Letters from North
America
A
friend of mine has a
saying along the line
of… “I’d rather be
pecked to death by ducks
than to…(fill in the
blank). Well, when it
comes to going to a
doctor’s office the
saying goes for me as
well.
I don’t mind going if
there is something wrong
with me, but when it’s
just a routine
examination you can
picture me as less than
cooperative. First off,
you have to get in line
to get on their
schedule, which in some
case takes weeks and
weeks. Then when you get
there you have to go
through the same old
drill time after time
and fill out more of the
same old papers you’ve
filled out each time you
went to visit. Why you
have to write your name,
address, date of birth
and phone number on each
page… completely
mystifies me. By the
time you get to be over
the age of fifty you can
bet your file folder is
about two inches thick
with the same
information over and
over again.
I try to arrive early in
the eternal hope that
the doctor is running
ahead of schedule and
that I can get out
sooner. In this case I
have made the wrong
choice. Today is not
going to be one of those
days. This is the post
office and the grocery
checkout lines on July
4th wrapped up in one.
There are five people in
the waiting room and
they have all signed in
with the name of my
doctor and their
appointment time is well
before me.
This doctor wants a
urine sample. You know
the drill, do your thing
in the little cup then
stick in the little door
which I guess is on the
other side of the
laboratory. My fears are
further confirmed when I
see five urine
containers already in
place. I can tell this
is not going to be a
good experience.
Everyone looks up as a
nurse comes to the door
and announces a name,
the mood darkens among
the rest of us still
sitting as if we’re
playing musical chairs
and waiting in
anticipation for the
music to stop. No sense
in trying to read any of
the magazines since they
are all over two years
old. I don’t need to
read about the upcoming
election in 2008 since I
am well aware of the
results. Same thing with
copies of old People
magazines, since the
celebrities have all
changed partners several
times over or have
gotten fat or lost a lot
of weight or gone to
jail, again.
The door opens and a
nurse calls my name, I
feel a sense of relief
and anticipate that
things are starting to
once again move forward.
I am soon proved wrong.
The magazines in the
examination room range
from a five year old
copy of Readers Digest
(large print) to
something called
Prevention and another
called Parenting.
Somehow Dr. Spock isn’t
relevant in my world any
longer. At this point in
time I have been in the
doctor’s office over an
hour past my scheduled
appointment, not
counting the time I
arrived early. I count
the number of floor
tiles which takes up
about two minutes then I
switch to the ceiling
tiles which eats up
another whole minute or
so. I sense myself
becoming impatient. I
try to play games on my
cell phone but the
battery dies while I am
playing something called
burst the bubble so that
option goes out the
window.
After sitting in the
examination room for an
hour I open the door and
walk out into the
hallway, you would have
thought I was about to
enter the Oval office or
something, nurses come
out from all directions
wanting to know what I
am doing. I tell them I
am trying to find out
what is going on and how
much longer will I have
to wait.
I am told by a nurse who
looks like a former Nazi
prison guard that the
DOCTOR is busy and will
get to me as quickly as
he can. She places a lot
of emphasis on the word
DOCTOR. I suppose this
is to intimidate me as
if I didn’t know what
his title happened to
be. Hello lady I know
it’s a DOCTOR’S office…I
made an APPOINTMENT to
be here.
In about fifteen minutes
another nurse comes into
the room and tells me
that the doctor (not so
loud this time…probably
bad nurse ..good nurse
technique) has been
delayed and would I wish
to reschedule for some
other date. I say no,
I’d rather get this over
this afternoon or at
least before the sun
goes down as I hate
driving in the dark.
My sarcastic remark
sails over her head and
she retreats and closes
the door a little harder
than normal. More time
goes by and now I have
been in the office a
full two hours. The Nazi
nurse returns and
announces that the
DOCTOR will be in to see
me in a few minutes and
that I am his LAST
patient. I have no idea
why the comment about
being the last patient
was made, since I assume
that someone is the LAST
patient everyday and
today I just happen to
be it. Or maybe they
have a room full of
people who missed being
the last patient and are
stuck in some form of
medical limbo or
purgatory awaiting
redemption. By whom or
how I have no clue.
The door opens slightly
then closes then reopens
again and there in a
blazing aura of white
glory is …..the DOCTOR.
My fifteen minutes of
fame are about to begin.
As usual, nothing is
wrong with me except my
rear end hurts from
sitting in a plastic
chair for too long, but
that will pass.
As I leave the office
the lights start turning
off behind me and I walk
out in the waning
sunshine determined
never to repeat this
process again.
But in my heart I know
I’m lying …..it is what
it is.
Comments go to pperry@austin.rr.com
