(still alive here)
Okay, so my previous medical practicioner was clearly a bit too lax, which was, in actuality, a disservice to me. Little as I want to, I will try to wrap my head around that, because I know it is true. As a corrolary, the more stringent practices of my current practicioner are probably much better medicine. I will concede that point too.
But must they really strip me naked every visit??
Okay, technically it's not every visit. But it's at least half by now, and each time it's come as a surprise.
To document past episodes of unexpected nakedness: it might've been my prior doctor who sent me for two (as it turned out, useless) tests to check out my heartburn. (Which has gotten better recently, to spare any concern.) As one involved an ultrasound and the other an x-ray (and I maintain that that test was poorly conceived for diagnosis-- who in the hell's going to show signs of heartburn after ~8 hours of fasting thirty seconds after drinking air bubbles and a thick cocktail of radioactive chalk? Seriously, WTF?), they both necessitated some removal of clothing. That's obvious and reasonable, especially in retrospect, but I was sixteen or seventeen and not told very much beforehand, and that was one of the more minor details they left out. I was not at all happy, at the time.
When I first was transferred to my current set of doctors, Mom and I were sent to a "preliminary checkup". This turned out to be half a physical. Well, I don't know whether or not that's an exaggeration, but I'm talking breast exam, EKG, chest x-ray... The x-ray seems a bit random to me, but there's a reason I'm not going to medical school (and it ain't cause I don't want the money). Again, I probably wouldn't have been comfortable with it at that time under any circumstances, I admit, but it would've been nice if we'd been at least warned. My father, who's been with them far longer, had no idea, himself; evidently he doesn't usually have to get naked. So, no warning whatsoever. He described it as more of an interview. "Hi! Here to check in." "Great! Take your clothes off." Not the best of first impressions.
Now, I've been there a couple of times in between then and now; mostly for ear infections, which did not give them an excuse to remove my clothing, fortunately. (Though I'm surprised they didn't try.) Yesterday, however, I was blackmailed into making another appointment.
I say "blackmail" because they wouldn't renew my medication. They gave medical reasons for this when I came in to visit, but still, for God's sake, just call and say "We'd like to drag you in for a checkup". If I refuse, it's my right and my funeral. Don't just cancel medication I may need. I'd probably be less pissy about this if the medication in question hadn't been the Pill, which brings up some serious feminist issues in my head, maybe unfairly. I just have to think, "What if I were on these things because I was having sex? What the hell arrant, low blackmail would that be?"
Anyway, willingly or not, I came. After checking my weight (w00t, lost sixteen pounds! In nine months! And only ~50-100 more to go!) and blood pressure, the doctor herself came in, and, after discussing several minor issues, explained that the reason they called people in to get their supply of the Pill refilled was to give them a Pap smear. And I could do this either in a couple weeks or right now.
I mean, for Christ's sake, can't you warn a girl?! Is that seriously too much to ask?!
I knew myself well enough to know that delaying the inevitable would only make me nervous and dreadful (probably in both senses of the word) until it happened, so I flailed around for a couple minutes and tried to convey the impression "let's just get this the hell over with". This worked, eventually, though I was not in the least happy waiting ten minutes for the doctor to come back in, covered in paper, with my bare ass toward the door.
Of course, worrying about it was far worse than the thing itself, though the thing itself was less than comfortable. I hope to hell the damn thing worked; the-- sampling?-- itself I barely noticed, and the doctor warned that there might be a little blood, which there has not been. If they try to drag me back in again I will be seriously put out.
Whole incident got me a bit shaky and shocky. Medical stuff tends to do that to me; can't say why. It was worse the last time I got my blood drawn; it was almost like a homeopathic dilution of PTSD. My thoughts kept flashing back to it for hours, I could almost see it, especially that one point where she was poking and poking around for a vein. I don't like needles. I really really am not fond of needles. Not severe or irrational enough to be called a phobia, but I dislike them with great intensity.
Oh, they're making me get my blood drawn again, too. Just a cholesterol panel, so hopefully they won't need as many vials this time. I glanced down while the nurse was switching them last time. That was probably a mistake. But hopefully it'll have dropped a bit; I don't like having any hint of cholesterol trouble when I can't even drink yet. I'll admit my diet hasn't always been the best (but it's getting better), but even my skinny grandparents have high cholesterol, so I suspect I'm genetically screwed.
Also, my grandfather's in the hospital. This is not exactly like saying "it's a Tuesday", but it is like saying "Oh, I thought the month was over". Why is he in the hospital? Back pain. Spasms? Muscles? Kidneys? Your guess is as good as mine, and theories abound. But it means that he's in severe pain, and my grandmother's forgoing sleep to stay with him, and my father's testy as hell.
