Why is it that we dread going to the doctor so much? No one looks forward to it, and as I drove to my appointment the other day, I couldn't really remember what was so dreadful about the whole thing. Apparently, it had been so long that I'd completely blocked the awfulness that accompanies even routine visits.
My new doctor's office is at a GIANT medical complex right in the middle of the Salt Lake valley, it's so big in fact, that they offer complimentary valet parking. Valet parking! I passed on this option, feeling like I could leave that to the sick people. Plus, I haven't cleaned my car in awhile and I'd prefer not to have strangers see it in its current state. I managed to find a parking spot, the building was just a distant speck to me then, got out of the car and made the LONG trek to the building, which I found out, was no speck, but rather a great and spacious building. This should have been a sign to me of the unpleasantness that lay waiting inside, but instead I entered, unsuspecting.
I didn't even make it inside before the unpleasantness began, as I was walking through the doors, I noticed something wasn't quite right....I shifted around a little and realized my bra had come unsnapped. Thinking that would send the wrong message when the doctor came into my exam room, I navigated the maze that was the first floor of 'the tower' and fixed the issue in the bathroom.
Then the real problems began. When you walk into the lobby of this place, there is a long list of doctors on the wall next to the elevator. If you're not there just to see one of those physicians, you better ask the info lady standing near the door because if you don't, there's no way you'll find the right place. Signs for various labs and procedures point every which way and it would be quite easy, especially if you are, as many of the people I saw, old, infirm, or ill in any way, to get lost. My problem was, I knew I was there to see one of the listed doctors, but I couldn't remember which one. So I did a very not-me thing to do. I have a habit, most common in adult males, of not asking for help and/or directions. But I didn't want this appointment to take any longer than it had to, so I meandered casually over to the info desk lady and said, "I don't know where I'm supposed to be. I think I'm supposed to see one of those doctors," gesturing to the exhaustive list, "but I'm not sure which one. I know the guy I saw last time has a beard." Realizing how stupid this sounded as it came out of my mouth, I suddenly saw a name that sounded vaguely familiar, so I told the lady, "Nevermind, I think that's him. Thanks." It was a gamble, but one I was willing to take in order to avoid looking completely stupid in front of that woman, again. I took the elevator up to the floor I guessed I was supposed to be on, everything looked right, and the woman at the desk knew who I was so I had guessed correctly.
Evidence of my brilliance.
The nurse called me back almost right after I got there, highly unusual for a doctor's office, especially since I had arrived thirty minutes early. (When they called to remind me of my appointment they said to plan on thirty minutes to park and check-in, I thought it was ridiculous but after seeing the parking lot I understood why.) Anyway, she took me back and then I remembered why I don't like doctor's appointments. We walked around the corner and there was the
scale (pause reading here for emphasis, were this a movie the music would suddenly get frightening) with a chair next to it where she said I could put all my 'heavy stuff'. I wanted to ask exactly how much 'stuff' I could put on that chair, but didn't. I stepped on the scale, she wrote down the number, but then said, "That's your weight in kilograms just so you know," then pushed a button, "and that's your weight in lbs." As if I thought I suddenly weighed as much as my six year-old brother? As if she thought I had some delusional hope that the very small first number was my weight in pounds?! She didn't even write down the pounds number, she just showed it to me as an FYI, as if I needed to see that? And so it began...
I do have to say that the nurse was really nice, she remembered me, even though I had only been there once, remembered my mom and asked about her, remembered that I go to BYU, and responded very reasonably when I told her I was majoring in Philosophy. She also said I had 'perfect' blood pressure,
I liked those numbers a little better than the first ones she insisted on showing me. Then she left me to wait for the doctor. An interesting phenomenon occurs during that waiting period, even if you're just there for a routine check-up, siting amongst all those tools, in the sterile room, listening to people in the halls walking around and talking in hushed tones, waiting until the footsteps stop at your door...it gets a little uncomfortable. Then a sound exactly like my elementary school bell went off and a woman came on the intercom saying, "Emergency department, shock/trauma, priority one," followed by a room number. So I started thinking about the poor person who probably just flatlined, images of Grey's Anatomy running through my head, getting me all worked up, when the sound comes again and the woman says, "Please disregard alarm, please disregard." What, did the guy not even last until the emergency crew got there? Must they announce things like that to every room in the building?
Anyway, the doctor finally came in at 1:45, my appointment time exactly. Unfortunately, I had forgotten that at this place they have residents who come in first because they're trying to learn. Ugh, I'm all in favor of education but this was a real inconvenience, I had to get back to work, and whatever I told this guy was just going to have to be repeated for the real doctor. Now my description of resident boy may sound a little harsh and judgemental, but medical students need people to push them so they can be the best doctors they can be!
