What It's Like To Be A Freak
Well, I went up to the Children's Hospital in Pittsburgh today.
Missed school and tutoring... with two tests to make up.
I'm sure that'll be fun.
Passed by Wilson's school as we got lost on the way there. I have to admit, I found myself rather in love with the old green building, as we manuevered our way through the various concrete monsters that make up the uptown area.
When we finally arrived there, I figured that I should probably at least make myself comfortable, so I set up shop with my new laptop and my chem textbook.
Little did I know that it would take half an hour to finally connect to the hospital's wireless network. By that time, of course, we had already been called back to one of the examining rooms. Nurses took the usual; height (5'3&3/4"), weight (199 lbs), & blood pressure (unknown, but probably far higher than when I was vegan). Apparently this is not acceptable in medical terms. However, as far as the average American goes, I think I'm doing okay.
After two hours of nearly going stir crazy in an 8'x8'x8' cube, the physician's assistant showed up. Nice lady. Not-so-nice conversation.
Bring one the embarassing questions.
In front of the stepfather nonetheless.
Some of the sample questions:
"When did your period first start?"
"When did you start wearing a bra?"
"When did you first start noticing the appearance of pubic or armpit hair?"
Yeah. Real fun.
So, after the first series of those god-awful questions, came another period of waiting. A two hour period to be exact. Finally, the endocrynologist comes in.
Ummm... Okay. If you've ever seen Pixar's The Incredibles...
She looked like Edna Mode.
Like exactly like Edna Mode.
It was kinda scary.
Anyways, then came round two of "How many different questions can we ask that will make Chelsea turn brighter than a tomato?".
And of course, the physical examination.
You know the famous phrase "Turn your head and cough"?
Yeah, well, imagine how wonderful the female version of it is.
And all this from a trip to the endocrynologist's office.
Yes, en-do-cryn-ol-o-gist, not gy-no-col-o-gist.
So... after all this, you're probably wondering "Well, what the hell is wrong with you
then?"
The answer is... I don't know.
In the doc's exact words; "I can't determine which hormone there seems to be a problem with, so we'll have to run some further tests."
Oh. Freaking. Joy.
So, the next step; Go back in a month to spend 3 hrs in a 8' cube with an I.V. in my arm so they can pump me full of sugar water and see how I react to it.
And might I add that I have to be starved 12 hrs. prior as to not throw the results?
Aha... May all those who deny me my morning coffee feel my wrath.
I'm too tired to include the whole lecture I got about my eating habits; but just know that as soon as I heard the words "I'm going to schedule an appointment for you to meet with one of our nutritionists..." I freaked out.
When one has been subjected to meetings with a dietician since they were 7-8 yrs. old, they don't take such instances lightly.
But the sole good news to come of all this; BEING FAT IS NOT MY FAULT!!!
And I don't mean in a I'm-suing-McDonald's-because-their-food-made-me-fat way.
I mean in a I-have-a-hormone-anomaly-so-it's-really-not-my-fault way.
I'll keep you posted.
For now,
Out like a patient under anethesia,
-Jonez
Missed school and tutoring... with two tests to make up.
I'm sure that'll be fun.
Passed by Wilson's school as we got lost on the way there. I have to admit, I found myself rather in love with the old green building, as we manuevered our way through the various concrete monsters that make up the uptown area.
When we finally arrived there, I figured that I should probably at least make myself comfortable, so I set up shop with my new laptop and my chem textbook.
Little did I know that it would take half an hour to finally connect to the hospital's wireless network. By that time, of course, we had already been called back to one of the examining rooms. Nurses took the usual; height (5'3&3/4"), weight (199 lbs), & blood pressure (unknown, but probably far higher than when I was vegan). Apparently this is not acceptable in medical terms. However, as far as the average American goes, I think I'm doing okay.
After two hours of nearly going stir crazy in an 8'x8'x8' cube, the physician's assistant showed up. Nice lady. Not-so-nice conversation.
Bring one the embarassing questions.
In front of the stepfather nonetheless.
Some of the sample questions:
"When did your period first start?"
"When did you start wearing a bra?"
"When did you first start noticing the appearance of pubic or armpit hair?"
Yeah. Real fun.
So, after the first series of those god-awful questions, came another period of waiting. A two hour period to be exact. Finally, the endocrynologist comes in.
Ummm... Okay. If you've ever seen Pixar's The Incredibles...
She looked like Edna Mode.
Like exactly like Edna Mode.
It was kinda scary.
Anyways, then came round two of "How many different questions can we ask that will make Chelsea turn brighter than a tomato?".
And of course, the physical examination.
You know the famous phrase "Turn your head and cough"?
Yeah, well, imagine how wonderful the female version of it is.
And all this from a trip to the endocrynologist's office.
Yes, en-do-cryn-ol-o-gist, not gy-no-col-o-gist.
So... after all this, you're probably wondering "Well, what the hell is wrong with you
then?"
The answer is... I don't know.
In the doc's exact words; "I can't determine which hormone there seems to be a problem with, so we'll have to run some further tests."
Oh. Freaking. Joy.
So, the next step; Go back in a month to spend 3 hrs in a 8' cube with an I.V. in my arm so they can pump me full of sugar water and see how I react to it.
And might I add that I have to be starved 12 hrs. prior as to not throw the results?
Aha... May all those who deny me my morning coffee feel my wrath.
I'm too tired to include the whole lecture I got about my eating habits; but just know that as soon as I heard the words "I'm going to schedule an appointment for you to meet with one of our nutritionists..." I freaked out.
When one has been subjected to meetings with a dietician since they were 7-8 yrs. old, they don't take such instances lightly.
But the sole good news to come of all this; BEING FAT IS NOT MY FAULT!!!
And I don't mean in a I'm-suing-McDonald's-because-their-food-made-me-fat way.
I mean in a I-have-a-hormone-anomaly-so-it's-really-not-my-fault way.
I'll keep you posted.
For now,
Out like a patient under anethesia,
-Jonez