Reelin' in the Years ...

Howdy, cowpokes. Brought some knitting -- a very plain cotton-wool green sock -- to my day-long annual physical today. As long as I am already running around naked inside a paper gown, I like to cram as much knitting time as possible into one day annually of being poked, prodded, and stuck with needles not wielded by my own hands.

You know the routine: kick the tires, look under the hood, check the exhaust manifold, have my boobs hydraulically compressed, meet vampires considerably less sexy than Lestat, do an EKG on the fuel pump, carry cute little cups of urine around, and waitwaitwaitwaitwait between various stages of being declared a physically functioning member of society.

Of course this provides a lot of knitting time, but doctor-waiting-knitting, for me at least, needs to be a pick-it-up, put-it-down project like Yer Basic Sock, lest one bungle a gracious lace swirl when one leaps up out of a stupor when the nurse calls out your name.

In between my physical, mammogram, blood-sucking, pap smear, Ye Olde Chest X-ray, and carrying a wee cup of wee-wee to the lab, I managed to finish about half a sock.


Today I learned that:

1. I am stressed out. To learn this amazing fact, I pay a doctor?

Or at least a co-payment.


2. I am not overweight. Apparently my primary care doctor, unlike the media and certain non-feline individuals in my immediate household, proclaims that it is perfectly fine and healthy for a baby boomer female to wear a size 10 or 12. Even if she wore a size 5 in college, back when her clothes were tight on purpose.

There are many reasons I like Dr. Carver. This is one of them.


3. My achy knees and other joints are just achy, and not arthritic yet, they are just forty-mumble years old and achy. My primary care doctor, who is my age, who I have seen since he got out of medical school, and who has seen parts of me that my mother and even my husband have not seen, assures me that I might be a just a bit less less creaky if I engage in deliberate excercise, like regular fitness walking and going to the gym. Like he does.

Of course, going to the gym is why my doctor looks like he belongs on the cast of "ER" and I look like I should be a patient.

Really, he's the sweetest guy, and a great doc. I should not pick on him. Besides, he thinks size 10 is skinny, so he rules.


4. I also learned that climbing ladders in a non-OSHA-approved manner to retrieve cats from great heights, cleaning kennels, hefting large sacks of Science Diet, kicking the copy machine, and lifting large, smelly dogs onto exam tables do not count as "regular excercise."


On the non-doctor/non-sock knitting front, the Big Lace Shawl for Me is close to being finished. My current resolution is to figure out how to get photos onto this blog here.

Mambocat