It used to be that I never had an annual physical. I only went to the doctor when I was violently ill or leaking bodily fluids. Now I’ve become a regular, not just with my family doctor, but a host of specialists. I have a couple colonoscopies under my belt at this point, and one prostate exam, I think, so I got that going for me. Today is the annual physical, that appointment that my wife started insisting on after my heart thing 18 years ago and the mini-stroke misunderstanding of a few years back. Each year it’s the same. I set the appointment far in advance, forget to write it down in my appointment book, then get that frightening phone call a week out reminding me of the appointment I made six months ago. The friendly nurse reminds me to show up thirty minutes early, (not gonna happen—I have no intention of taking five minutes to fill out a form, then waiting in a room full of terminal germ machines for 25 minutes for my appointment), and that I can have nothing except black coffee and water eight hours before my arrival. Pam always gives me a helpful list of things I need to ask the doctor. It’s a good thing too, since without her list I would just sit there holding my breath waiting for it to all be over.
My doctor is great. Very personable. He occasionally even glances up from his laptop to make eye contact. Some of his helpful comments are:
Doctor: Wouldn’t hurt you to lose a couple pounds.
Me: Yeah...
Doctor: Does it hurt when I do this?
Me: Yeah. Stop doing that.
At some point he sends me down the hall to have blood taken out of my arm by a perky group of nurses in a small room where all of them are going on and on about something that happened last night at Bojangles like I’m not even in the room...
Nurse: Anyways, this cow starts yelling at the cashier—make a fist for me, honey—and I had just about had enough so I yell at her, “Yo, b**ch, shut the f**k up ‘for I come over there and mess you up”—-little pin prick now—I’m telling you, she was craaazy!
Then I am instructed to donate a urine sample into a handy little cup thing. Be sure your aim is true!! When I hand the specimen back to the nurse it always gives me the creeps for some reason.
Of course, no annual physical would be complete without the obligatory anal exam, which is a whole other level of awkwardness. Doc pulls on his gloves with an authoritarian snap, then begins his probing all the while trying to make conversation:
Doctor: So, how about this weather, huh? Hot enough for ya? Cough for me now. How’s the family?
The basic problem with the annual physical is the fear that this year will be the year when he finds something...
Doctor: Everything seems to be totally fine...wait, Hello...what have we here???
So today I will do my duty. I will faithfully ask all sixteen questions on Pam’s list...number 14–Why is he so_______? Hopefully, I will leave his office with renewed vigor, energized by his positive view of my overall condition, pending return of all blood work results.
Of course, every woman over the age of 40 is reading this thinking...what a baby! You want awkwardness? Try a mammogram and a gynecologist appointment every year buddy boy!!
No comments:
Post a Comment