I started a new job which of course means new health care. One of the first things I like to do is set up an appointment and establish a primary care manager. I kind of just meet with that person and give him or her some background and history so they can START A FILE. I love files.
In the Navy you very rarely see the same doctor. You are all over the place seeing whoever has a couple of minutes to see you at the time. You are left explaining and then re-explaining your medical history to every new person you see. Filling out pages of paperwork almost every time you go to the doctor because stuff gets lost or you didn’t fill it out correctly or whatever.
The idea of having one doctor that I see EVERYTIME I’m sick appeals to me. Even when I was pregnant I didn’t see the same doctor twice. And they were wrong most of the time. They told me I was having a boy and we all know how that turned out. (For those who don’t…well I had a girl. Who came home in an all blue outfit. To an all blue room.)
So I go online and search for my area and doctors in my area and then doctors who are accepting new patients and I find one. Dr. W. That’s what I’ll call her. I call, set up an appointment, and that’s that. I’ve got me a doctor of my very own.
Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
Or maybe I shouldn’t celebrate just yet.
So I go to my first appointment and the office is literally in a building that looks condemned. It’s behind some restaurant and just dingy looking. However, I am not a ‘judge the book by the cover’ kind of person, so no problem.
I park and walk in. As soon as you walk in you feel like you’ve gone back in time. The carpets are old and so very thin…almost like someone just laid some fabric over a cement slab. There are a bunch of different offices to choose from. I didn’t want to choose any of them. However, I found my office and in I went.
Holy shit. I’m not kidding you when I say that people are literally coming to this place to die. All of the patients were very old. VERY OLD. The receptionists were VERY OLD. There was a sign up that said, I’m doing this job because I can’t yet collect social security. Seriously.
The woman was nice enough. She told me to sign in and have a seat. My appointment was for noon, and I arrived 15 minutes early. Because that is the NAVY WAY!
I sat down and reached for a magazine. Golfing magazines. Readers Digest. Adult Health magazines. Ugh! These are magazines for OLD PEOPLE. Where is the gossip mag? Where is my shape or fitness? I’ll even settle for a People! So I decide to just watch TV. It’s the news, but I’m fine with that. They are talking about how the posted calorie count for some fast food isn’t always accurate. Wow. Shocker. They are calling out places like Chipotle and Olive Garden. Ugh. I hate when people talk behind a friend’s back!
So at some point I hear the woman say, it’s bright and sunny outside. I look out the window. It’s a torrential downpour. And then she says something about August. I’m like…Holy Heck…even the news in this place is old.
By this time it’s around 12:30. I’m still waiting. I begin to wonder if maybe these people weren’t so old when they got here…they’ve just been waiting for 30 years.
I walk up to the counter and ask the woman if my doctor knows I’m here. They tell me that she is just running long with a patient. But they can tell that I’m anxious, so they take me back to get my weight and my vitals. This is like giving you an appetizer in the medical world. Uh oh…this one is getting twitchy…hurry…give her a breadstick so she’ll shut the fuck up while we finish cooking her pounds of pasta! (Which will end up being more calories than they tell me it is...according to the study.)
So after that they seat me in a room and tell me my doctor will be right with me.
I can hear her in the room next to mine. She’s talking to a man about cereal. He is arguing with her about what cereal is best. Then they move on to oatmeal. And they are seriously discussing this shit for another 20 or 30 minutes. Meanwhile, the battery life on my phone is dying and I’m pretty sure I should use the last bit of it to call someone and tell them where I am in case this is Twilight Zone episode and I end up stuck in this old world.
When my doctor finally gets around to seeing me (around 1:30) she is … old. She’s nice. She sits down and asks what I am there for. I tell her that I just want to establish a medical history and have a primary care provider. She asks me some questions…takes down some information and puts it in a folder. My file.
It wasn’t ideal by any stretch. But this woman looked like she had seen it all. Like a grandmother. I would not be embarrassed or afraid to tell her anything. And in the end…isn’t that really what we need from a doctor. Someone non-judgmental who keeps it professional and doesn’t run around to the other ladies gossiping about your lack of self breast exams? Someone who knows you.
I realized shortly after walking out that I had left my phone on the chair. I went back in to grab it and Dr. W. was still sitting there.
“You must be my 1 o’ clock? Sorry for the wait.”
At this point I’m over needing someone that KNOWS me…but someone who at least recognizes me (13 seconds after seeing me) would be nice.
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