After enduring weeks and weeks of intense and a foot feeling like I am walking on a rock, I finally go see my doctor. She gives me a complete "overhaul." She takes blood, schedules x-rays, takes, (ahem, clearing throat) uring samples, among a bunch of other horrible stuff.
There are so many things wrong with me that she makes a list, telling me, "Let's start fixing one problem at a time, beginning at the top of the list. Sounds good to me. Needless to say, I have to go back and forth to the doctor's office for the next few months.
Starting with the blood test, she discovers that I'm anemic---no wonder I feel tired all the time. Okay, that's one thing off the list---I'm anemic---but my foot still really hurts. That is the next problem we address.
Doc schedules a foot x-ray. I hobble into the x-ray room and the female technician asks, "What are we going to do today?"
I tell her about my foot and point to where it is the "hurtest."
She takes note. As she is preparing the table for my x-ray, seeing that my doc has scheduled many more tests, she asks what other things are going on with me.
I say, "Well, we just found out that I am anorexic."
She looks me up and down, see that I could easily stand to lose at least 50 lbs., she remarks, "Um . . . I don't think so."
"How do you know?" feeling insulted that I'm not anorexic.
She hesitates, "Um . . ." She eyeballs me again, then asks, "Um . . . anorexic?"
A light bulb turns on over my head. "Did I say "anorexic"? I meant to say "anemic."
To which she quickly responds, "That makes more sense."
How rude. I don't know if I am more insulted that I'm not anorexic or that I'm anemic. Both words start with an A---It's so hard for me to keep track of that kind of stuff (Read is South America in South Africa?" below).
LESSON LEARNED: Don't talk to x-ray technicians
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