The Check Up

 

Time to be put back up on the rack for a 3-month check. In other words, it was time for another visit to the doctor’s office. I know all you kind loyal readers want to read this, but what else you got to do?

Since the last visit I’d taken all my meds, ate the proper substances and avoided the evil drink just so when I showed up for my latest review, I’d be tip top primetime.

After my normal 3-hour naps I substitute for ‘sleep’ I counted the hours before attending the showdown.

I checked ‘my chart’ that was produced by the hospital as a digital connection to patients. It is very up-to-date current information in medical language but doesn’t substitute for person-to-person speak.

As the meeting hour approached, I combed my hair, put on some smelly stuff as not to offend, laced up my shoes that still fit, and prepared for my venture into the world of medicine.

The doctor’s office had called and said they offer ‘virtual’ office appointments. I’m sure it is for those of us who are scared to leave the front door but I feel that a doctor’s visit requires a person wearing a white lab coat looking into your eyes, taking your temperature, checking wounds and listening to complaints without email on the other side of the screen. I prefer a one-on-one interaction with a teacher, preacher, police, lover and doctors rather than a Zoom meeting.

The construction to the middle school continued as a sign of constant changes to a familiar past. Peddling up the hills didn’t seem so bad but it was probably due to the chilly dew.

After locking up my pony and passing the TSA, I looked for the elevators that would deliver me to Room 102. Somehow I got turned around and wandered aimlessly through corridors with no numbers on the doors and bad directions. After several futile attempts through the maze, I attempted to contact a human to direct me.

A volunteer was frantically trying to help another so after a few minutes I ventured on. How hard could it be to find Room 102?

My boy scouts instincts directed me toward an area that seemed familiar though I’d only been there once. Eureka! I found the Room 102 without a compass.

The door was locked. The window was covered. I pressed a door bell and waited.

A nice lady in her nurse like uniform and mask welcomed me in and direct me to her window where I’d have to scribble my name or some sort of similar duplication of my handwriting on a digital pad giving my permission for these strangers to poke and stroke me and ask personal questions. It also releases them from any responsibility if I croak on their floor.

Then she directed me to an empty room and closed the door.

Nurse Nancy came in and with comfortable conversation confirmed I was whom I said I was and I’d not been in contact with anyone who had THE COOTIES or had ridden my bike overseas or had attended a UVA keg party recently. Take my blood pressure, and then leave.

Again I was left alone until the ‘real’ doctor came in.

A knock on the door and there she was.

Symone Hopkins with her sidekick Mary Baker, NP. They are ganging up on me.

 Symone is a certified Nurse Practitioner by the American Academy of Nurse Practitioners. She received her Bachelors in Nursing degree from Hampton University and her Master of Science in nursing, with a concentration as a Family Nurse Practitioner at Virginia Commonwealth University. Before joining Monument Internal Medicine, Symone worked inpatient within St. Mary’s Hospital. She has experience as a medical surgical nurse and has seen patients in oncology, and hospice. She has worked for Bon Secours since the age of 16. Symone is a member of the American Association of Nurse Practitioners and Sigma Theta Tau Honors Society. During her spare time she enjoys time with family, friends and participating in community work.

I guess qualifies her? Besides she is wearing the medical uniform and knows the password to the computer so she must be legit.

She asks me the doctor’s question, “How do you feel?”

After listing a history of the past three months, with details of movement, pains, diet and personal diagnosis, she nods her head.

She persuades me to continue some meds (amLODIPine, lisinopriL and metFORMIN for you medical junkies) that I tried to avoid, but only for the next six months. We agree the others can be avoided for now, but may be reviewed later. There is no reason for me to put chemistry in my body if I don’t need it. Remember she is only a medical professional practicing the art of wellness and there are no guarantees.

This experience revels what medicine is to me.

Doctors and hospitals are the places you go for a vacation when you don’t feel good. Once inside you have no choice but to do whatever anyone wearing scrubs tells you.

First they take away your clothes so you can’t run away naked. Then they wire you up to these rolling computers to monitor your every breath. They poke your arms with needles taking blood out and replacing it with some sort of liquid in a plastic bag. They never tell you what they are doing or why they are doing it or what the procedure is for. There is no deadline to escape the repetitive questions or lack of rubber gloves.

Even at checkout, you have to sign another form to admit you were not tortured or harmed in any way to your limited knowledge of what these strangers have done to you.

If you listen closely to their huddles, you can try to decipher how they are describing your bodily functions in ‘doctor talk’ using words that are a mash-up between a Greek tragedy and a sci-fi movie sequel.

At the end of the session, they cut the cord, give you back your clothing and hand you a pile of papers describing your procedures (in ‘doctor talk’) and agreed upon recommendations until a follow-up can be arranged for more test and calculations of estimated breathing time on this planet.

Most of the common categories like diabetes, hepatitis, cholesterol, blood pressure, heart and gastro-intestinal functions. They take a sample of blood, listen to respiration, take a pulse, temperature and declare you are fat.

If you have the time and effort to search the Internet to try and figure out what these ‘doctor talk’ words mean, how you compare with what current science measures as ‘acceptable’. If one of these categories go array, there is no explanation of what causes the inconsistency or how to get your numbers back in line without taking a pill.

Remember the doctor doesn’t get paid if you are well.

Without constant probing and prodding, the doctor may not find a brain aneurism or allergy or depression or the big score Cancer? Beyond the physical ailments, who delves into the mental idiosyncrasies we all have.

There are still plenty of cooties out there like Tuberculoses, Mononucleosis, Conjunctivitis, Human Immunodeficiency Virus, Multiple Sclerosis… the list goes on and on. Polio is still around.

Every cough, sneeze, runny nose and headache could be a sign of some life threatening disease. Even this Covid-19 is still being figured out with new symptoms everyday.

 

To make a short story even longer, I didn’t have to strip down or get a hose up my butt. I showed my leg and said it had a slight flare-up but moistening lotion took care of it. Symone took notes. I took all my pills but did not get refills. Symone took notes. I didn’t have a follow up with the liver doctor because he had no cure. Symone took notes. I rejected all the shots they offered. Symone took notes. I compromised and said I would refill three pills for blood pressure and blood sugar. Symone took notes and said come back in 6 months and we’ll run some more test.

I agreed.

Once home, I compared my original doctor visit numbers with my new three month later number and they looked pretty similar for whatever that means.

I appreciate doctors and nurses. They are there to patch you up if you fall and have the goods to reduce pain. No one likes pain. They are also the ones we train to cut you open and take out bad things to keep you living longer.

Seymone and I discussed my feeling about longevity and expectations of what she or any other medical professional could do for me (or to me).

In six months I will return to the labyrinth of catacombs to find Room 102. I will take my pills on time as directed and stay away from the evil hooch (unless there is another debate) and mind my pees and cues. I’ll wake up with my ever-increasing aches and moans but old age beats the alternative. If life proceeds the way it does, I’ll be fine.

Next week will be another birthday. Many more than ever anticipated.

See you in six months Symone. Lord willing and the creek don’t rise.

Symone sans mask