Historical Summer 2018 article. Dates, prices, services and contacts describe the source period; current availability has not been established.
Here I am, sitting in the doctor’s office, patiently waiting to be a patient. No, don’t be alarmed.
I am just here to meet with one of my myriad docs. You see, one symptom of advanced age – note that I did not say “old age” – is that you have lots of doctors and many doctors’ appointments. Chatting with someone while semi-clothed does convey a certain intimacy, so an appointment is sort of a like a visit with a friend.
I am not friends with a bunch of morticians; one will be enough. Doctors’ appointments are accompanied with some trepidation and nervousness. Is that red splotch on my stomach just a red splotch on my stomach or is it indicative of something significant? Could I have the dreaded Splotchness Disease? What should I make about the fact that at times my heartbeat feels more like a firecracker show than the ticking of a grandfather clock? What about the indigestion I have after eating White Castles, buttermilk, and garlic cheese chips? And my left knee hurts, especially when I move it or when it’s still.
I have more symptoms than President Trump has foolish tweets, and that’s saying a lot.
But a lack of symptoms – the technical term for this is “youth” – isn’t all that comforting either. What lurks beneath my skin? Think iceberg and Titanic!
I worry if I feel fine and I worry if I don’t feel fine. Have I mentioned that I worry a lot? Well, it turns out that the best remedy for worrying is going to the doctor.
She orders tests, checks you out, and then sends you a bill that causes financial worries. So, I type while in the waiting room, amidst a dozen other people, all waiting and worrying (but I am the only one typing).
However, Hawkeye has a plan to lower his waiting room angst.
I didn’t make this up – it was noted in the April 28, 2018 NYT, in a small piece called “What To Bring To A Doctor’s Appointment.” I’ve always been a list maker because keeping a list keeps me from listing (get it?), so this is helpful.
First, it says that I should bring my vaccine card. Yikes!
I cannot recall when I was last vaccinated – I am assuming that the time Mark and I depleted our cache of liqueurs while playing chess doesn’t count – so I brought my library card, my AAA Card, and my Sam’s Discount Club Card. (Fortunately, I’m not old enough for an AARP card.) Next, the article says to bring my test results.
This is kind of goofy because the tests were ordered by the doc, and she has the results, not me.
I mean, I am here to hear the results.
But as I think about it, maybe the doc wants non-medical test results so that she can get to know me a bit better! Isn’t that sweet of her?!? So, I have my SAT scores (which were OK except when I responded to a multiple-choice question), my driver’s license score (I was almost perfect except for parallel parking), and my 28th Ward Democratic Party Score (I passed with whiz grades because I questioned Trump’s citizenship).
A “symptom diary” was requested, so for the past month I made an entry each time I didn’t feel well, had a pain, wondered if something was a concern, or awakened with a nightmare having to do with running out of wine.
I tried to be brief but it is 47 singlespaced pages.
I don’t know how the doc will deal with all of this but that’s why she gets paid the big bucks. At first, I thought it might be the beginning of a novel, but it’s nothing but pain, anguish, tingling, and worry. (Hey, maybe it’s the beginning of a political ad?) I am asked to bring an alphabetized list of my medicines, and that’s easy: aspirin, gin, port, tonic water, and Zoco liqueur. Oh yeah, I also brought my Total Wine card.
If Mark Twain was alive today, he would say that the three certainties in life are death, taxes, and waiting for the doctor, so perhaps the best advice in the article is to have something to do while you are waiting in the waiting room.
I used to bring books and magazines, but it was hard to concentrate with the incessant coughing, wheezing, and belches all around me.
I tried listening to podcasts, but the earplugs didn’t fit over my hearing aids.
I once brought three small balls to an orthopedist appointment so that I could juggle while waiting.
It turns out that I should have mastered that skill before trying it in a busy waiting room. Oh well.
But I’m fine today even though Dr. Quackenbush is already 50 minutes late. Not only am I productively writing my column for you, dear reader, I’m also consciously observing and tallying the maladies of those around me. Ye God!
If you weren’t sick before going to the doctor, sitting in the waiting room would make you ill.
I see and hear lots of eruptions, contractions, and regurgitations.
This waiting room is a great way for my doctor to generate business!
In fact, once I am home, I am going to embark on a regime so that my visits to doctors will be greatly diminished: I will drink more OJ, think about working out, and stop watching FOX News.
Originally published in The Times of Skinker-DeBaliviere, Summer 2018.
Read this article in the original newspaper issue.
Original source: SD_Times2018_06.pdf, printed page(s) 8; PDF page(s) 8.
