and his clinic. (Not like I did my precious friend, Drew. I believe I told her every little event that occurred in that time frame. Sorry, Dearest Drew.) My first thirty-five minutes there were a complete train wreck. Won't tell all about that experience. Will simply say: Sheesh. Once I got in to the exam room and started visiting with the doctor I so adore, he asked me if I’d had bloodwork recently. I told him I’d just come from my primary care’s clinic, but that I didn’t know what she’d ordered—besides the level of my Vitamin D. He suggested, since I was there, I go ahead and get some additional bloodwork and an EKG. These would be two tests the anesthesiologist would want before putting me out/under for the scope.

From his office, I proceeded to the Lab. A very kind young woman tried to get blood out of my right arm. She had to call a supervisor. She had no success, either. After wincing from the excruciating pain caused by the second tech digging around that vein, I begged them, very politely, to go ahead and try sticking my left arm. Thank My Lord, it worked.

Next, and while waiting for my EKG, a woman whose age was somewhere between 80 and 84 (I’m not very good at age-guessing any more, so I could be off a year or two on either end!), sat by me in the waiting room. A woman about my age was helping this woman use her walker. I noticed the older woman before she ever reached me because she was quite attractive. She was dressed in black pants and a black knit shirt. She had fashionable black glasses and stunning, dangly earrings. Beautifully expressive eyes. A warm smile.

As soon as she sat down by me, she said: “M’am? Could I tell you something?”

Not going to lie: This made me a teensy bit nervous. I thought it was charming, however, that she was calling me, someone clearly quite a bit younger than her, “M’am.” Cracked me up.

“Sure,” I smiled.

“I love your hair,” she said. “It’s so pretty.”


“You just made my day!” I replied. “And my hairstylist’s! Thank you so much. I truly appreciate your kind words!”

“I wish mine was that thick.” (Here’s the truth: Mine is not that thick—it looks thick-ish when I curl and tease it—the old-fashioned way. Wink. Wink. That's how Big Texas Hair is accomplished!)

Her hair was lovely. White/blonde, very healthy looking, and pulled back in a pretty ponytail.

“I love yours, too!” I said. She smiled, almost shyly, and thanked me.

Now this, in my humble opinion, is pretty hair. I braided TLC’s the night before she was to have Kit whack it off. (Yes. We were pretending she was eight years old, again.)

The entire incident made me think about the impact we can have on someone’s day. Week. Life. I normally feel quite defensive about my hair. I know a few people (My Sweet Hubby for one…) who often encourage me to “smooth” it down a tidbit. (TLC, on the other hand, likes it big. The bigger, the better!) This sweet, kind, attractive woman made me feel proud—if only for a few minutes—of the hair I typically dislike.

Compliments ROCK, right? Let’s all try to give at least one person per day a compliment, okay?

Hope Y’all have had a Wonderful Wednesday. Guess what? It’s Friday Eve Eve!!!

smooches and hugs and love…