Afterwards, I couldn't help but wonder why my dentist's office is so much more high-tech than my doctor's. When I go to the dentist, I sit in a chair facing an LCD screen while the hygienist sits behind me at a keyboard. My medical and insurance history is flashed before me for review, then a clunky pad is thrust into my hand for an electronic signature. Next a cuff is placed around my wrist. It hums and tightens briefly, then a pleasant (if slightly tinny) voice emanates from the depths of the Velcro. I am informed in dulcet tones what the World Health Organization thinks of my current blood pressure and heart rate.
(Note: The World Health Organization has never met my dentist and, as a result, has no frame of reference for my slightly elevated scores. I don't blame them for passing judgement.)
When my cleaning is done, the dentist arrives and makes a few comments. These, I assume, he finds to be the height of hilarity even if they are not. He brings up a shot of my last x-rays on the little screen so that he can confirm the cavity I have on the lower right side. When he is done, the hygienist returns to the keyboard so that she can make my next appointment and a card is spat out for my records before I can clear the chair. Sometimes it's a little bit curled up from the machine.
It isn't like that at my doctor's office at all. My blood pressure is taken by a harried, but still very pleasant, nurse. The gauge hangs right on the wall and it's the kind with a dial. I can always read my own BP just by watching the little needle and counting the beats I feel under the cuff. My records are kept in a gigantic manila folder. When notes are made, they are handwritten by either the nurse or the doctor in perfect Palmer Method script. I'm asked to make an appointment for my next visit with the receptionist on my way out. She fills out a little card for me, so I don't forget. There's a whole stack of them right on her desk. It isn't curly.
I'm not saying that one or the other is the better way. I suppose I think that there should maybe be more high tech stuff at the doctor's office, but what do I know? If nothing else, the gadgetry certainly does distract me from the horror that is my dentist. But a part of me thinks he is over compensating. And over compensating is a very sad thing. Yes, my mean dentist is a very, very sad man when you think about it.
I used the rest of my long weekend to finish up the Stoopid Rectangles. I told the Very Nice Lady who works at The Convenience Store Where They Call You Honey And Dear And You Sort Of Don't Mind That So Much that I would make a pair for her sister. I felt kind of funny about this since they are just Stoopid Crocheted Rectangles with a hole in the side that lets you wear them as handwarmers, but she seemed to think her sister would love them. I guess if you don't crochet, you are able to ignore that they are just Stoopid Rectangles.
When I was done, I couldn't help but think that they looked so very plain. I didn't dare embellish them, though. It wasn't what The Very Nice Lady asked for. Yet, how was I to hand over a pair of Stoopid Rectangles? Just drag them out of my purse and toss them on the counter Monday morning when I went in for coffee?
"Here you go, some Stoopid Rectangles. Sorry about that one that fell behind the lottery machine. Hope you like 'em!"
That didn't seem right. At the very least, I should clip them together as a pair. And what if she was giving them to her sister as a gift? A gift, even a very Stoopid Rectangular one, should look nice. Maybe if I labeled them? That might help. They are, after all Stoopid Rectangles. They probably need something that identifies them and helps her sister to understand what they are. Otherwise, the next Nice Lady family reunion could be uncomfortable. Everyone would be talking about the time those Stoopid Rectangles showed up and no one knew what to do with them.
Yes. That is what I would do! Contain them and label them! Like a real gift!!!
|Stoopid Rectangles contained.|
With that decision made and acted upon, the weekend fairly flew by. Why, I was almost able to forget that I have to go back to see The World's Meanest Dentist next month for a filling. It won't be so bad, really. All I have to do is remember how he is one of those over-compensating, sad types.
And I can feel all superior because I'm not like that at all...