So this guy comes in, and he's basically a child. I mean really, I'm young I know, but he looked like he was in high school, plus he was smaller than me. He was a teeny, childish man. I judged him, and the minute he started speaking I started to rate him on his doctoring skills...first item, awkward small-talk. He failed patient small-talk, failed. He asked me what school I went to, what I was doing there, I said Philosophy, he said, "Oh, lots of philosophical things," with a knowing smile and a laugh as though he had just made a good joke! I get a lot of odd comments when I tell people my major, lots, but this was by far the least intelligent.
All he did was turn the word Philosophy into an adjective! If I had said I was a Biology major, would he have said, "Ah, lots of Biological things," or what about English, "Ah lots of English things"? I was less than impressed. Then he asked me a bunch of pertinent medical questions, including whether or not I was allergic to any medications. I said Ceclor, he said, "Ok, what is that?".... What is that? Honestly, that is not the question you want to hear from you doctor, and I have no idea what it is! I just know my mom used to say that when she would take me to the doctor. So he pulls out his little PDA and has to look it up. He says, "Ah it's an anti-biotic." Oh wait, I did know that, I just thought he needed something a little more....complex than that, for example that it's in a group of drugs called cephalosporin antibiotics.
Then we went on to the actual medical testing, checking my heart beat, checking my throat, I had a piece of gum in my mouth so I'm sure he enjoyed looking down my throat and seeing that. Then there was the ear-checking and the eye checking, which he took VERY seriously. He started about eight inches from my face, and over the course of forty-five seconds moved to within two inches, once for each eye! He made me think I had some cornea problem that was hard to diagnose. But then after checking each, he put the light away non-chalantly and said, "Alright, looks good. Now the reflexes."
Can I ask something? Why is it, I mean really, why is it that even for a routine check-up doctors insist on hitting your knee with a hammer? What problem can be diagnosed if for some reason my leg doesn't kick up a little in response? If anyone reading this is in med school and/or understands this please explain.
After this, and some more awkward check-up stuff, he left to get the real doctor. More waiting, more examining of various medical instruments and curiosity about what exactly went on in that room before I got there....then real doctor came in (pictured at left). He was extraorindarily condescending, sometimes saying something, then repeating the phrase using smaller words so as to clarify in case I didn't understand. Then he had to listen to my heart because apparently he didn't trust resident boy to do it right, and let's face it, neither did I. But all-in-all I was happy to have made it out realtively unscathed. No needles, no unnecssary tests, just the routine awkardness and unpleasantness that is inescapable at every doctor's visit.
Anyway, I had my first Primary assignment yesterday, teaching the 4 year-olds. The lesson title was I am Grateful for Food & Clothing but could have been more accurately titled Subjects Not To Discuss Until Age 7. The first problem was that this food lesson fell on Fast Sunday, so talking about food at 3:30pm when I had been without since the night before put me off my game a little. Second, the lesson manual focused on teaching about where food and clothing comes from (animals and plants). I thought this would be pretty easy, I brought some examples of various foods (carrots, cheese, bread, etc. - edible object lessons to keep their minds and mouths occupied), and we talked about where each came from. Then I asked the three kids what their favorite foods were, the first kid, Van, yelled, "Chicken Nuggets!"
How could I show this kid's favorite food for the disgusting amalgamation of leftover parts that it really is when he was staring up at me like that? I didn't think this dilemma was one that I, a 20 year-old subsitute teacher with no children of my own, should have to deal with. But I also couldn't lie in reponse to such an honest query, so I brushed it off by saying, "The meat is all over the chicken. Who wants to play a game?". I silently congratulated myself on the stealthy avoidance of a serious issue. But then, the game I had thought up went awry.
However, I did make the mistake of asking the question, "Why do we need clothes?" Clearly, I should have known from my experiences with four brothers, that this question would inevitably lead to a comment about nakedness, apparently one of the most hilarious words on earth to 4 year-olds. I should have avoided asking the question for that reason alone, I could not however, have predicted the unfortunate response given, again from Van. He started with the simple statement, "So we don't have to run around naked in the house," but then it got uncomfortable, "Sometimes me and my dad run around naked when my mom's not home." While the other two students laughed uproariously at the word 'naked', I had an unfortunate image run through my mind of Van and his dad, who I know a little bit and who had in fact, been sitting in front of us in Sacrament Meeting that morning, strpping the second his wife left the house and running around in some sort of strange, male-ritualistic free-for-all. (I thought it would be inappropriate to post a picture of the image I had in my head, but I thought this summed it up pretty well.)
