2 24 03

A
few weeks ago, I wrote an article concerning type “A”
personalities at the airport. Little did I know that this week
the same issue would come up again, only this time in the
offices of a new doctor. After you get to be my age, ever so
often you decide that it only makes sense to go in once in a
while and get your old bod checked out from stem to
stern. Now, getting a physical isn’t something any of us looks
forward to having done, but trust me it’s necessary and worth
your time and effort. Sometimes.

Having a physical is kind of like getting a new girl friend or a
new wife. What she did before you met her is her business and
something you probably don’t want to know about. But, deep down
inside of you, you really do, even if it hurts to find out. I
think they even wrote a song about this years ago.  Well,
physicals are the same thing. Here you are rolling along doing
just great, when you think to yourself that you might want to go
in a have a tune-up. That’s when the problems start.

Now, I’ve never been able to have the luxury of having a family
doctor who is also my friend. Most of the ones I had earlier in
my life were much older than myself, and have all died off by
now. So, that leaves me with trying to find someone new that I
trust and who isn’t going to sell me on a hundred products or
procedures that I don’t need.

 

With sincere trepidation, I call up a friend and ask whom he
would recommend for this daunting task. He gives me two choices;
one is extremely busy and probably won’t take any new patients.
I call, he’s right, they won’t. I call the second one and am
told to report for the initial visit and consultation. Makes me
suspicious as to why he isn’t booked up.

 

I arrive forty-five minutes or so early so I can fill out the
required fifteen pages of paperwork they always give you when
you become a new patient. I always have a mild panic attack when
I go through this since I can’t recall the day, month and year I
had all of my shots when I started elementary school or when I
had my tonsils extracted. Is this really important at this stage
in life? Who can remember all of this stuff? When I was six or
seven I didn’t think it would be important to write down when my
grandparents died or what caused them to die. We were usually
just told that they died because they were old. Doctors don’t
think this is good enough. They want more. They look at these
blank spaces and then at you and shake their head as if you’ve
let the entire human race down in some form or another. He just
can’t believe you don’t know when you had the measles and what
kind you had.

I don’t like this guy’s attitude right off the bat. First off he
makes me wait an hour past my appointment and I was headed out
the door when they called my name. Second thing is he acts like
he doesn’t believe me when I tell him there isn’t anything wrong
with me and I just want a routine checkup.

 

“Why” he asks. “Because I think I should have one very couple of
years,” I tell him.

 

“What’s wrong with you?” He responds.

 

“Nothing” I tell him.

 

“You sure there’s nothing wrong with you?” he asks again.

 

“I’m just in here for a routine physical” I explain again. 

 

My blood pressure is 110 over 60…he calls a nurse and has it
rechecked since that’s too good to be true. I tell him I don’t
take any prescription drugs of any kind and I really believe it
hacked him off. He looks over my medical history and keeps
making these sucking noises while scanning the sheet.

 

“So, has anyone ever told you that you have colon cancer?” he
asks.

 

“Nope, and I’m certain I would have remembered it if they did” I
tell him.

 

More sucking noises.

 

“Well, we need to do a complete workup on you before we do the
physical.” He says.

 

He writes out a doctor’s order for the lab work and hands it to
me. Says nothing more and walks out of the room. I wait for
about ten minutes to see if he is coming back or what, but he
never returns. I’m finishing reading a magazine article that I
had started when a nurse opens the door and pushes some little
old lady in one of those indecent gowns into the room. She
screams and the nurse looks at me like I’m some alien from
another planet.

 

“What are you doing in here?” she asks.

 

“I have no idea, I thought you’d tell me.” I reply.

 

“Well, the doctor is finished with you…you need to go to the lab
and have your blood work and then we’ll call you for the return
visit.”

 

That’s more information than I had gotten all morning.