heart

"It could be all that smoking, you know.  Smoking two cigarettes in less than ten minutes can make you dizzy."

She stares at me from the tall, cold, awkward-paper-covered exam bed. She knows I'm right, but she doesn't want to admit it. 

"You have pretty blue eyes like me, Laura. I just noticed that." 

All I have time for is a smile before the doctor walks in and immediately starts asking questions. 

"Is it worse when you turn your head?"

"No, just when I'm walking." Then, the most Oscar-worthy moment I've seen from a client. She turns her head as far to the right as possible and jerks it back to the front, hands on her ears with her mouth open. Home Alone style. "Oh! I lied. It does get worse when I turn my head."

And just like that, we got sent to HyVee for Gatorade while the nurse got a heart monitor ready.  Don't get me wrong, I love the better safe than sorry approach when it comes to someone's life, but oh, the drama this girl will create with one of those. 

I am always right. We got the monitor on a Friday and by Monday, she had called the monitoring center 14 times. 

No, they had not seen any irregularities. 

Yes, the monitor is functioning fine. 

No, there's nothing else you need to do. 

I can handle two and a half more weeks of this, right?

spinster

"You're too old to have kids now, Laura. You're 23 and you're not even married!" 

"I'm only three years older than you!"

"Yeah, but I'm cute."

I know she's being funny, but I also know her well enough to know when she truly believes what she's saying. 

"Zip that cute face before I leave it on the side of the road." 

She laughs and makes the motion of a zipper across her lips. 

I love my job. I do. Even when they tease me. Even when a police officer ruins my favorite shoes trying to get me out of harms way. Although, I actually would have traded my ruined shoes for getting ran into (her hands were cuffed behind her back, there's not a lot she could have done!) that day.  Even when they embarrass me in front of the cute nurse, on purpose, and laugh about it as soon as we leave.  They're the reason I get up in the morning.

"Oh I really like that house!" I pointed to one with a wrap around, enclosed, porch.  "But maybe I should just stop looking since I'm never going to need any more space than a studio apartment because I'm going to be alone and childless my whole life."
"Yep."
An exaggerated frown crossed my face and she immediately took to groveling.  
"Okay, no, being serious now.  You will be a great mom.  You'll be old, but you'll be great.  You have to bring them to our house so I can play with them.  They'll call me 'Auntie.'  They'll all have beautiful hair, like you, too."
"I feel better now.  Thanks, girl."  I wasn't really feeling bad in the first place.  You can't do this job if you take everything they say to heart.  If I got upset every time I get called a 'fucking bitch,' I'd go crazy, myself.  Not to mention, 9 times out of 10, half an hour after 'fucking bitch,' comes 'I love you, honey.'  1 out of 10 times it's still 'fucking bitch.'
"You're welcome.  Now, just because you're going to have all these beautiful babies and live in a big house, that does not mean you can leave us.  I'll let you have the babies, but you have to stay our supervisor."
"I can't make any promises...what if the man I marry has to move for his job?  What if he makes sooo much money that I don't need a job?"
"Leave him.  We'll need you more."
I love my job.

Girl] interrupted

I feel like I'm in a scene from girl, interrupted every time I'm in the psychiatrist's waiting room.

"Hello," she says to break the silence. 

The wafer with sopping wet curls and bug-eye sunglasses gets up and walks out side. She stands right in front of the door, turns around, lights a cigar, and stares at us. 

As she turns to make conversation a similar looking girl, who at that very moment buries herself in her phone, the PA behind the counter tells us it'll just be a minute. Then miss dry, but unnecessarily hair gelled, curls has something to say. 

"What time is your appointment?"

"2:30," she answers. 

"What doctor are you seeing, because my appointment was at 2:30 and if your next then I just don't understand." Her words were thrown out so fast that I almost didn't understand. 

"She's not seeing the doctor today," I tell her, hoping that's what she was looking for. She appeared happy with that answer and, unfortunately for me, open for conversation.
"I'm getting my shot today, do you get shots?"
"I used to, but I don't need them anymore." Skinny girl put her phone down and leaned forward in her chair.  "I only come in once a month now."
"Oh, I still get shots. I like your shoes.  Where'd you get 'em?"
"I've had them for so long I can't remember.  Oh, wait, I got them at footlocker."
My client turns to me and asks, "Can we go there when you take me shopping?"
"Yeah, probably," I answer as I glance up at Nick, the PA, again.  He holds up five fingers with an apologetic smile in response.
She turns back to hair gel and the questioning starts.  
"Are you married?" She asks as she starts absentmindedly peeling lose hairs off my shirt.
"Nope."
"But that's a pretty ring you got on.  Did your boyfriend give it to you?'
"I don't have a boyfriend.  I got this when I was visiting family in Texas.  See, it's not even on the right hand for marriage."
"Do you like to go fishing?"
"No, anything with sharp and slimy objects isn't for me. What agency do you work for?"  Before I realized that last part was directed at me, she adds, "I used to have Lasting Hope, but no one helps me anymore..." Her voice trailed off as she stared out the window.
How do I respond to that? I can tell you need it, but unless you have a developmental disability, I can't help you.  This is the only field I know, I can name all the agencies like mine in Omaha, but I have no idea what else is out there.  As I scrambled to think of something to say, bug glasses walks back inside. 
'I like your glasses," my girl tells her.  Without so much as a breath, bug glasses walks back out the door.
"I'm ready for you two now, Laura." Nick saves the day.  We awkwardly exchange pleasantries with the unmarried, curly haired woman in the cute tennis shoes and walk back to the exam room.
At least I can say I don't have a boring desk job.

