This is a postcard I received two months ago from my doctor in Dallas reminding me of my annual checkup.
Being now in a different city, and given our self-imposed deadline to start trying for a baby, this meant several “awful” things for me: 1) I needed to find a new doctor and make an appointment; 2) I’d have to go through the horrible annual exam I don’t think I’ll ever be able to feel comfortable with, and 3) I’d have to tell my new doctor to put me on prenatal vitamins, officially kicking off the process of attempting to bring a baby to our family.
I placed Tweety on my desk, on a spot where I can’t miss him, and for seven weeks I have procrastinated doing research on doctors at “wounded turtle” speed. For the last 16 days I’ve had a list of suitable doctors, but I kept not calling… And all that time, an extremely happy and excited Tweety stared at me constantly telling me that IT’S TIME. I debated between love and hate, but come on! Look at him… How could you really hate him?
So I’m proud to announce that I have finally made an appointment with a new Ob/Gyn doctor, and everything that means (oh dear)… Here we go…