I had my first visit to a local NYC doctor earlier this week. I’ve been going to the same family practice for as long as I can remember, but I realized that I don’t want to have to run to Connecticut with every sore throat or stuffy nose. And so, off I went to a doctor located across the street from my apartment (talk about local).
The address of the office said it was in Suite 1L, so when I strolled up to the address listed on my info print out, I was surprised to find myself in, none other than an apartment building. A doorman asked me whom I was there to see, I gave him the doctor’s name and he pointed down the hallway. I walked past real live apartments until I got to 1L (listing it as “Suite 1L” is a little misleading, wouldn’t you agree?). I opened the door to a makeshift waiting room with a front desk and about three chairs for patients to sit in. I saw that the bathroom had a bathtub in it—yes, this was really an apartment turned office. I couldn’t help noticing there was no hand sanitizer to be found anywhere around the office. Leo, the receptionist, gave me a stack of paperwork to fill out.
I have a thing about doctors, and maybe I’m crazy, but I just don’t understand why they need to know how often I wear a seatbelt or if I wear a helmet when I bike ride. Or if I bike ride at all. I was told when I made the appointment that the doctor did not do OB/GYN and that I would need to find one in New York. If this lady isn’t an OB/GYN then why, might I ask, was I answering the following questions;
When was your last menstrual cycle?
How many days does your cycle last?
How frequent are your periods?
Shit, I should have studied for this test. I’m lucky if I know when my last period is, let alone how long it lasts or how frequent it is. Following those questions were:
Are you sexually active?
What method of birth control do you use?
Is your current partner: Male Female Both
Seriously? On what basis does the doctor need to know these things? And for my method of birth control, does mace and a self-defense class I took in high school count?
I skipped a lot of questions—including if I wear my seatbelt, because there was just no logical explanation for why this doctor who’d set up shop in an apartment would need to know such a thing. Finally, a nurse took me down the small hallway of 3 rooms, one of which had a little puppy poking his head out of the door. The sight of a dog in a doctor’s office with no hand sanitizer almost had me running for the door, but I pressed on, convinced this was some colossal joke. Peggy, the nurse, told me to take my boots off so I could get weighed and have my height measured. When she was done she told me to sit on the examination table.
Me: “Can I put my boots back on?”
Peggy: “Oh, no. It’s all going to come off in a minute, anyway.”
But here’s what really pissed me off. Why in hell does this lady have me sitting in my underwear in a gown that won’t close while she hasn’t even taken her sunglasses off yet?
In 2009, I lost over 40 pounds. My intentions were to lose about 15, but when I was 13 pounds down and no one even noticed, I decided to keep going. My motivation was of course, the dream. I want to work in the entertainment business, and in an industry filled with vanity, you have to play your part. Not only that, but I figured if I was feeling good about my appearance, I’d have the extra confidence I needed in interviews. Like I said, everything I do is to attain my goal of being a music executive.
I have a few more pounds left to lose and my mother was gracious enough to give me a year membership to my local Bally Total Fitness, just 7 short blocks from my apartment. After signing up, I was told I could have a complimentary session with a personal trainer. I was introduced to Lauren, and we set up a time I could come in and work out with her. I really wanted to decline the whole offer, but I can’t say no to free things. So I reluctantly walked to the gym yesterday for my 2pm session with Lauren. Much to my surprise, Lauren informed me that my session would be run by Jerome with 3 new trainers standing by to watch and learn how to run a one-on-one session with a client.
Did I mention Jerome was hot? Sizzling, really. His southern drawl and rock hard body had me drooling over him instantaneously. He explained how the session would be run as he chomped on his gum. Was that cinnamon I smelled? Yum. The kind my boyfriend chews. Oh yea…my boyfriend. I snapped out of it in enough time to run the suicides with medicine balls and to perform the walking lunges that almost killed me. This was only the warm up. I should add here that I haven’t worked out since July, and Jerome was making sure I was feeing the burn. I performed the tasks like a rodent on a hamster wheel as he gave the 3 new trainers tips and tricks and they stood there, arms crossed, staring at me. I half expected a group of men and women to come in donning lab coats and clipboards, taking notes on me as if I were some type of lab rat.
About 35 minutes into what I was sure was some form of a living hell, I started seeing spots. The green kind. Then I felt the room spinning and Jerome held up 2 fingers, asking me how many he was holding up. All I could think of was why his hands were all spotty and green tinted when I had thought he was so fine before. When the spots subsided, Jerome had me lay down on a table to stretch me, the 3 new trainers still standing there, still watching. On that table, Jerome got further with me than most men do after a month of dating. We held hands, he stretched my chest, and at one point, he had my legs up in the air, commenting on my flexibility.. Ah, him stretching my legs was a personal favorite of mine. Not. When prepping for this session, I briefly thought about shaving my stubbly legs, particularly after my boyfriend commented on my prickly stems. I decided not to, thinking that I would be working out with a female, and all females understand that sometimes, we just don’t feel like it. When Jerome wrapped his monstrous hand around my calf, I smiled sheepishly and said, “Sorry. My legs are stubbly.” He let me know he’d seen much worse. Was that supposed to make me feel better?
When it was finally over, I met with Lauren who told me that for just three easy payments of $314, Jerome could be mine 2 times a week for the next 2 months. I told her I’d keep that in mind and asked for someone to show me around the rest of the facility so that I could work out on my own next time. She asked one of the new trainers who had just witnessed my painful session with Jerome to show me around. I didn’t catch the girl’s name but she was, with all due respect, a giant. I’m 5’5” and I didn’t even come up to her shoulder. She was huge. After she showed me around, I thanked her and she put her hand out to shake mine. Clearly unaware of her own brute strength, she squeezed my hand so hard that I nearly keeled over. It was like one final kick in the ass as I was on my way out.
And, speaking of asses…my body is so sore today that I can barely feel mine.
Here’s my story. I’m 23 years and 7 days old. I’m from Connecticut originally but I’ve lived in New York on and off the past few years, and moved here permanently at the end of August 2009. I live alone in Manhattan and I came here for the same reason everyone else comes here--a dollar and a dream. My dream, like everyone else’s, sounds unattainable to all outsiders but I know in my heart it will happen and it will happen in this city. I can easily admit that every little thing I do is for that dream. My love for Manhattan is intermingled with my drive to succeed here. In my eyes, Manhattan is the gateway to my eternal happiness, because it is the place where goals are met and successes are made. So this is my story, a little at a time, as I build the foundation for what I hope will become just another New York fairy tale.
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