Happy Halloween two days early!! I was halfway through writing this to you when I got out my stash-o-printed columns and realized I’d written the SAME THING last year. I need new material.
So…as you may or may not remember, Halloween is a holiday I love, but it’s one I do not participate in using traditional methods. I love the candy, and I love the excuse for a party. Unfortunately, my budget loves neither. I cannot afford to buy a trunkload of candy that may or may not be picked up by the begging anklebiters of the community. And I certainly cannot afford to eat said leftovers.
Let me tell you why. Friday, I was invited to go to a costume party that our secretary was having at her house. She even offered to provide the complete costume for me – since I have so few lying around the house. I was going to go as a Princess (of course…what else?) and she had a dress and shoes and jewelry and help for my hair and the whole nine yards. I arrived at her house about an hour and a half before the party started, and while the hot rollers heated, she helped me into the dress.
Except I was too fat to fit into it. Now there is nothing worse than getting to the end of the world’s worst day, being comforted in knowing that you get to be a Princess for the night, and then finding out WOOPS! Congratulations – you are too fat to be a Princess. Correction. There is one thing worse. Coming home after such a tragedy, kicking off your shoes, and stepping (in socks) in a fresh pile of cat puke.
So as I said, I certainly cannot afford to eat leftover candy. Or any candy, for that matter.
In the meantime, I’ve decided that this year has to be better than last year’s Halloween. I’m borrowing selected details from a special edition of my column that I sent to only some people. I’ve edited it to eliminate disgusting details – but perhaps you can enjoy the rest of it:
I’ve never cared for doctors, primarily because every time I go, I have a “that would only happen to you” experience. Like when I went to a clinic with strep throat and got the gamut of questions ranging from “What did your grandparents die of?” to “Are you sexually active?” It’s a sore throat, people. Let’s try to stay focused, shall we? Or the time I went to the dentist and was sedated…but the sedation didn’t sedate.
So for me to even make a doctor appointment was a rather significant occasion in my life. And had I not been worrying that I was dying, I’d never have picked up the phone. See, in Bekah-land, you’re either 100% healthy, or you’re dying. Why would there ever be a middle ground of treatable illness? I figured I’d walk in the office, he’d take one look at me, and say, “I’m sorry, but you have about four hours to live. Please say your goodbyes.” The three week wait to get in to see the doctor, as a result, was pure torture.
The night before my appointment was Halloween and I spent the evening hiding from Trick-or-Treaters, per my annual custom. I spent extra time in Bible study and prayer, hoping it would calm me for my visit. Well, the particular thing I was working on that night parked me in John chapter 14. Perhaps this will ring a bell: “In my Father’s house are many mansions. I’ll be coming back tomorrow to get you.” Oh…perhaps I went a little off text there at the end.
Several weeks before that, the house down at the end of the block had a significant party that lasted until the wee hours. The banner hanging from the porch the next day marked it the “Josiah-palooza.” I don’t know Josiah, but his palooza resurfaced that night in the form of a Halloween extravaganza. So at midnight, I tossed and turned in bed, mulling over “if it were not so…I would have told you…I go to prepare a place…” with Josiah’s latest palooza as my background music.
After a few precious hours of sleep, I sat in the waiting room surrounded by sickies and fellow hypochondriacs. A woman old enough to know better came out of the rooms in the back and handed a piece of paper to her friend while loudly asking, “Do you want to see a picture of what they took out of me?” I crossed my eyes and went back to answering questions on my form. “Do you smoke?” Circle yes. “For how long?” Ever since I walked in the door of this office. “Do you drink?” Pen in: Do you provide complimentary ones? I’ll give it a shot. Literally. (KIDDING, Mom and Dad!)
A nurse with the personality of a ceramic toad came to the door and called my name. I made my way to the back with her where she instructed me to step on the scales. I don’t believe in scales. I jokingly said, “Do I have to?” She gave me a rather annoyed look and said, “Well you don’t have to.” Good grief, woman!! I got on the scales and closed my eyes tightly to avoid the news we all already know – too fat to be a Princess!
She left me in a room with an announcement that the doctor would be with me shortly. I learned that shortly is 23 minutes. 23 l-o-n-g minutes filled with zero reading material. When shortly was over and the doctor arrived, he extended his hand and introduced himself. I immediately crinkled into a meltdown and said, “Hi, I’m Rebekah and you’re going to wish you’d called in sick today.” I cried the rest of the way through the appointment until he announced to me that he didn’t think I was dying.
My favorite part was the end of the appointment. I’d had to don a lovely Charmin evening gown, and when the consultation was over, I had no idea if the doctor or Ms. Ceramic Toad would be back in for any reason. Was I supposed to get dressed and leave? Or wait for instructions? I scrambled back into my clothes in a Riverdance-esque fashion and cautiously opened the door. I stuck my head out into the hall and made eye contact with the first scrubs-sporting person I saw. “Can I leave?” I felt like a kid fleeing time out!
So until my next near death experience – I’m not going back to any doctors. And no more reading John 14 on Halloween!! OR eating candy!
