When doctor appointments are more numerous than happy hours, you are of a certain age.
In addition to the increased frequency, each body part gets assigned to a special doc. I have (or had) a hand doctor, a foot doctor, a skin doctor (and that’s not one who helps you look pretty either), a lady bits doc, a butt doc, a GI specialist, a breast doc (yes, he only does breasts and no implants either) and a general practitioner.
Sometimes I feel like a mannequin. Twist the bad part out and make it better. Too bad I can’t get a new part from a Sears catalog (do they still have those?).
After months of push back, I finally gave in and went to a new specialist.
I rescheduled my first appointment pushing it out three months. (Did I mention I hate going to doctors? I’m really healthy!)
Researching all possible outcomes, I decided that if I needed any treatment that cost money (and they ALL do), I wouldn’t start that until after the new year. No sense in meeting this year’s deductible in November. How dumb is that?
I’m a small person. I worry about getting the same dose of medicine as someone 100 to 150 pounds heavier. They have more fat to hide the lethal stuff. I’m partial to my liver. We are very close. A healthy liver is a happy liver. We look out for each other.
Besides all that, my numbers are fairly borderline. Or close to border. Maybe just a tad over the border (please do not tell Trump!). I was hoping to eke out another year before addressing any numbers at all.
With all this crap swirling in my brain, I trudged to the new doc. Did I mention she was of a different nationality? I worried about that too. A long time ago, I had a doctor who was from outside the country. I didn’t worry about his skills. I worried about understanding him. And more importantly, him understanding me. (Is “ouch” a universal word?)
No need to worry. Despite a very slight accent, her English was perfect and she was articulate. More articulate than me. Maybe. (I’m pretty articulate especially when I don’t want to do something!)
I was prepared not to be happy. I had already decided what I would say to my gynecologist (who was strongly encouraging this checkup).
What I wasn’t prepared for, was to be charmed by someone who took the time to help me understand; answer all my questions (including my drug question about that 200 pounder); and be prepared for whatever I decided to do whenever I decided to do it.
We are not going directly to drugs and we are not going to revisit remedies that didn’t work in the past. We are going to do some tests to rule out other possible factors first. I’m good with that (other than they will draw blood out of my skinny veins). I have to pee in a cup too. First thing in the morning. Sure hope I don’t miss.
I feel like there is process here and we are not going to short circuit it. I also like that in the end it’s my decision.
I long for the days when the only time I saw the doc was for my annual lady bits exam. Those were the good old days.