Sick

I had an appointment with a new doctor yesterday (not by choice) at our new small clinic and wish that I didn't. I should have known that it wasn't going to go well when my "doctor" stepped in the room wearing pink corduroy pants and a tight t-shirt that obviously was bought from a junior section. She's at least older than my mother. People wearing things they have no business wearing is my #1 pet peeve. Big fat flabby arms are yours to keep, don't push them in our faces with sleeveless tanks. Stretch marks on the belly from carrying a baby? It means that you are now someone's mother, so please pack away ALL of your belly shirts. And the shirts that are so tight I can read the label on your bras are not going to make you look younger, fitter, or more sane. Just go up a size, or two, and save the rest of us an eyesore and yourself some dignity. And don't let me get started on those too tight, too low-cut pants/jeans/shorts. I'm all for business casual, but there's a clear line between that and just looking like she'd just raided some middle school kid's clothes to wear for a day. I was tempted to ask if she lost a bet. This is my doctor. A medical doctor. I understand the no-frill standard of military health care, but I think this is a new low. Needless to say, the rest of the visit just went downhill from there. She was rude, had no bedside manner, and made me feel utterly violated. It took all I had to just put my clothes back on and run to Wil's office without crying and yelling at everyone on the spot. I took the whole afternoon and last night to think whether I overacted to the situation and realized that, indeed, I was not. It was so bad that I was up most of the night being upset at the things she allowed herself to say to her patient. I called first thing this morning to cancel my follow up appointment with her and rescheduled it with my regular doctor and would be filling out my ICE (Interactive Customer Evaluation) card shortly. What a horrendous way to start a week.