Fine. I will admit it. I am a woman of
a 'certain' age. And with that age comes great responsibility. Well,
not really. It just means more maintenance. So:
WARNING!!!
Due to
my advanced age, maternal history and twenty seven years in the
Health Service industry (read that standing for at least 10 hours a
day) I developed a gross, ropey vein on my right leg. In fact, it had
grown so much it was now an entity who answered to the name
Vein-essa. Vein-essa had taken to kicking people in movie theaters
when they wouldn't shut up and so it was decided she had to go.
Which
resulted in me sitting in a freezing exam room in a pair of shorts.
Part one of my recurring nightmare.
The
Doctor walked in and greeted us with "Whoa! I can see from here
why you came in!"
Thanks
Doc. Just what I wanted to hear. Vein-essa pulsated "Hello Big
Boy" in Morse code. (Did I mention she is something of a skank?)
The
consult was a two part, two visit affair with examination, treatment
options, payment plans, insurance referrals, pictures, ultrasound and
payment options. Did I mention the pictures? The photo session was
part of visit two. Let me paint you a picture: Me, Vein-esse,
athletic shorts, no socks, and Leopard Print Pumps. Lovely.
It was
determined that only Lasers would evict Vein-essa. Lasers. You know,
those things we fire at terrorists and moon aliens. I straightened my
shorts, turned on my leopard print heels and made the appointment.
Vein-esse
requested two 8x10 glossies on the way out.
$20 at Kmart, priceless at the Vein Clinic |
(coming
soon – Attack of the 30 ml syringe full of PAIN or Buh-Bye Little
Vein-essa)
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