Confusion in the form of a new doctor
I had my annual checkup at the doctor’s office a week or so back and it was quite strange. First of all, I didn’t see my usual doctor. He left the clinic. Actually, he joined a new clinic, in quite a different capacity, but I shouldn’t be telling stories. At least not about Dr. Fairman. My appointment was transferred to his partner. His partner’s cool, talks of superhero movies and football games however there is an odd, curvy shape, bustline thing. You see, she’s a woman.
Now, I have no problem with women doctors at all. In fact, I have personally seen her several times for minor emergency services. It’s just strange that after all my years of having a male doctor as my primary physician it’s hard to call my doctor Emily. As a kid I had Dr. Webber, then at eighteen Dr. French, he retired and left me with Dr. Kakowski, who left general practice to specialize in abnormal behavior. I may have been a contributing factor to this decision, when he saw me in a powder blue chiffon gown, and Stetson hat, bleeding from my toes, with my full beard entangled in a moped chain, still attached to the moped, but that’s a story best left for another time. Suffice to say, I was in a stage play at the time and alcohol may have been involved. Anyway, after Dr. K. I had Dr. Fairman for several years before his breakdown. I swear I had nothing to do with that. At least I don’t think I did? Hmmmm Ohh, by the way, he is resting comfortably. Now I have Emily.
What’s in a name? Everything!!
Do you see the problem? I’m sure all those male doctors had first names. At least I’m pretty sure they did. Of course, if they didn’t, then this whole topic is a moot point. So, let’s go under the assumption that they did. The thing is, if I want to tell someone I’m sick it’s okay to tell Bob, and take aspirin. But if I want that person to heal me, I want to know I’m being healed by the prominent Dr. Jones. She indicated that if it makes me feel better, I can call her Dr. Emily, but this just confuses things even more. You see I go to the doctor because I need to feel better. I shouldn’t have to make choices on what to call her as part of the treatment. This just adds stress, and I feel worse than I did when I just had the one problem. It’s a vicious circle.
Confusion from the nurse
As this was a check-up, I arrived on time for a change. I knew things weren’t going to go well when Susan, Emily’s nurse took me into the examination room and asked what was bleeding. I said nothing and she frowned. It seems the nurses on the floor have a standing Mr. Ohh! pool. With as clumsy as I am, when one of then sees an appointment for me, they all place bets on what part of me is bleeding. Apparently because there were no open wounds, the cash rides until the next time I come in. At first, I was insulted, but when I heard how much the pot was, I put five bucks on a bleeding hand for next time. The odds were a bit lower but I know me, It’s a much safer bet.
Susan took my vital signs and remarked that my blood pressure was elevated. I asked if this was bad and was told the doctor would explain it. With that she walked out the door and closed it tight. Why do nurses always do that? They give you just enough information to concern you then smile and walk out the door saying the doctor will finish the job. This is not good enough. Suppose my blood pressure is borderline dangerous, and the doctor gets a call from her long-lost brother in Eretria. She’ll take the call and I’ll get more stressed about my condition. The call will go long, my stress will keep going up and POP. The janitor will clean me up with a mop. By the end of her phone call, she’ll be on to the next patient possibly with a warning about taking personal calls at work, while I’m being flushed down a drain and my family is cited for polluting a local river. Don’t tell me it couldn’t happen. I’ve thought a lot about this.
Another problem with waiting in that room for the doctor is the nurse told me to strip down to my underwear and put on a hospital gown. This I did, and let me tell you they do not make hospital gowns out of the heaviest material known to man. They are very lightweight. Also, for some reason the air-conditioning is set to about fifty degrees. That’s like ten for my non-American friends. If you don’t understand either of those, I’ll say it this way, “It Was Freaking Cold!!!”
So now it became a choice. Was I going to die in that tiny examination room of stress anxiety, or hypothermia? I started wishing that I did come in bleeding. That way the nurses would be betting on my injuries instead of how I was going to pass on from this mortal coil. Hey, I’m waxing poetic. My brain must have frozen at least a little.
Sometime before I blacked out, the doctor did arrive. She is a pretty woman in her forties wearing a suite covered in a lab coat. The first thing she said to me was to ask if I minded if a student doctor could observe my appointment. I nodded. It was really just an up and down head shake. I was actually to frozen to agree or disagree. The student was introduced to me as Meghan. Yup another woman. I was beginning to feel like the last man on Earth, but I rolled with it and just went on with the examination.
There’s another thing I don’t like about doctors. They ask all kinds of questions and when you answer they say “Hmm”.
“Are you sleeping all right?”
“Are you in pain?”
“Have you felt anxious about the looming potential of algae research on cisterns in the Middle East?”
“What was that?”
Then after all the various questions they throw out some random solution. For Emily it was fiber. She told me all my issues would be cleared up if I started taking fiber supplements every day. I didn’t think I had any issues. This was just an annual check-up. Oh no, she repeated, from the answers to my questions she knew I needed more fiber in my diet. I asked how long I would need to take it. Her answer was clear and concise, “As long as you continue to have the trouble.”
Enough confusion! I’m Sold!!
It was at that moment that I knew Emily was my new doctor. She was as confusing as any male doctor I ever had. Her gibberish was clearly up to a highly educated level, and she clearly had my best interest at heart. At least I think she did.
What I understood sounded great.
Thank you for laughing and Please read a little longer
Thank you all for laughing with me, but I need to be serious. Alpha-1 Antitrypsin Deficiency is a genetic disease which rots the liver and lungs. There is no cure. The only help for people is to have a weekly infusion of proteins to stop the spread. For the next few months I will be taking all my proceeds and donating them to the Alpha-1 Foundation who are searching for a cure to this horrible malady. You can give here or for more information go to Alpha-1.org Thanks for supporting world laughter, and finding a cure. Laugh On