I braved the outside world today for my physical. My doctor told me I’m “great.” Last year, she told me I was “perfect,” but that’s because she also had my blood test results in front of her. This year she didn’t, so I’m going to assume my perfection is coming…as soon as I brave the lab to get it done. There’s something about going to a lab during Covid that freaks me out a little. But I suppose, if I managed a doctor’s office, in a medical building, with an elevator, I can handle a lab appointment.
That was my big outing today. It’s weird what I now consider an “outing.” It was on my calendar, and what with the phone confirmation and filling out forms electronically, I managed to remember that I had the appointment, which is a huge improvement over my schedule-keeping lately. But I planned for this. I actively worked out in my head what time I needed to wake up, how much time I needed to get ready, and generally put way more focus on what I was going to do than I ever have in the past. I guess nonchalance is another casualty of life in a pandemic.
Their parking is usually a nightmare, but this time it was easy to find a spot. I guess extreme pandemic scheduling has its perks. The nurse was kind enough to let me remove my snow boots before stepping on the scale. Even he recognized that they would add at least five pounds to the number. I kept waiting for the doctor to make a comment, but I’m assuming that she has decided that pandemic weight is its own separate entity, and as long as I haven’t gained an entire person, I’m good. Or should I say, great.
I rewarded myself with coffee afterwards. And I now feel way less guilty about my planned Dunkin Donut run on Valentine’s Day. But until then, no more outings, at least for a while.
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