Call me Geller. Ross Geller.

A trip to the doctor's office. Ahhh what fun it can be. People coughing, sneezing, wiping their noses. You do your best to shield yourself from the airborne particles you know are floating around, possibly with some strain of influenza or bubonic plague. You hear a cough so loud in front of you that you practically feel the floor vibrate, and even though you try to be subtle you quickly turn your head around to avoid whatever bacteria will fly out of that coughing mouth, turning your head so fast you think it'll turn an entire 360 degrees. You spot someone with a tissue that's so wrinkled it looks like it's been used all week, which triggers the next dreadful thought: that dirty-tissue-hand probably touched the front door. How will you escape? What if you touch the same spot on that door? What other way is there on your way out? Do you use your sleeve? Do you pretend for a moment that you have lost the feeling in your hands, asking the secretaries to open the door for you? No, you can't, and neither can I, because I'm already at the Dr.'s office and they will want to examine my phony-dead hands. Did the snot-rag person use the front desk pen to sign in? Will I have to use that pen? It's too late to run. My name has been called. Besides, I'm only here for a consult so they'll never believe the hand story.

As I'm following the nurse I spot someone from high school. She's here with her husband and their little baby. This is an awkward moment that happens occasionally to me when I visit this office. I will run into someone I know from high school, they're with their child or children and I know they're looking at me curiously. I guess that shouldn't be a surprise, since I still go to my pediatrician.

As I'm being led to the fire-truck room I pretend not to notice the girl from high school since I will now be sitting in a room similar to the one she'll be in with her infant child. I sit down to wait for my doctor. I look around, laughing to myself and also out loud as I typically do when I check my surroundings in this place. It's a very amusing thought, after all, that at 31 years of age I still prefer my current pediatrician over any other doctor. This room is fun, I wish the fire-truck was bigger, it would be so cool if it had a fake hose on it or a ladder to climb up. I prefer the space/solar system room though, that's a really cool one. It's where they did my EKG reading which I imagine they don't do for most patients.

My doctor and I discuss some things and for a moment it gets awkward for me because I'm still aware that he's a relatively young guy - not much older than myself - so when I bring up a situation I didn't intend to talk about, I have to be careful not to blush. So I turn my head and avoid eye contact, not caring how obvious this is to him. He'll understand and I'm not sure I want him to think I'm NOT uncomfortable. 

The good thing is that I trust him, he's an excellent doctor, and I feel comfortable with him - sometimes even more comfortable with him on a friendly level than with other people I know. But occasionally I know I need to ask the question to which I know there's only one answer I want to hear. And he assures me it's okay that I still see him as my primary physician; he makes me feel better by telling me - and probably lying - that I'm not his oldest patient. Maybe he's referring to himself in that statement, which is fine by me as long as I don't know any better. We end the consultation, schedule the next appointment, I pay the secretary, take a lollipop - or 2 - and leave.

When is it "time" to stop seeing your pediatrician? My younger brother has a doctor for adults, and so do all my friends. Actually a couple of friends of mine still go to the pediatrician but they're a couple of years younger than I am. My mom told me for years to go to a physician for grown-ups but eventually gave up somewhere around the time I was turning 30. Anyway what does anyone care if I go to the pediatrician? Who says someone else will be a better doctor? And all that matters is that I'm comfortable, so what's the problem? 

The problem is that I'm not sure if the look I'm getting from that idiot from high school is one of wonder for why I'm standing there childless, or if I'm actually there for myself - either of which reasons I don't care about. But it's still a very entertaining look and that's when I start smiling inside, knowing not only that I didn't care about the other possible reasons for her stare, but there's one look on my face now, a realization that she might care about. The expression on her face that I'm reading is one of other curiosity:  'Is that Caroline? She looks the same but still a little different.'  And while I'm standing by the door it's all coming together now. I definitely know for sure, what she is thinking at this point: 'Did Caroline see me open the door with my dirty tissue wrapped hand?'

So what does one do in this situation? Having caught the act and identified her now, I'm not sure either of us wants to admit what's going on here. Well, having been in this situation before, I vowed to never be unprepared again. I went to great lengths to keep constantly prepared for these moments where your fate can be decided by whether or not you properly arm yourself with the right equipment. Beyond the back pain from my heavy-weighted purses, was a threat too serious to ignore. Every time I would run low I would have to race to the store immediately and pick up my weapon of choice so never to be faced with the threat of illness, disease, or any bacteria or virus imaginable. Friends I suggest you always be prepared with this weapon. They're inexpensive especially considering the dangerous alternative. They're organic, not tested on animals if you get the right ones, and they have such a wide range of uses you have no reason not to carry them at all times. 

And with this thought I lift the package from my purse and pull out a baby wipe so I can open the door.