I’m dying. That’s certainly not the thought you want to have when you walk out of a doctor’s office, but that’s where I found myself this past week where I waited until I could lock myself in my car to let the tears fall. It was a routine appointment, one in which I became incredibly annoyed. I’m not sure why you are asked to disrobe, hang out in a paper gown with your derriere exposed on an examination table with no back support when they plan to make you wait in there like that for forty-five minutes. About thirty minutes in, I considered getting dressed again and just leaving, already…