Tuesday, July 27, 2010


Last September, I made my annual appointment to see my gynecologist today (or so I thought). She's a wonderful OB-GYN at Beth Israel who is so gentle, quick, and pleasant that she makes these often-miserable exams a breeze.  Instead of dreading my appointments for weeks, I sort of look forward to seeing her. I have to gone so far as to declare that I'd prefer an appointment with her to sitting through a dumb summer movie or a dull dinner party. I've had perhaps a dozen gynecologists over the years, and I have found the winner. I have had haircuts that were less comfortable than seeing her.

I showed up promptly in her office this morning, and noticed that the receptionist seemed a little glassy-eyed as she scanned the schedule. "Your appointment was last week," she said. "The doctor is now booking annual appointments for February." February? The doctor is on vacation for two weeks, so we'll have to see if she grant me an exception when she returns.

How did I screw this up? I checked my 2009 appointment calendar, where I wrote this in long before the 2010 ones were available. "Thursday, July 27, 9 am" is what it says. I completely missed the "Thursday" part — today is Tuesday. Argghh. I remember getting a reminder voicemail from the doctor's office more than a week ago, but I still believed the appointment was today. I do remember thinking that they were calling pretty far in advance. Maybe I didn't listen carefully to the date because I was so certain it was today.

Go figure. Surely no one needed to tell you that the Proper Bostonian is a flaky idiot at times. Also a klutz: today in gym class, her instructor stood near her as everyone was doing lunges while lifting weight plates over their heads and said, for all the class to hear: "Remember how you couldn't do even one of these last year?" He was being rhetorical, but the PB chose that moment to lose her balance and nearly topple over. There was laughter. But not from the PB.

Maybe I need a vacation? A new head? A brain? And definitely a new pair of cross-trainers with stickier soles.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Spam goes right into the trash but I appreciate relevant comments from non-spammers (and I can always tell the difference). I do my best to follow up if you have a question. ALL spam, attempts to market other websites, and anything nasty or unintelligible gets deleted instantly. The cats and I thank you for reading — and please feel free to comment on what you read.