It seems that whenever I go to a doctor's office I have to answer the same questions repeatedly.
Entering the Orthopedic Surgeons office, I immediately sense the trouble is about to begin. The clipboard is looming on the counter edge.
“Have you been a patient here before?”
I think “Ah good! I won't have to fill the clipboard out!”
Smartly I answer; “Yes!”
“Okay, just fill this out, the first page I need immediately, the rest of the tome after you fill out page one.”
Dejected I return to my seat and start the process. There is always a question or two that they ask for which I don't know the answer.
“Your primary care physician's mother's maiden name.”
“Where does she live”?
“Her girdle size.”
You get the picture?
HOW THE HELL DO I REMEMBER HIS FAX NUMBER?
The young lady in the examining room asks:
“Why are you here?”
“Your primary care physician's mother's maiden name.”
“Where does she live”?
“Her girdle size.”
You get the picture?
HOW THE HELL DO I REMEMBER HIS FAX NUMBER?
Okay, they want to be thorough, so I accommodate them once more.
“The Doctor will be with you shortly.”
I wait, and wait some more. After waiting, I wait for another wait then Sonny enters.
Part of the paper work I just filed out asks me why I'm there. (Actually to fill out paper work and give clerks a job.)
“Why I are you here?”
I tell him. He reads along while I relate why I'm here.
“Okay, let's have a look.
Does this hurt?”
“Owww!”
“How about this?”
“OWWWW!”
“And this/”
“Hoowwww!”
“Hummm, I thought it might. I wonder what it is? Have you seen a doctor about this? Tell you what, let's get some x-rays.”
“Let's” he says. As in; 'you and me.' I wonder who will go first.
I am led to the x-ray cave. A gentleman climbs out and says: Okay, come with me.
“Your primary care physician's mother's maiden name.”
“Where does she live”?
“Her girdle size.”
You get the picture?
HOW THE HELL DO I REMEMBER HIS FAX NUMBER?
The x-ray guy say stands me against the wall.
“Okay stand facing me, your arm straight out, palm facing out.”
RRRRRRRR goes the camera.
“Okay stand facing me, your arm straight out, palm facing in.”
RRRRRRRR goes the camera.
“Now, face side ways, your eyes facing the other way, standing on your head, palms facing upward, and index finger in your nose.”
And so the many conditions are met, the pain shooting through my arm.
“Okay, meet the doctor in his office.”
Off I go, through the labyrinth of offices.
The doctor speaks: “Well the good news is it's not enough arthritis to give you the pain! Now I need to get you an MRI, but since your chest is wired, we may not be able to. Did I tell you about the guy who had just a tiny bit of metal in him during an MRI? The fire extinguisher flew off the wall and hit him in the head!”
I suddenly become very interested.
“No Doctor, you didn't!”
“Maybe we will inject a die in you and see where it leaks instead.”
Yeah, and maybe we can take out a kidney or two and make kidney pie.
“Tell you what, call the MRI place and ask them if you are Okay to have an MRI while you have the metal wire in your chest. It just might be Okay, after all, It has been five years. Let me know.”
Please remember my pals Joan and Anita. Thanks.
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