You Get What You Pay For…

So, I think this PMS study is crap.

Actually, I’d like to thank the Doctor who first came up with the diagnosis of “Premenstrual Syndrome.” Just take a minute and imagine what that moment was like for both doctor and patient: I imagine the white coat yells “Eureka” and the patient takes a deep breath, finally…

But maybe the HuffPo article is right. Maybe there is no PMS. Maybe there is no reason I ate half a chocolate bar for lunch and hysterically cried on my way home from the doctor’s today.

I’m pretty sure everyone who saw me walking out of the doctor’s and towards my flat (conveniently, less than a block away) thought, “Poor dear. Must have just been told she has a brain tumor and only a few months to live.” In reality, I was simply told I needed to bring a letter from my school and a utility bill to the office to register with a doctor.

Let me preface this: Yay, Free Healthcare!

Now, I need to set about gathering more proof of my legal residence and school attendance in the country and find another afternoon free from classes (scoff) and go to the doctor’s office again to register because my signed lease and a letter from my bank with my address on it were not enough to prove I lived in my flat and my student visa, letter of acceptance from the school, student ID card, student loan approval letter and a stack of every other piece of written correspondence from the school were not enough to prove I was actually a matriculated student. As the receptionist explained to me why my binder of paperwork wasn’t enough, I tried to understand. I tried really hard to understand. Just like how I’d tried to understand the fellow who said he couldn’t unlock my online bank account over the phone since I didn’t have a phone number up to date with the bank (I needed the account to get the phone) and offered to send me a security code in the mail (7-10 days) that I could use to reset my online password so I could login and update my profile with my phone number. I may have actually started laughing as I thanked him and declined the offer, then walked into my local branch and asked them to fix it for me in person.

So, after filling out the paperwork and ever so politely being declined (they are truly very polite here. All the time.),  I packed up my binder of papers and started walking home. As soon as I was out the door, the tears began to flow.

I didn’t even know why I was crying. All I knew was that I was inconsolable and that things were not going my way. Then, I solved the puzzle: chocolate for lunch, uncontrollable blemishes on my face, irrational reaction to minor irritation, number of days in a month….Eureka.

I pulled myself together in time to meet some friends from school for dinner. You wouldn’t believe how many stories about feces a group of vet students will tell around the dinner table. Impressive.

On my way home from dinner, I played some Words With Friends….at least until I tried to play an awesome word and was denied. Then, the irrational emotion came back and I decided to blog it out so I wouldn’t throw my phone out the window or something….

2013-08-19 20.37.17


About ermodi

i like champagne and nachos. i watch people’s mouths move when they talk to me and judge if they are a good kisser i like to write with fine-tip Sharpies because i think it makes me look confident i bite my nails i think doing the dishes is a very lonely chore i think “autumn” is the prettiest word in the English language. i believe in love – or, at least something that resembles love, but i don’t trust this idea of forever.
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