I had a scheduled appointment at the dermatologist on Monday afternoon. I needed this appointment in the worst way. My skin has been less than fresh since visiting the dermatologist last fall after my disasterous encounter with Azelex. She had me rotating three different kinds of shampoo and applying a steroid to my scalp and a separate cream for the damage to my eye area to clear it all up. Oh – and nothing for the acne. When it finally cleared up, I called to make an appointment to start on a new medication (having finally weaned Chip meant that the possibilities were endless!) for the acne. Except that she was booked until January. Two months of no prescriptions. This was bad.
So yeah – as of January 5, my face was an incredible mess. Worse than it had ever been in my life, I think. I was mortified to go anywhere.
Chip and I arrived at the Dr’s office right on time. We sat down and waited. And waited. And waited. I started fuming. For cripes sakes, this is a dermatologist’s office. There are no f***** emergencies. There is no reason to wait other than they over scheduled (in other words: greed.) But I was desperate, so I waited.
We finally got put into a room (45 minutes later) and I listened to her (let’s call this doctor Her Royal. For effect.) talk to the patient in the room next to me. I could hear them start talking medications when all of a sudden, Chip starts dancing and tells me he has to poop. Now. Holy shit – we were going to miss Her Royal’s appearance and she would move on to the next patient! Crap! I ran him to the potty, watched him expel mass quantities (he has been, um, suffering for a while…) and tried to be firm in our need to hurry this process so that we don’t miss the doctor. Just push, Chip. Done? No? Um, I think you are done – it has been 10 seconds of nothing coming out! Yep. You are done. Hurry – run back!
We get back in the room and I can still hear her discussing the other patient’s options. Whew – we made it. I sit down and start waiting some more. Chip starts dancing and informs me has has to go again, in a tone meant to convey that his idiot mom should have believed him when he said he wasn’t done. Shit.
We return (again) and I can STILL hear her discussing options. Jesus Mary and Joseph. Why doesnt’ this patient just get a grip and let Her Royal prescribe something that will work and get a move on it. Doesn’t she have anywhere to go? Like picking up her other two kids from school?
So finally, Her Royal’s resident enters and the ball starts rolling. Thirty minutes after they put me in the room. I get out of there 1.5 hours after I entered, leaving me 15 minutes to run home, pick up a leotard, and get to school to pick up the girls and take Mare to gymnastics.
Am I being unreasonable? Is 75 minutes too long to wait to even set eyes on the doctor? To clarify, the Doctor of Dermatology?
In case you were wondering, the correct answer is yes. Hell yes.