Hot Lips Houlihan

I decided that - instead of sitting here on the gestation station (aka: my living room couch), I should be proactive and go get an OB referral for the 5 weeks I have left in this city. I thought that maybe if I mentioned that to get to this point I've sold my house, quit my job, moved out of province, spent over $30,000, and wasted 7 years, a nice OB would take pity on me and schedule an ultrasound for next week. I planned to ask the referring gp for a repeat beta, as well.

What else could I do? I can't focus on my work, anyway.

So I dressed up in my most appropriate clothing: a conference bag (hint to doctors: she's an aspiring academic, so take her seriously) ... and my vintage M*A*S*H t-shirt (hey, at least I'm still clinging to my sense of humour).

Took the (chronically broken) elevator down to the main floor; the guy fixing it reeked of booze. How comforting.

I toddled to the nearest walk-in, which according to the web site was open until 7 p.m. tonight.

Closed 10 minutes before I arrived. Of course.

So I went to a small organic store, bought myself strawberries and locally made yogurt (which actually cost less than buying conventional products at a chain store), and went home. Now I'm watching NASCAR and prepping dinner. The walk did make me feel a drop better.