Breakdown, shakedown, takedown

I am not a crier.

Of course there is nothing wrong with being in touch with your emotions. And I cry during appropriate life moments: funerals, Oprah, diarrhea diapers and spilled milk. I am just not prone to public outbursts.

Usually.

I finally broke down last week (literally) and went to the doctor with the intent to get a referral for an allergist. My catalyst was Haddie. She was sent home early from preschool with pink eye. Well, early being a relative term because by the time I received the message, there were only 10 minutes left of class. I blame that unreachable hubby of mine. Is it not his responsibility to pick up the slack when I am out serving the better good errr…hiking.

I figured I would kill two birds with one stone and made an appointment with my general practitioner. Now, let me preface this by disclosing I am in my second month of mind-numbing allergies. I haven’t slept in weeks and am on my third sinus infection. Simple stated: My Name is Amber and I am a Wreck.

I arrived early to fill out Haddie’s paperwork and was told upfront by the snippy front desk that they had only booked one of us for an appointment. And the doctor would only see both of us if he had time.

Enter: Nurse Betty. When she came to take Haddie’s vitals, she rudely informed me he would only see Haddie, even though the error was on their part for screwing up the booking. The prospect of living with this misery even one more day was almost more than I could handle. An argument ensued. There was blood. And not the kind triggered by a needle.

When the doctor arrived, I was a snotty, bloody mess. Before he could even open his mouth, I blabbered on about the whole confrontation. If that was not bad enough, next came the very lowest of lows: The Big, Ugly Cry. In front of a man.

Of course, I was horrified but the more I thought of it, the more I spewed big, ugly tears. The same tears that baby Haddie cried when she first watched that demonic purple dinosaur and he started singing, “I love you, you love me” – marking the end of his evil reign.

The doctor consoled me, all the while undoubtedly wondering just how soon I could be admitted into the psych ward. Before long, the office manager came in. You know: that person who only appears to deal with those patients. And then the perkiest, funniest Physician’s Assistant imaginable. It was evident they were bending over backwards to appease me. And so I did what any humiliated, snot-infested woman would do:

I took advantage of them.

Well, more like their medications. In addition to walking outta there with a referral for an allergist, I also casually mentioned a cough that I may-or-may not have at this juncture but what I will likely have at the conclusion of my latest sinus infection. Jamie claims I am a cough-syrup addict but anyone who has ever had bronchitis or a serious cough knows that nothing except for the good stuff even comes close to knocking you out. That stuff only the doctor can prescribe.

Or a Physician’s Assistant trying to appease an irate, sleep-deprived, snot-infested woman.

I’ll take it.