AUTHOR: Sara TITLE: Trying to be Philosophical - Or is it Cynical? DATE: 3/30/2005 05:38:00 PM ----- BODY:

"To pee or not to pee, that is the question." I decided to pee and wish that I hadn't. Once again, it was negative. Is there another word for negative? False? How about saying it was wrong, all wrong! That's better. I crawled back into bed and laid there thinking This is utter bullshit. My body is like a perfected digital clock. Now it is acting like one of those analog ones made in some obscure foreign country where the minute hand moves forward and then suddenly jumps back. I bit and contorted the top to my pen today into a mangled mess of plastic. My Psych teacher once told me that the bottle was taken away from me too early because I turn pens into funky decorations when I am stressed. I finally laid down the pen and decided to call my doctor. I knew I would reach Nurse Nice, and that was fine. She is always so soft-spoken and kind and wears great shoes. I told her my situation, to which she sounded equally curious and told me to go get my blood drawn. I told her I wanted a Hcg and Progesterone if it was positive (snicker). My doctor is not keen on doing that, so I kind of nicely demanded it and she even agreed it was a good idea, you know, "in case you are not testing positive because of a chemical pregnancy, early pregnancy, or ectopic pregnancy." Great. Thanks. No, I am not worried now or anything. I know she meant no harm, but I might as well add it to my list of "Things to Worry About this Week." I shouldn't worry, but it's a genetic flaw, I think. My Mom followed me to school in her car when I was younger so I wouldn't get kidnapped. So, tomorrow Nurse Nice will call me with some type of news. I think it is unlikely that I ovulated SO late in my cycle that it wouldn't show SOMETHING by now, but what the hell do I know about all of this? An ending thought, why do phlebotomists have to be such, for lack of a better word, pricks? Yes, I am sorry I am your last patient and you want to get home and watch reality television and eat KFC, but this does not mean you need to tie the tourniquet around my arm in such a fashion that will leave a scar and then jab the needle in my vein in a way that seemed like you were out for revenge. And don't try to tell me that my veins are shit, lady. I am a fair-skinned blonde. Crack addicts want my veins. They are beautiful and you know it. Oh yeah, and that medical tape, aka torture-device? Why do you insist on putting it on my arm when it rips all of the hair off and leaves this lovely purple bruise? To leave your war-mark? Bitch. Until tomorrow . . .

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