A Visit to the Doctor

As a person that at times suffers from moderate anxiety, if there’s one thing I’ve learned about the topic, it’s that you have to laugh it off as much as possible.  If you don’t, you’ll simply wig yourself out beyond belief.

Laughing is exactly what I do.  I’m not even sure that it’s something that I have to do consciously for it just sort of leaks out at random moments.  I think I tend to make people slightly worried when I’m sitting there laughing to myself, even though there’s nothing visibly funny happening around me.  It’s one of my better traits or flaws, depending upon how you look at it.

One of the amusing things that come with anxiety is the ability to put things off for an indeterminate amount of time.  I usually have to work myself up enough in order to do something that freaks me out, taking an unspecified amount of time to “ponder” and “think” about the task at hand.  For example, nothing gives me more anxiety than going to the doctor, so much so that I’ve put off getting a physical for nearly 4 years.  I finally broke down last fall and told myself, enough is enough, you simply have to go in and get it over with.  Ah, yes, but before I do that, you see, I have to think about it more.  I need to ponder the whole act of making the appointment, calling them on the phone, and so on.  Well, ‘pondering’ ultimately means a few more months go by, and then a few more, etc.  In truth, I’ve been ‘thinking’ about it for at least the past 2 years.  I finally had to go in to the doctor for an unrelated issue this February and even forewarned them, “Um, I think I’m overdue for a physical and I’ll be making an appointment soon.”  The keyword there was ‘soon’ which was completely open to interpretation considering months would end up going by first.

While I was at the office back in February, my doctor and I decided the best approach was to give me my long overdue tetanus shot right then and there versus during the physical since it would at least be one part of my anxiety relieved.  Getting a shot wigged me out as well, of course, but it actually wasn’t that bad.  Now, the problem was to get through the physical and the real source of my anxiety, the blood draw.

You guessed it.  More months went by while more ‘thinking’ and ‘pondering’ occurred.  I finally ran out of all my refills for asthma medication and so I had to break down and make the appointment.  They were booked 2 weeks out so I was able to get in 2 more weeks of good solid pondering time.  Sometimes I feel like I handle life’s stresses kind of like Winnie the Pooh…’think, think, think’…

I swear I was counting down the hours to this appointment.  I went in this morning, quite distressed mind you, and the laughing to myself began in the waiting room.  I usually just start thinking about outrageous possible outcomes to the event at hand, things that pretty much couldn’t really happen in real life and would only show up in goofball comedy films.  Now that I’m in my 40’s and they regularly do things like prostate exams, it gives me even more reason to be paranoid and imagine outrageous events taking place.  For example, before arriving for the appointment, I made sure that all waste products were removed from both my bladder and colon and then washed myself as thoroughly as possible.  You can never be too careful, right?  I don’t even think that I could put into words some of the weird outcomes that were running through my head.

I barely sat down in the waiting room and I was almost immediately called back.  I was met by the usual young nurse with the amazingly gorgeous blue twinkly eyes.  She’s the best part of the visit, mind you.  You would think that I’d try to be brave in front of her but no, not really.  I don’t seem to mind whom I cower in front of these days.

After taking my weight and height, we ventured into the examination room.  I’ve lost yet another inch…in height, that is.  I’m not sure where it’s going.  I never wanted to be tall and it’s looking like I may get my wish after all with the way I’ve been shrinking.

I was told to take everything off except my socks and underwear.  This confused me a bit since how exactly are they going to exam both the front and the back, if you know what I mean?  Hmm.  I debated about taking my underwear off anyway but decided instead to follow the instructions which I’ll admit is something I rarely ever do.

My doctor is a female nurse practioner of whom I’ve been going to for quite a few years.  I previously was going to a female doctor in the same building but I found her male anatomy exam to be one of the harshest I’ve ever felt and so I made the switch.  I think my turning my head and coughing with her was closer to turning blue and choking.

My doctor entered the room and we exchanged the usual questions, answers, and other goofy questions/comments on my part.  I was amazed by just how Woody Allen like I get when talking to a doctor.  She kept making little notes on a piece of paper and I kept thinking, ‘What is she writing about me?  Is she writing that I’m difficult?  That I’m crazy?!”  I swear that Seinfeld routine was ripped off of my own personal experience.

We talked a bit more about my anxiety in regards to the blood draw and then I hopped up on the table for the exam.  I was pretty wound up, of course, and my doctor approached, bent down a bit to exam my knees, and then I heard a whooonk! noise.  Considering that I’d been cracking jokes and giggling like a school girl for the past 10 minutes, I was now completely silent.  What the hell was that, I thought?  That wasn’t what I thought it was, was it?  Naw, it couldn’t be.  My doctor is a reasonably attractive middle aged woman.  She wouldn’t, um, just pass gas like that, would she?  It must have been her shoes or something.

“Excuse me,” she said calmly.  She then continued to straighten and whooonk!  “Ooh, excuse me,” she said again.  Yep, the ‘excuse me’ made it certain; she just farted twice.  Still, not a sound from me.   I think I was completely in awe by how nonchalantly and professionally she handled it, just continuing onward.  If it had been me, I probably would have turned beet red and then run out screaming.

You would think this would have eased my tension a bit but, um, no.  I even wondered for a few moments if she had done it on purpose in an effort to make me calm down but the more I thought about that the more absurd it seemed.  I mean, I’ve heard of doctors putting on clown makeup, blowing up balloons and such, to put kids at ease but never a farting doctor.  If that really worked, I’d imagine the new trend in doctors to be more like Curly from the Three Stooges.

