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A Well WomanWARNING: Guys, it's not explicit, but it is about that annual trip to the doctor. December, 2005 Ah, December. The season of holiday music, family gatherings, and gift-giving. The time of year when it's okay to hope for snow. The month for my annual well-woman exam. It's definitely not a pleasant part of this season of expectation, but since it shouldn't be ignored, I go. I go to the doctor's office for my well-woman exam. The nurse has me change out of my clothes. (By the way, do you take your socks off? I don't take my socks off. It's the only part over which I have any control at this point.) Anyway, I sit on the exam table in a thin gown, covered with a sheet too small for use in a baby's crib, to wait for the doctor. Wait, and wait, and wait. It's not warm in there. It's 14 degrees outside, and I'm pretty sure there's a window open somewhere. When the doctor finally arrives and apologizes for the wait, I'm forgiving, because I'm thinking, "Good. At least now we can get this over with." But no, I was mistaken. You see, the doctor's office is converting to paperless files, and instead of having someone enter my history from my paper file into their paperless computer system, the doctor--personally--spends twenty minutes retaking my history. Meanwhile, as you will recall, I'm sitting on the exam table in a flimsy gown with a sliver of a sheet, trying to keep myself modestly covered and unfrozen. Couldn't they have done this before I changed out of my clothes? The doctor looks down at his computerized clipboard and starts the interview by saying, "Really the only concern you've had is eczema." This startles me, because this is the doctor who had me tested for chest pains (stress), sent me for an MRI for my shoulder (overworked it), and ordered a quarantine for my cat, who bit me (he was just hungry). "Well," I answer, hesitating, "that was just once, last winter." I figure the reason that's all he knows about me is because that's when they started using their paperless filing system, and the tests, the shoulder, and the cat are all forever buried in the paper file in the front office. Next he asks me a bunch of questions that, because they are just a review of my medical "history", also have nothing to do with this well-woman visit. Stuff about my grandparents and genetically significant diseases. You know the stuff. MY personal history is buried, but he knows everything there is to know about my grandparents. And then he begins on the lifestyle questions. Do I take illegal drugs? "No." Like I'd say yes to that. Do I drink alcohol? "No." I'm not certain I told the truth there, because I actually did have a sip of wine a few evenings ago with my husband and our friends as we celebrated at a Christmas party. Does one sip in two decades count? Have I experienced any weight gain? I hesitate again. The nurse weighed me when I came in, and she wrote it down for the doctor. It was fifteen pounds more than the last time I visited. Which is interesting, since my clothes are all still fitting like they did a year ago. Must be that new scale they've got. But never mind, what I'm really thinking is, "If you were looking at my paper file and actually HAD my history in front of you, you'd know the answer to that!" So I answer, "No." (Hey, it was the truth. It's 14 degrees outside remember? I had a full-length coat, boots, jeans, and two shirts on when she weighed me.) Onward we go. We're slogging through a bunch of questions I really don't care about when suddenly he comes up with this one: Do I have problems with dry skin? Well, gee, does last winter's eczema qualify? I thought he actually had that one in front of him. "No." (Well, I don't. At least, not right now.) Do I have any tingling or numbness in my hands? Ah, perhaps I should answer this one properly. Maybe I'll get some help with it. "Yes, when I sleep." He probes a little. Whole hand or individual fingers? Is it worse in one hand...? I would have welcomed help with this situation, but I did hope he wouldn't ask me what I was doing about it, because I didn't want to tell him that I was visiting the chiropractor on a regular basis. One, because a great many medical doctors do not think chiropractors are real doctors, and two, because very soon this doctor was going to be performing my well-woman exam, and I didn't exactly want him to be perturbed with me prior to that. He didn't ask. The funny thing is that each time I had to answer in the affirmative about my physical deficiencies, he'd probe briefly, and then, as I was giving him the information he requested, he'd dismiss the topic and move on. Now, if the doctor believes I've gained too much weight or that he can help me with tingling fingers, shouldn't he say so? Isn't that what he's there for? Instead, he ends the interview by saying, "Well, if you have any concerns, be sure to let us know." And I'm thinking, didn't I just do that? |
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Chantal L. DeYoe
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