I didn't ask if it was mandatory when this lady called, I just said, "Yeah, yeah, I'll do it." A free exam of some sort because you're now sixty-five was what she wanted me to schedule. I did.
She said it wouldn't be with my doctor but with a health care professional. I was only half listening. "And the best part is you can spend a whole hour with her! Not like with your Provider where you're only allowed fifteen minutes."
My egoism got the better of me. A whole hour talking about me, and if I'm not talking about me the other person is talking about me. That sounded great.
On my way to the appointment I tried to think of things to talk about. My arthritic knees had been overly achy lately but for the last few days had been fine. Other than that, I felt pretty good. It was weird going to the doctor when there was nothing wrong with you.
A nurse called my name. I was weighed, had pounded up a bit over the winter. I'll lose it. Blood pressure was high a tad, lungs and heart sounded good. She shook out an octopus array of wires and I had a quick EKG. Heart = Fine. The nurse left and I spent a few minutes yanking off the stickies from crannies on my torso I never knew existed.
Marlene knocked and entered. "Welcome to your Welcome To Medicare Wellness Exam!"
"Thanks!" I said. I was chipper. She was chipper. We were chipper.
"Over the weekend I spent some time looking over your medical history," she said.
"So that's why my ears were burning!"
She readied herself to type. "Is there something wrong with your ears?"
"Ummm, no. A little wax, maybe."
She typed something.
After documenting the faux affliction, we got to the real ones. I'd had some issues over the last few years, mostly one-offs like an episode of gout, shingles, a fainting spell (documented here on Huffington Post), some panic attacks years ago that still ambush me every so often. The rest were namby-pamby boring stuff -- none worthy of even a mention in a TV medical drama. A kidney stone fifteen years ago, psoriasis on and off. With every affliction mentioned, she typed and typed.
"It says you have cancer in your family."
"Yes. Here and there."
"Any family history of heart problems?"
"No."
"Diabetes?"
"A brother and a grandmother. You probably see there that I took a bunch of blood tests a few months ago and everything was normal except my triglycerides were a bit high."
We went through my medications. "Do you still take Cialis?"
"... Sure, when needed. Although I don't really need it. If I take it it's only a nick off the pill to counteract the very small, daily dose of Zoloft. If a hotsy-totsy night is planned, it just makes things a lot easier for, you know ... everyone involved."
She typed something.
There was talk about my thyroid. This was the first I'd heard of it. (A blood test was ordered, the next day it came back in the normal range.)
We said our goodbyes and I was out the door with a few pages of hard-copy in my hand. I imagined it read, You're fine, go home.
I don't remember exactly where I was when I actually looked at the first page -- either outside the car and about to open the door or already in the driver's seat. It's all a blur now. Manually highlighted in blinding yellow was this list:
You Were Seen Today For
History of Adenomatous Polyp of Colon
Spondylosis Lumbosacral Region,
unspecified spinal osteoarthritis complication
BMI 32.0-32.9, adult
Thyroid Mass of Unclear Etiology
Diverticulosis
Pre-Diabetes
Hypertriglyceridemia
Anxiety Disorder
Insomnia
ED (erectile dysfunction)
Essential Hypertension
Gout
Cerumen Impaction
Syncope
Risk for falls
History of Nephrolithiasis
I have no memory of driving home. I'm surprised I made it home at all because I'm obviously dying.
That was a week ago, and I'm still miraculously hanging on. I'm afraid to move, to breathe. If I do either, it's done cautiously. Any wrong move might kick-in one of my conditions, and I'll kick.
I walk into the doctor's office with bad knees. I walk out with a Death Sentence.
My new take on medical visits: Fifteen minutes is much too long. Who knows what could happen during such an excruciating amount of time. From now on I want my appointments to be no more than thirty seconds, maybe less. They'd go something like this:
Doctor walks in. "What's wrong?"
"Sore throat."
"Open and say "Aahhh."
"Aahhh."
"I'll write up a prescription and you can pick it up at the front desk. 'Bye."
"Later."
The less I know, the healthier I'll feel.