Capeesh?

I had minor surgery a few months ago.

It was outpatient at a doctor's office. It was nothing to write home about. The most exciting thing that happened was the nurse's reaction to my Dad walking back to my room holding my purse.

When he went to go get the car, the nurse told me that I had a really good Dad.

I know, right?

Also, I woke up, drank some juice, and went shopping afterward.

Read: Nothing to write home about.

The worst part about it was the sniffles that the air thing up my nose gave me. (The air thing up my nose = correct medical terminology.)

I knew it would cost a butt load of money (someone with a malfunctioning colon loves making butt jokes), so I made a payment the day I had the procedure done.

That payment did not show up on a bill that landed in my mailbox recently.

If I've learned anything in the past year, it's that you can't always rely on doctor's offices to be right. Just because they say something doesn't mean it's true. Just because the receptionists say they did something doesn't mean they actually did it.

And just because they send you a bill doesn't mean that's what you actually owe.

I trust no one in life. It's one of my most endearing qualities about my awesome personality (sarcasm).

I called the doctor's office up. I was nice, as were they. Yo, I said. What's up with my payment not showing on my balance?

It turns out that the payment I made went towards the facility fee, not the doctor's bill for the procedure. I haven't gotten the facility fee bill yet. It's coming, the nice lady over the phone told me.

Because of course there's a bill coming to me that I didn't even know existed until now.

Yo, I said. That's great. You send me an updated bill that shows the money that I already paid you, and I'll send you the rest of the money.

Wam, bam, thank you ma'am, that problem got crossed off of my Stuff to Have Anxiety About list.

In the back of my mind, I'm thinking, you know, you get to charge me a facility fee for having minor surgery in your own practice? And then you charge me your time and talent on top of it?

I'm in the wrong profession, guys.

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In case anyone is wondering, the surgeon I talked to last month recommended that I try physical therapy out first for my colon. Um, do I even want to know what that involves? I will find out this Friday during my first appointment. I'm going to whip this colon into shape!

Actually, I probably won't. Surgeon says there's a 20-40 percent chance PT will work.

Welcome to my life: Hey, you there. Yeah, you there with the colon problems. Go do something six to eight times and drive 300 miles each time for something that probably won't help you.

Capeesh?

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Some people go through this and get diagnosed with colon cancer. I am thankful that did not happen to me, and I am thankful that I do not have colitis.

It's my blog, and I'll whine if I want.

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I keep track of all my health appointments in a Word document. I've done that for a few years now. I have a dental one and I have a colon one. 

It's kind of fun to look back after the problem is fixed and realized what I went through.

My favorite lines from a Word document, which details my dental crisis...crises? crisises? Whatever the plural form of that word is:

• You know how they fish out a needle in your head? They stick more needles in your head.

• I think I deserve some kind of award for how many foreign objects are in my mouth. 

• One of these days I’m going to get good news at the dentist’s office. Today was not one of those days, but at least I didn’t cry about it this time.

•The assistant came in the room and noted that the tooth they worked on last time no longer exists in my head.

What happened, she asked?

I shrugged and said ‘I don’t know.’

What was I supposed to say? Up until two weeks ago, I thought it was your fault. Given enough time and a few bottles of wine, I could probably come up with an explanation, but right now we’ll just settle with the ‘I don’t know’ answer.

• I should have known, but I didn’t.

• And then it didn’t end. The floodgates opened up and the bad news just kept flowing and flowing and flowing.

To say that I hate this is an understatement. I loathe it. I would rather have my fingernails torn off and get chased by a pack of rapid dogs (small rabid dogs, but rabid nonetheless).

But you know what? Part of being an adult is dealing with your problems and not hiding in a corner and crying all day.

I’ve spent a lot of time fixing the problems. Well, technically I don’t really fix them; I just lay there, slobber all over myself, pay and then go back to work/life. Whatever.

The weekend I realized that this was nowhere near being over, I drove past the house I wanted to buy. The one that was $10,000 below my budget, with a huge giant backyard.

I drove past it and told it goodbye.

Someone once told me that you can have anything you want, you just can’t have everything you want. And you definitely can’t have it all at once.

Sigh.

There might have some tears involved. After I told the house goodbye, I went home, became friends with a couple bottles of wine and cried some more.

• All I want is a stupid popsicle, not your opinion.

These are all entries from a Word document on my computer titled Toothpocalypse from 2013 and 2014. It goes all the way to this year, but I don't have it in me to keep on reading what I wrote back then.

I know how it ends.

Anyway, I'm glad I kept track of my health problems back then. Going back and reading what I wrote is really funny now. 

(The only way it will ever be read by anyone else is if I die and someone gets ahold of my laptop.)

Years later, all I really want is in life is that stupid popsicle and not anyone's opinion. 

Some things never change.