Doe, A Dear, A Female Deer...
Were you singing along with that title?
I just got back from going to the new ENT doctor and then getting groceries. I am tuckered out and elevating my ankle.
I was not too crazy about the new doctor. He didn't believe that the phone caused the injury, which I could tell made him think less of the first guy. He spouted some big words of explanation that I can't remember. Because I was focused more on other things.
I'd rather it not have been due to the phone. Too darned freaky. And besides, my right ear is involved, so that didn't make a lot of sense.
What I was focused on was his attitude. A little condescending. Do you ever get that with doctors? Interrupting whatever I was saying with a little impatience. Never really looking me in the eye. Being somewhat dismissive.
And to add fuel to the fire, after sitting in his waiting room for well over an hour, only to have a very short visit with him, he topped it off by calling me dear.
All right, you people shaking your head in consternation, I know he probably thought that was okay. He was an older doctor, at least my age. He probably didn't think a thing of it.
He probably missed hearing about a woman named Gloria Steinem because he was busy going to med school and being in some wise-ass fraternity.
And it wasn't said with a hint of kindness. It was said in that way some men adopt that means they think they're better and of course smarter than we are. We women, that is.
Now I don't want to cause a big back lash here. So don't get all up in arms about it. I don't want anyone to get their panties in a twist. Because you younger gals don't remember the old days. We paved the way for you and you didn't have as many obstacles in your path.
It was my experience. This is my blog.
And if you're a man who has never met me and steers me from room to room like I'm a bit low on the intelligence scale, don't you dare call me dear.
You don't hear a stranger call a man dear. It's just women and children.
The students in my women's studies course in college would have had a field day.
He ordered some ear drops, which I will pick up next time I'm out. Because this body ain't going nowhere until my next doctor's appointment on Thursday, when I meet my new primary care doctor. She's a woman.
I tend to steer toward female doctors, etc. Even my dentist is a woman, as is every single person working with her in the practice.
She does not call me dear.
Here is a glimpse of what you're going to see in my bedroom. Don't those bright colors just make you want to grin from ear to ear?
I'm still pondering the rest.
Though when Kay and I were in Jenks last week at the antique mall we frequent, I purchased six turquoise picture frame of all sizes. None too big. Guess what I paid for them? They were 50% off. $24 for all six. And that's with tax included. And I don't have to paint them. Yea!
I don't think I've shown you a close-up of the bright pink knob I put on the hutch in the living area. I'm not a very good painter, so no one need point that out.
I am already fully aware of my skill level in that area. And it is slightly above abysmal. But I'm hoping if I just keep slapping coats of paint on things, no one will notice too much!
I was disappointed today that all I did was shop for groceries at Target and my leg hurt so bad I didn't know if I was going to make it out of there on my own two legs. Luckily the young kid working there was accommodating and helped me with the many sacks to my car.
I wear the tight stocking, and then good socks, and then my brace, and then my good sneakers. I had to order them in a size bigger to accommodate the brace, which is what the guy who made it told me to do.
Only problem is, my other foot is flopping around in a size 8 when it's accustomed to a size 7 on the narrow side. The left side of my back is killing me. I've got to tell the surgeon in a few weeks that we've got to figure out a way to build up the other foot so I'm not limping unsteadily and off balance.
I'll probably still limp when I've been on my feet awhile. But the left foot is taking the brunt of what is the new normal for the right ankle. If you're walking and one side is basically taller than the other, that just isn't going to work for long.
My ankle surgeon is male, aged 40, (I asked how old he was before I allowed him to cut on me) and I really like him.
He would not dare call me dear. He's too evolved.
Tomorrow we're going to have another edition of Java Talk. So see ya then folks.
Dear. That's going to stick in my craw all day long.