Homaha.

All my life I dreamed of leaving Omaha and moving to a 'real' city. I hated that my high school, located well inside city limits, was surrounded by cornfields. I hated that my dad ran into someone he knew literally everywhere we went. I'm not using literally like Chris Traeger. My dad knows everyone. 

The only thing to do as a child was play football in the street with the olda' boys and get scraped up to all hell. I'm sure I have more than one scar on my body that I don't know about.  I suppose there was the zoo, but that got old fast as it was every adult-in-my-life's trick to tire all of us out.  Every night, I fell asleep dreaming of a place with more excitement.  
In high school, there was a surprising amount of kids that moved to Nebraska from places like Detroit and California and various places in the middle-east and India.  I always felt bad for them, and they were often getting into trouble, as teenagers in a place with little to keep them occupied usually do.  They all moved to Omaha with the notion that everyone in the city owned a tractor and the majority of the roads were gravel.  I was asked once if many family owned any pigs and if they were cute like Babe.
I wanted more than spending my Saturday's in Panera and drinking coffee on a swing in the park.  Hide and seek in cars was a highlight, though.  It had just the right amount of suspense, speed, and trickery to make me happy.  Which I'm now realizing must mean I was dead inside if it took near-death experiences in traffic, on purpose, to make me happy.  It makes sense, considering it took five more years to realize that Nebraska is actually a pretty great place.
I love that Omaha is a big enough city where I can run to Walgreen's to pick up shampoo and not worry about someone I know seeing me all sweaty and smelly (I am not my father and do not understand how he knows so many people), but small enough to be able to get from Downtown to West O in less than half an hour (depending on the time...not so lucky during rush hour, but still).  The number of douches is upsetting, but it's balanced by a large amount of people with actual taste in music.  Which is nice.  I have never been on a tractor that actually runs, but the one at Vala's Pumpkin Patch is still fun to climb on.  I have been on a farm once, and have no desire to return fearing my obituary would read, "death by two ton spotted beast."  My high school might be surrounded by cornfields, but it's Boys Town land.  I don't really have an excuse for the rest of the random cornfields, but I like them now.  Character, right?  I've still been to the zoo way too many times, but it's the best zoo in the world.  Fact, and opinion. There are gravel roads everywhere, but there is also Dodge Street; the bane of every Omaha teenager with a learners permit's existence.  Dodge scares visitors much bigger cities with it's four lanes and five exits in one mile of space.    
It took a lot of bumps and a lot of awkwardness, which is still there and I like it that way, to stop looking past what I have for something 'better'.  This is what's better.  I can't say that with complete certainty since I haven't actually lived anywhere else, but I'm happy here.   
The best part, it takes 10 minutes from anywhere in the city to find a road like this to clear your head. 

Oh, if people actually read the crap that spills out of my head, please tell me you got the teen girl squad reference. 

can I have a you make a copy of the script for my records?

"Why do doctors make you wait so long?"

I want to answer, "because this is the fourth time this month we've been here, you silly little hypochondriac, and they know this and are probably busy with people who have something real wrong with them." 

Instead, I say, "you should ask her, I bet they do it for fun." 

She laughs and proceeds to wiggle her "swollen" foot, the reason for this particular visit, in circles. 

"I can't ask her, that would be rude! She's the doctor, she can make us wait as long as she wants."

"I suppose she can." 

After a 46 second examination of her foot, it's off to get an x-ray. There's another few hundred dollars to tack onto her bills under "unnecessary medical procedures with normal results." 

These people know that, and that's why they play into it. As much as I hate dragging her to the doctor for her newest WebMD diagnosis, I hate how these doctors handle it more. Feeding into her delusional vertigo by saying, "it could be a side effect of any of your psych meds," and sending us to her psychiatrist to have them reevaluated is not how you handle a girl who thrives on the attention.   Of course, the psychiatrist left the meds the same, but had me schedule a follow up in three weeks. 

And so the never ending cycle of waiting rooms continues. I spend more time in exam rooms than I do in my office, watching the "concern" in the doctor's eyes grow as she describes why she needs a full body MRI.

"We better schedule one, just be safe," they say.

"We'll get more money out of this," is what they want to say. 

She returns from her x-ray and the nurse tells me, much to my surprise, that everything looks normal. The nurse tells her to ice and elevate as she wraps it in an Ace bandage. It's exactly what I told her the day before, but I can see her face relaxing as the nurse wraps. 

As we walk out the door, I tell start to tell   her, "told you so," when she wraps her arms around me and squeezes.

"Thank you." 

I go through a lot of trouble, and it can drive me insane, to give this girl, and others, peace of mind. In this field, going to the doctor to get a new medicine, or even to be told that you're fine, is something they can understand. This is where they find reassurance that they really are going to be okay. It may push me to my breaking point if I have to sit in another 32 degree waiting room, telling myself i do NOT have to pee, this week, but it all melts away when they say thank you. 

That is, until the next time...