I did something truly frightening and scheduled a colonoscopy for myself on Halloween. In retrospect, that wasn’t my best plan ever. But Fate saved me from myself once again, and my doctor’s office called to reschedule because, apparently, the doctor’s husband is having surgery on that date.
I am not going to go into the details of the domino effect of this schedule change. Being a teacher of gifted students at two different schools, I had to personally notify at least 500 people when I cancelled class for next Monday. My students thought I was taking a day off for Halloween. I didn’t take off for my own birthday, but I’m going to relax at home on Halloween? If I was going to let that day effect my teaching schedule, I would go for the day after Halloween – when the kids are so sugared up from all of the candy they ate, and so exhausted from trick or treating that they are extra diligent about misbehaving, and drop their heads on the desk as soon as you ask them to expend some energy on anything that requires thought.
Anyway, my doctors’s office decided to reschedule me for next Wednesday. After I dutifully marked that on my calendar and hung up, I contemplated the nightmare I had just agreed to.
I had just finished emailing all of the teachers about next week’s schedule change, and let Transportation know so they could get a different driver because the current bus driver has already scheduled his life around me once and refuses to do it again. Now I was going to have to tell everyone that I was just jerking their chains. I really meant to cancel class next Wednesday.
And, let’s be logical about this. If the doctor’s husband is having surgery on Monday, and something goes wrong, is my doctor going to be in any shape to be doing the sensitive things they do during such procedures? What if the husband stops breathing during his mystery operation and everyone panics and the nurse drops a scalpel, and someone steps on it and slips, hitting the anesthesia guy in the crotch and then all Hell breaks loose? Do I really want the doctor to be working on me a mere two days after this traumatic experience? I think not.
Of course, rescheduling would mean I would have to call the office back again. So, I need to weigh the likelihood of my doctor going off the deep end due to her husband’s brush with death against the likelihood of me talking to a real live person who can help me before I stab myself with the butter knife after being forced to listen to scratchy elevator music for fifteen minutes. This is not Dr. Jimmy’s office where humans pick up the phone after one ring and magically pull convenient-for-my-calendar appointments out of their uncolonoscopied rears.
Then I looked at my calendar more closely. What? OK – hide the butter knives. Time to call the doctor’s office. I could handle re-notifying 500 people rather than calling back to re-re-schedule, but there was another event on the calendar that I could not cancel and I sure as heck didn’t plan to attend loopy on anesthesia with an aching butt.
David Sedaris is coming to town. That man’s writings – and his readings of his writings – makes life worth living, and I am not going to miss his humor injection for a dang colonoscopy that will probably result in my doctor officially declaring me a hypochondriac once and for all.
So, I called the office again. And, you have rightly deduced that I did not stab myself. The colonoscopy is rescheduled. I will be able to enjoy David Sedaris with my full faculties intact. At least the ones that are usually present.
I haven’t told the 500 people yet. I’m thinking of keeping things quiet. After all, it might not be so bad to have the day off on Halloween.