See, my father lived with his parents until he got married. His mother always used to say, "It'll kill your father if you leave". He was pretty sure this was a lie, but felt harassed into staying anyway, and I don't think he's even forgiven her for it, because, in his defense, I don't think she's ever stopped. She gets seriously weird about visitors when he's in the hospital. She'll wake him up to talk to them, insist he wants someone around when he clearly feels like crap, keep you around as long as she possibly can (especially if you're her son). Which is, on one level, understandable, but on another-- both her children tend to snipe at her, and you can see why it began.
So when dad goes to visit him in the hospital, which of course he has to, he never comes home happy. For one thing, Grandpa's in pain, and he just can't stand that; he has no tolerance for it at all. That makes him tense as hell, and not in an optimal mood to deal with his mother's fussing and small-talking or the occasional minor or not-so-minor incompetencies of the hospital staff. (Which, in turn, I doubt they're thrilled about.) And yeah, she does fuss, worrying at you and herself and trying to make Fred presentable when he's sick as a dog and trying to rest.
I'm honestly not sure what bothers me more: what'll happen if this keeps happening, or what'll happen when it stops. It can't keep going like this forever, and I'm-- not at all sure that's a bad thing. Crap.
But let's get the hell off of the medical nonsense. I got a volunteer position! Yay! 'Course, I imagine there's a lot less competition now that school's started and they've had budget cuts, but still. It's at the library, Tuesdays, 12-2. I told them I could do more days but I doubt they trust me yet. Maybe once I show up for a while, or my background check comes back, or they put out for a nametag. Did my first shift last week; mainly "bumping" (resensitizing the magnetic strips that set off the alarm if someone steals a book; we're not allowed to check them back in the system) and shelving new materials (the rest of the library's apparently done by other people). There was also some work with the reserves, bagging them for the couriers and whatnot; doesn't sound like much but it sufficed. Gonna have to wear my hair in a ponytail. Five minutes of anything even vaguely resembling work and my head starts to drip. It's fairly irksome.
I'm happy to have the motivation to get out of the house at least one day per week, and also happy for the exercise. I'm also hoping this will eventually provide me some insight as to my choice of career. Not happening yet, but I live in hope that someday a great beam of light will come down, and a voice will tell me my destiny, and suddenly it will all make sense and I will pick my course of study with a light heart. It could happen. Figuratively.
But must they really strip me naked every visit??
Okay, technically it's not every visit. But it's at least half by now, and each time it's come as a surprise.
To document past episodes of unexpected nakedness: it might've been my prior doctor who sent me for two (as it turned out, useless) tests to check out my heartburn. (Which has gotten better recently, to spare any concern.) As one involved an ultrasound and the other an x-ray (and I maintain that that test was poorly conceived for diagnosis-- who in the hell's going to show signs of heartburn after ~8 hours of fasting thirty seconds after drinking air bubbles and a thick cocktail of radioactive chalk? Seriously, WTF?), they both necessitated some removal of clothing. That's obvious and reasonable, especially in retrospect, but I was sixteen or seventeen and not told very much beforehand, and that was one of the more minor details they left out. I was not at all happy, at the time.
When I first was transferred to my current set of doctors, Mom and I were sent to a "preliminary checkup". This turned out to be half a physical. Well, I don't know whether or not that's an exaggeration, but I'm talking breast exam, EKG, chest x-ray... The x-ray seems a bit random to me, but there's a reason I'm not going to medical school (and it ain't cause I don't want the money). Again, I probably wouldn't have been comfortable with it at that time under any circumstances, I admit, but it would've been nice if we'd been at least warned. My father, who's been with them far longer, had no idea, himself; evidently he doesn't usually have to get naked. So, no warning whatsoever. He described it as more of an interview. "Hi! Here to check in." "Great! Take your clothes off." Not the best of first impressions.
Now, I've been there a couple of times in between then and now; mostly for ear infections, which did not give them an excuse to remove my clothing, fortunately. (Though I'm surprised they didn't try.) Yesterday, however, I was blackmailed into making another appointment.
I say "blackmail" because they wouldn't renew my medication. They gave medical reasons for this when I came in to visit, but still, for God's sake, just call and say "We'd like to drag you in for a checkup". If I refuse, it's my right and my funeral. Don't just cancel medication I may need. I'd probably be less pissy about this if the medication in question hadn't been the Pill, which brings up some serious feminist issues in my head, maybe unfairly. I just have to think, "What if I were on these things because I was having sex? What the hell arrant, low blackmail would that be?"
