I have my annual physical this morning and am crabbily sitting around the house.Crabby, because my appointment isn’t until 11 a.m. and I can’t eat breakfast. What was I thinking?
It’s more about the activity of breakfast, rather than the food. A giant cup of tea, reading in my bathrobe, things that were unthinkable in my working years when I was in my classroom before 7 a.m. Still, that loaf of rhubarb nutbread I made early in the week just because I wanted something nummy to go with my tea is calling me. (I’m also at the ‘going to Florida for 4 months, emptying out the freezer’ mode now.)
I should be grateful, though, that I have a doctor to see, and who actually wants to see me. I’ve written about this before, but lunch with friends yesterday underscored the fraught conditions around here of landing a primary care doctor.
Both of them had their HOA sold and replaced by some uncaring monolith. All the doctors within this group retired or left. Now they kinda, sorta have primary care doctors, but one has never actually seen hers, only having seen a physicians’ asst. once. The other hasn’t had a full physical in two years.
Just as I did when I saw my dermatologist last month, I’m going to give my flesh-and-blood doctor (who I was lucky enough to acquire 10 years ago) my heartfelt thanks.