She took my reflexes by pounding the little hammer on various parts of my legs.  Of course, nothing moved.  I knew it…I’m dead, I thought to myself.  In a sly maneuver, she then slid the handle under my feet in which I let out a large giggle/scream.  “Oh, you are ticklish.”  Hell, I’m not that dead, I thought.  Is she going to start tickling my sides now until I pee?!

Next, the rubber gloves came out.  “Have you ever had a prostate exam before?” she asked.  Yes, I said, and in truth a few times.  Even so, I had no clue what she wanted me to do.  I didn’t want to seem overly anxious or anything or jump the gun.  “Just remove your underwear and lean over the bed.”  As I figured, it was more uncomfortable removing my underwear at this point versus just already having them off.  I felt like I was doing some really perverse strip tease that clearly wouldn’t be bringing in a lot of dollar bills.

I leaned over and it began.  Again, it’s been awhile since I’ve had one of these exams.  I know I was never very fond of them but I didn’t recall it being that terrible either.  Well, this time it hurt like hell.  I was like, what is she putting in there?  It was like she was searching for an exit out the front.

After that, she said something I didn’t hear.  I don’t always hear well and so I’ve learned to just wait for people to either repeat or continue their sentences, in hopes that it gives me a clue as to what they said.  She just stood there staring at me, though, and so I had to ask, “What do you want me to do?”  She looked puzzled.  “I’m going to give you the _____ exam.”  I still didn’t catch the word before ‘exam’.  In a true me way, I asked, “So…what do you want me to do?”

She sighed slightly.  “I’m going to feel your balls…to see if there are any lumps or anomalies.”  Oh, roger that, loud and clear.  There was no mistaking that.  I have to say that I was quite taken aback by the word ‘balls’.  Usually, doctors use very clinical terms, especially female doctors, when referring to anything male anatomy related.  Ironically, I had often wondered why.  Upon hearing that she was going to feel my ‘balls’, though, let’s just say that it felt a little strange and I now understood.  In any event, let’s just say that she immediately got to the task.  When she was done, this once again left me underpants-less and unsure of when I was supposed to get dressed, and how and in what manner, mind you.  I felt like a hooker unsure if the job was actually done and if I’d get paid.

With the exam now over, it was off to the upstairs level for the true source of my anxiety – the blood draw.  The walk is always difficult, kind of like walking to your own execution.  I always think to myself that I could simply turn and run at any moment and yet for some reason I don’t.  I approached the lab desk, handed them my paperwork, and the nurse said, “It’ll be a few minutes.”  I thought, take all the time you need, lady!

There were a few nurses that were taking people back into the lab.  One was a woman with what sounded like a Russian accent.  I’ve had her before and she actually does quiet well although she lacks any sympathy for someone like me and has the sense of humor of a half eaten box of stale Cracker Jack.  There was also a woman that I didn’t recognize who looked a bit more pleasant.  She came out, grabbed someone’s paperwork, and scanned around the room.  There were quite a few people in the waiting room and I was the last to arrive so I thought I was totally safe.  Of course, she called out my name.

Once inside, I immediately told her, “I need to be able to lie down.”  For some reason, this medical clinic uses these large astronaut looking chairs setup in the hallway for their blood draws.  I did it there once and it was awful since people are walking by the whole time and then there’s me, in pure terror, closing my eyes and feeling faint.  No, that’s not the way for me.  We had to find a room for me to lie down in and that’s exactly what I did almost immediately upon entering it.  The nurse started getting things prepared and then said, “I have to inform you that I’m a student.”  Of course you are!  What luck!  “Do you still want me to continue?”  Do I WANT you to continue?  That’s a silly question.  Hell, I’m going to get poked either way.  It might as well be from a virgin.

I closed my eyes since I’ve found that to be the best approach for me.  For those of you that don’t suffer from this sort of affliction, it’s really not a wimpy/scary sort of thing.  It’s kind of unexplainable and completely irrational, really.  It’s not even really that it’s painful; it’s something about the very idea of it that’s such torture.  That’s the best explanation I can make.  I fully admit that it doesn’t make a lot of sense.

The jab was worse than normal.  The draw, though, seemed to go on and on.  I had asked my doctor to also check my testosterone levels and specifically asked if that meant they’d take more blood than usual.  “Oh no, not at all,” she told me.  Liar!  I later found out that the nurse had to fill 2 vials, of which she had to switch vials somehow in the middle of it, and thank god I didn’t watch this because I’m sure I would have fainted.  I was wondering why it was taking so long.  In the middle, the nurse said, “Ok, I’m getting ready for the second one.”  Second one?!  I didn’t know what that meant.  I was afraid she was going to jab me with 2 needles at once.  Vampire!

Once she was done, I laid there for awhile, trying not to move too much since that’s when I tend to get faint.  She put a piece of gauze on the puncture point and said, “Here, put pressure on this.”  I was like, huh?  Are you crazy lady?!  What part of this aren’t you getting?  I placed my hand over my wound as limply as a piece of bread on carpet when I think she realized her error and changed her plan.  “Oh, better yet, just bend your elbow.”  Yes, much smarter.

I waited a couple more minutes and then started to slowly get up but the nurse had one more shock for me.  “I just need you to verify your name and address,” she said as she waved the blood vials in front of my face.  I immediately started feeling light headed.  I couldn’t help but wonder what was with this woman.  Mental note – next time, no virgins.

I picked up my injured limp arm and more or less carried it out with me like a baby in a cradle.  Ah, peace at last…it was over.  Now, to start ‘pondering’ my appointment for next year.  Sigh.