I have a new hatred for the paper gowns at a doctors office. I sat in an exam room with an 8-year-old patient for 45 minutes. My son was scheduled for a checkup. It would have been a stress-free appointment had it not been for the constant rustling of the gown. Like most children, he cannot sit still. It’s no secret that I suffer from Misophonia. A crisp apple can send me over the edge. Being in a 10 x 10 room with a child in a paper gown is pure torture. I was on the verge of ripping the damn thing off him when the doctor strolled in like she wasn’t nearly an hour behind schedule. I wanted to scream, “Where the hell have you been?” I bit my tongue.
There are a lot of things I would change about a doctor’s office beginning with the music. I don’t expect the pediatrician to play Wu-Tang Clan, but enough with the Soft Rock. Even Phil Collins doesn’t want to hear A Groovy Kind of Love anymore. It only makes the time drag and conjures up bad memories of middle school. I was like countless teenage girls who sat in their rooms in the late 80s crying over a boy while listening to Phil Collins on a cassette player. You didn’t play a Phil Collins song to get pumped for the big game or when using your thigh master. Phil helped you cry it out.
I could also do without the broken toys, books that are missing pages and magazines from 1998 in the waiting room. Take my $35 co-pay and renew your subscription. Furthermore, if you’re going to have a tv on the wall put some cartoons on it. Watching a busty anchor read an infomercial on heartburn medicine isn’t a good distraction for a child who is about to get a flu shot. She is almost as annoying as a paper gown. Almost.