or Why I Hate Going to the Doctor
When I was a junior in high school, I had a lot of trouble with my knee. It swelled up a lot and was always in pain.
My family doctor ran some tests and determined the problem was rheumatoid in nature. So he made an appointment for me with a specialist in Topeka.
Apparently, he's a busy guy. We had to wait months for the appointment. Then we walked in and it was pretty surreal.
I was the youngest patient in the waiting room by at least forty years.
When I finally got into a room, the doctor eventually came through the door and said something along the lines of "So, what brings you here?"
Um . . .
Then Dr. Specialist leaves the room, leaving us baffled. Returning, he looks at my knee, which of course has reduced in swelling within the several months it took for me to get an appointment.
He left the room, yet again, saying he needed to locate my test results. When he finally returned, he tells us the news.
"Your bloodwork shows you're on the verge of having a connective-tissue disorder and you have rheumatoid arthritis."
Disorder? Arthritis? At seventeen? Wait--was that salsa I smelled on his breath???
I waited this long to be his lunch break???
"So, take one ibuprofin everyday and that should help. Thanks for coming!"
I half expected him to say "Adios, muchachos! Off to the Mexicano Fiesta!!!"
My knee still hurts off and on, but has never swollen the way it did back then. But a few years ago it did hurt as bad. Worse.
A few years ago, I couldn't get my knee to bend. I had to drag myself up the stairs to go to the clinic.
Once there, I told the doctor all about the pain and how the Ibuprofin I had been told to take wasn't working. I explained that I'd taken extra Ibuprofin because the pain was so bad, and still it wasn't working.
Dr. Clinic listened, prodded and then gave me a prescription for some drug called Pieceacrapitol or something.
I filled the prescription and went home. I opened the information they give you with the drugs and there's no warnings about how it makes you drowsy so don't take it while operating heavy machinery.
Instead, it told me all about how it's a high dosage of Ibuprofin.
It's not just the poking and prodding that's kept me from going to the doctor lately. It's the frustration, too!
Today, when I went to the clinic, I had to change all my insurance and address information. That took quite awhile. Then there was the waiting for my name to be called which seemed to take forever.
When they finally called my name, I headed in and we did the blood pressure and symptoms thing. Then back out to wait.
A few dozen pages more of Family Circle, and I hear my name again. This time, I actually get to go into a little room. I waited some more and then here comes . . . Dr. Clinic. Great.
He tells me that my strep test came up negative and that "white spots don't always indicate strep throat."
"I understand that. I work at a bank and a couple weeks ago someone told me that strep was going around. That's the only reason I was even looking. But I know that my old roommate had white spots when she had an infection and my brother had them when he got mono . . ."
This is when Dr. Clinic perks up. Like maybe he hadn't thought of that. "Have you ever had mono?"
I haven't, so then it was time for blood work. Which meant waiting for someone from the lab to come poke me.
"It should only be about forty-five minutes for the results. You can just have a seat in the waiting room."
A full Newsweek later, there's my name and back into the room. And some more--can you guess?--waiting.
"Well, the mono test came back negative. So I guess we'll just do a culture on the swab we took earlier and see if it's strep. We'll call you tomorrow."
So I walked out of that place with nothing. I still feel miserable and can't talk and am coughing up my lungs.
Where is Dr. Beverly Crusher when you need her???