She visits once a year to keep tabs on a benign thyroid nodule. When she first found out that the options were either to have the nodule surgically removed without guarantee that it would not recur, or to take levothyroxine daily for the rest of her life, she was quite annoyed. Hobson's Choice. She chose not to risk a potentially large and visible scar, and grudgingly went the route of medication. Several years later now, she has adjusted to the situation; she chalks it up as one of the various indignities to which one's middle-aged body subjects one. It could be worse.
Typically, the visit consists of interminable waiting, followed by a brief examination of the nodule and discussion of the bloodwork with one of the pleasant (and rather elderly) doctors or with the abrasive physician's assistant; then checkout and scheduling for the following year. Slightly irritating, but not particularly onerous. Yesterday, though, was just a tiny bit different - albeit in a pleasant way.
When Herself arrived, the waiting room was relatively uncrowded. She signed in at the front desk, where a rather buff and clean-cut young man cheerfully took her information. (Goodness gracious.) The wait was quite short before she was installed in an examination room. A knock, and the physician's assistant entered. His name, somewhat oddly, was "Elvis," and he was also young, comely, and unfailingly polite and informational. (Good HEAVENS.) After a decision was made to adjust her dosage and check back in a few months, Herself went to check out and schedule the next appointment. A third visually appealing young man helpfully filled out the necessary forms and eagerly offered her a paperclip for all the bits and pieces of paperwork. (GOOD LORD.) She was out of the office within an hour.
When she left, she found herself thinking that she is looking forward to being an aged crone. Then, she will be able to answer Elvis' comment, "I believe I've seen you before a while back," with a jocular "Oh, I would have remembered that" instead of a polite "it's possible." When she is 90 years old, it will (hopefully) be adorable-Betty-White-sassy-old-lady-ish, rather than creepily cougar-ish as it would have been now.
She might not mind going back in three months. She might want to brush her hair a bit better beforehand next time, though - she knows she's not much to look at, but it is the very least she can do to try to return the favor of a Pleasant View.
Helloooo, Boys.
This lovely cougar was found at http://true-wildlife.blogspot.com/2011/02/cougar.html
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