Before I left Texas, there was one last piece of paperwork that I had to send off. It was my Certificate of Health form. I made a point of filling it out, copying it, and sending it off into the loving, careful arms of the U.S. Postal Service. Unfortunately, I did not realize that those arms were also greedy and randomly selfish. They decided to keep it. They must have found me interesting or…something.
My favorite part of all of this is the distance my poor little form had to travel. My former address actually was a Houston address though it was about twenty minutes away from downtown. The place is was going to was in downtown Houston. Apparently this distance is just too little to be bothered with by the postal service. Maybe if I’d tried to send it to somewhere far away like Alaska they’d have tried a little harder. Alas, it was not the case.
I did not discover that this was aproblem until about five thirty last Wednesday. I was up in Mt. Pleasant. This is two hours away from where I am currently staying. I don’t have any doctors in that area that I am familiar with, and, to make things worse, it was after office hours at most doctor’s offices. At the urging of Adam, my husband, I called an office recommended to me anyway. Surprisingly they were open, but they were booked until August. So…that wasn’t going to do me any good.
They did happily inform me that across the hall from their practice was an urgent care facility that only took walk ins. They opened at nine. If you’ve never been to a walk in clinic, you don’t know the time gamble you could be making. Either it’s a ghost town, or you end up waiting for hours on end. Knowing this I decided to exit the bachelorette party I was attending and partially throwing so that I could be home in time to sleep and only have to get up in order to run to the clinic.
Two hours and a lot of loudly sung Disney songs later, I managed to get back to a sort of home base for the evening. The sleeping part didn’t so much happen because of the bachelor party happening at the house.
Groggily, I got myself out of bed and dragged myself the ten minutes to the clinic. To my great relief there was no one waiting when I got there. Within minutes I was in and getting poked and prodded as is necessary of an exam. The one thing I was not looking forward too was my Tuberculosis test. I’d already gotten it done once, and I wasn’t looking forward to getting poked with another needle quite so soon.
Anyone who has known me for any length of time knows one thing about me. I do not like needles. The thought of any one person coming at me with a sharp piece of metal for the sole purpose of sticking it into my skin is not a pleasant one. I was willing to be calm only because the previous test I’d received was about as close to painless as can be achieved. Oh, and before I forget, the first thing she had to do was circle the test place with a large permanent black marker. A wonderful addition to someone who is going to be in a wedding the very next day.
I did not know that I had signed up to be poked by nurse ratchet. I told her that I was nervous around needles. Her terse response was to look at the wall. I did. I was expecting the gentle needle poke from before. Nope. Not even close. She jabbed the tiny needle into my arm first once then twice. Then she plunged the plunger as quickly as possible and yanked it out sucking skin and blood with it. I stared at the much larger hole in my arm than the last time. It didn’t just sort of bleed it bled. When I asked for some gauze, she laughed and simply replied, “Oh, man you’re a bleeder.” Thank you I was not aware that I was bleeding.
The rest of the physical was perfunctory and short. Except for when the doctor asked me why I’d ever move back to Michigan, there was nothing really interesting about it. I paid, got my paperwork later, and left. Thankfully I’m good at being aware during pictures. As of right now, there are no big black rings showing up in the pictures. Here it is below. It is extremely faded compared to how it used to be.