Let’s Get A Physical, Physical…

Today is probably my least favorite day of the year, Modern Philosophers.

No, I have nothing personal against August 28.  It’s the fact that I am scheduled for my annual physical this morning.  Ugh.

As I have already established on this blog, I do not like going to any sort of doctor.  In fact, the act made my list of My Top 5 Fake Allergies.  This year is even more nerve-wracking because I am going to meet my new PCP for the first time.

I liked my last PCP because she was extremely attractive.  I selected her specifically for that reason.  I thought that if I looked forward to seeing the cute doctor, her looks might be just distracting enough to get me through my appointments.

That did actually work somewhat.  I was still a wreck at every appointment, but my anxiety wasn’t off the charts like it usually was.  Sadly, that practice was bought out by the hospital, and my doctor chose to move to another office.

So, I bit the bullet and signed up for the cheaper health plan offered to employees who chose a PCP from the organization for which I work.  Before you jump to the conclusion that this should make the transition simple since I already know the new doc from work, let me remind you that I work for a huge corporation, and have never met, spoken to, or accidentally run into this doctor.

Which means I have absolutely no idea what I’m getting myself into, what type of person my new PCP is, or how comfortable I will feel around him.

With my wild imagination, you can only imagine the scenarios playing out in my head.  Oh, Clarice…

Of course, in the days leading up to this appointment with doom, I’ve convinced myself that I’m suffering from every malady in the book.  It’s a good thing I have to fast for my labs because I might be regurgitating my breakfast since I’m so damn nervous.

Since I was raised by Nuns and an Evil Step Mother, I took my bizarre behavior to an entirely new level.  I bought new boxers this week, to ensure that I was presentable as possible at my physical.  I’m sure the Nuns and Evil Step Mother are so proud of the angst ridden ball of nerves they sent out into the world to fend for himself.

Yes, I have been running and eating better, but that doesn’t mean that my body hasn’t been secretly cooking up horrible lab results, just waiting for the new doc to discover when he draws my blood.  Who knows that diseases could be lurking just below my skin?  It’s not like I come from the healthiest genetic pool.

I do realize, Modern Philosophers, that going to the doctor regularly is the lesser of two evils.  It’s better to know if anything’s wrong than to have it progress to a point where nothing can be done about it.

I’m just worried about the evil that might be awaiting me.  I don’t know if a guy named Austin can handle that…