“Everything comes off and the gown opens in the back,” says the spunky LPN named Sheila on her way out the door.
“Got it!” I say.
Alone in the sparse room, silence fills the air. I’m grateful for the gown-wearing instructions. I can never remember the exact protocol, and maybe the rules have changed since my last visit.
I’m ashamed to admit my last physical was three years ago. I have a bad habit of placing my own health and well-being on the back burner, but I’ve pledged to be more proactive going forward.
Looking down at the cold tile floor, I decide that by “everything” Sheila does not mean socks.
I deeply regret my decision to wear black socks that go up to my calf. They made sense this morning with my black jeans. But paired with the light blue robe, I look like I’m on my way to the kitchen for a late-night bologna sandwich.