Anyway, willingly or not, I came. After checking my weight (w00t, lost sixteen pounds! In nine months! And only ~50-100 more to go!) and blood pressure, the doctor herself came in, and, after discussing several minor issues, explained that the reason they called people in to get their supply of the Pill refilled was to give them a Pap smear. And I could do this either in a couple weeks or right now.
I mean, for Christ's sake, can't you warn a girl?! Is that seriously too much to ask?!
I knew myself well enough to know that delaying the inevitable would only make me nervous and dreadful (probably in both senses of the word) until it happened, so I flailed around for a couple minutes and tried to convey the impression "let's just get this the hell over with". This worked, eventually, though I was not in the least happy waiting ten minutes for the doctor to come back in, covered in paper, with my bare ass toward the door.
Of course, worrying about it was far worse than the thing itself, though the thing itself was less than comfortable. I hope to hell the damn thing worked; the-- sampling?-- itself I barely noticed, and the doctor warned that there might be a little blood, which there has not been. If they try to drag me back in again I will be seriously put out.
Whole incident got me a bit shaky and shocky. Medical stuff tends to do that to me; can't say why. It was worse the last time I got my blood drawn; it was almost like a homeopathic dilution of PTSD. My thoughts kept flashing back to it for hours, I could almost see it, especially that one point where she was poking and poking around for a vein. I don't like needles. I really really am not fond of needles. Not severe or irrational enough to be called a phobia, but I dislike them with great intensity.
Oh, they're making me get my blood drawn again, too. Just a cholesterol panel, so hopefully they won't need as many vials this time. I glanced down while the nurse was switching them last time. That was probably a mistake. But hopefully it'll have dropped a bit; I don't like having any hint of cholesterol trouble when I can't even drink yet. I'll admit my diet hasn't always been the best (but it's getting better), but even my skinny grandparents have high cholesterol, so I suspect I'm genetically screwed.
Also, my grandfather's in the hospital. This is not exactly like saying "it's a Tuesday", but it is like saying "Oh, I thought the month was over". Why is he in the hospital? Back pain. Spasms? Muscles? Kidneys? Your guess is as good as mine, and theories abound. But it means that he's in severe pain, and my grandmother's forgoing sleep to stay with him, and my father's testy as hell.
See, my father lived with his parents until he got married. His mother always used to say, "It'll kill your father if you leave". He was pretty sure this was a lie, but felt harassed into staying anyway, and I don't think he's even forgiven her for it, because, in his defense, I don't think she's ever stopped. She gets seriously weird about visitors when he's in the hospital. She'll wake him up to talk to them, insist he wants someone around when he clearly feels like crap, keep you around as long as she possibly can (especially if you're her son). Which is, on one level, understandable, but on another-- both her children tend to snipe at her, and you can see why it began.
So when dad goes to visit him in the hospital, which of course he has to, he never comes home happy. For one thing, Grandpa's in pain, and he just can't stand that; he has no tolerance for it at all. That makes him tense as hell, and not in an optimal mood to deal with his mother's fussing and small-talking or the occasional minor or not-so-minor incompetencies of the hospital staff. (Which, in turn, I doubt they're thrilled about.) And yeah, she does fuss, worrying at you and herself and trying to make Fred presentable when he's sick as a dog and trying to rest.
I'm honestly not sure what bothers me more: what'll happen if this keeps happening, or what'll happen when it stops. It can't keep going like this forever, and I'm-- not at all sure that's a bad thing. Crap.
But let's get the hell off of the medical nonsense. I got a volunteer position! Yay! 'Course, I imagine there's a lot less competition now that school's started and they've had budget cuts, but still. It's at the library, Tuesdays, 12-2. I told them I could do more days but I doubt they trust me yet. Maybe once I show up for a while, or my background check comes back, or they put out for a nametag. Did my first shift last week; mainly "bumping" (resensitizing the magnetic strips that set off the alarm if someone steals a book; we're not allowed to check them back in the system) and shelving new materials (the rest of the library's apparently done by other people). There was also some work with the reserves, bagging them for the couriers and whatnot; doesn't sound like much but it sufficed. Gonna have to wear my hair in a ponytail. Five minutes of anything even vaguely resembling work and my head starts to drip. It's fairly irksome.
I'm happy to have the motivation to get out of the house at least one day per week, and also happy for the exercise. I'm also hoping this will eventually provide me some insight as to my choice of career. Not happening yet, but I live in hope that someday a great beam of light will come down, and a voice will tell me my destiny, and suddenly it will all make sense and I will pick my course of study with a light heart. It could happen. Figuratively.