Holy-MOLEY

After all of the health crises with friends and what-not, this past week became the doctor visit from hell week. We’d just survived a near-miss week of insane schedule-balancing with the hubby in DC all last week, only to have him return to a week of calling-in-sick sitters and doctors’ appointments. But when you have an over-the-top-healthy friend with Stage IV brain cancer, another with a tumor in his shoulder and a step-dad with a tumor in his hand—all in one week— something visceral kicks in. And since we’d just seen another friend miraculously bounce back after weeks of isolation chemo for nodular melanoma, a full physical and mole check was in order.

So since I was already in my typical stress-out mode (having survived yet another stress-induced meltdown while the hubby was away due to some stuff going on with the biz-ness), what’s another round of scheduled stuff to throw in the mix. It’s not like I was trying to go on vacation or anything. (Oh. Wait.)

The first appointment was the mole checks on Wed. I’d scheduled these months ago, just after Chuck’s very scary brush with mortality. So even though his docket was full with trainings and post-business-trip catch-ups and mine was stuffed with meetings, meetings, meetings and no babysitters in sight, the hubby and I met at the docs’ with Bean in tow. As if our lives depended on it.

I got there first and filled out 100 forms (despite already being a patient who’s gotten a biopsy there) while Bean told everyone in the office that her daddy was coming too. By the time he arrived it was like we were sitting around the bar in a Cheers! episode: “Daddy!” they all exclaimed as he walked in.

They then charge us $80 and call us back —together— to the exam room. (We’d planned the timing so we’d toggle Bean for our respective exams, not share the load.) The nurse does a few precursory checks and then says, “Okay, strip down to your skivvies and the doc will be right in.” Huh. The hubby quickly decides that two naked parents with one potty-training toddler just won’t mix and opts to stay clothed while I strip and don the gorgeous, blue paper outfit. I suddenly realize that I’d picked thongs that day —at precisely the same moment the doctor enters and Bean shouts, “Mommy! Put yo’ pants on!”

As soon as I hop on the table, Bean says, “I need to go potty!” The hubby sighs his relief/told- you-so and quickly exits. He returns just as the doc is checking my upper inner thighs for any errant skin things. The doc says (rather loudly), “Okay! All set!” a little too enthusiastically. [Awkward.]

Then it’s the hubby’s turn. And he’s getting all checked while Bean says, “My turn!” and I try to keep myself decent in my thong and paper shirt. (They do a very thorough check, I might add. Moving things left and right, just in case.)

The doc, by this point more than amused by Bean’s broadcasting abilities (“future broadcaster right there!”), decides that she deserves her own check. Of her feet. So he tells her to take off her Uggs. And she does. One at a time. He grabs his UV light and inspects. Then says, “Okay! Other foot!” To which she replies, “Just a second. I get boot on first!” I interject, “Oh, just take your time! He doesn’t have anywhere better to be!” (Clearly thinking about the 8 months it took for us to get this appointment.) He was such a good sport.

By Thursday, it was clear that I had a meeting that couldn’t be moved exactly when the hubby had his physical appointment (after moving it 5 times and the blood work just sitting there for weeks.) So he took Bean again while I headed downtown to meet my client.

The meeting went well and the hubby came home saying his second appointment of the week with Bean went okay. Later he added the real deal. “You know, she laid back in the chair, threw her feet in the air and yelled, ‘Spank me, Daddy!’ just as the doc was telling me my blood work results.” Then, later, he added, “The doc had her leave the room for the gloved hand-jive.” Ouch. The hubby was traumatized, never having had that done before. So having Bean sit in the lobby for it was a minor, minor part of the big picture.

But now that the whole sordid affair is over and I’m on vacation and we’ve both been declared ‘pictures of health.’ It’s kind of funny. I’ve even gotten over my 10-hour work day on Thursday and the fact that I showed my a** to a doctor in front of my two-year-old. I mean, if the hubby can bend over and grab his ankles, then what’s a little ass-cheek for the sake of wellness?

This week, I plan to drink lots of margs and soak up some sunshine. Even if it ends up snowing.

TODAY’S THEME SONG: Use Somebody. Kings of Leon. Off in the night, why'd you live it up? —I'm off to sleep.