D o c t o r
V i s i t s
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espite their good intentions and the wonders and near miracles they have performed for people, I do not really like doctors. Perhaps it’s the situation generally surrounding the visits, or the fact that they never listen to me. Ten years of grad school apparently outweighs a patient’s own opinion of their symptoms. However, it could also just be the actual places: doctor offices, clinics, hospitals, etc. The worst thing about all of those is the waiting at each of them and waiting in a place that buzzes with silence and smells of latex and air that’s too clean. I think the hatred begins with the early appointment time because the receptionist scheduled an “urgent” appointment after hearing one or two symptoms. Of course, the only times available would be early; who wants to start their day being interrogated and examined by cold hands, stethoscopes, and ear probes? I know I don’t. So, envision this. It’s 8:00am. You’ve been up for an hour, didn’t have time to shower long, drove for half an hour, and now you’re walking into a dark brick building. Only one car is in the parking lot along with yours. The frigid air meets your still tired body. Supposedly not many germs can survive when it’s freezing. Nor can many humans, geniuses. You go to the counter that’s so high it comes up to your chest, but the receptionist is at waist level. You can hardly make eye contact, and she’s not looking at you anyway. You clear your throat, but the phone rings. You stand there like an idiot for two full minutes trying not to eavesdrop and failing miserably. (So there are people who can hear the receptionist’s conversation when you’re on the phone asking about chronic constipation and yeast infections. Thank God it’s a normal appointment today.) “Can I help you?” you are finally asked. “Yes.” You say your name, sign a sheet, and answer 100
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