Good morning! So yesterday I went to the doctor for my semi annual "let's pretend Sarah's completely healthy even though she feels like crap all the time" appointment. I went in carrying a list of ailments I've been experiencing from my endless problems with my knee to my itchy ears. Yes, my ears itch.
The appointment started out like any other, I checked in to the front desk where they asked me to spell my last name and say my birthdate. Then, for fun, they took my picture. Because, the cheerful, chirpy skinny behind the desk said, the medical people wanted yet another way to make sure they were talking to the correct person while looking at the right file.
So they took a picture. This picture was then attached to my file.
I feel every bit as good as I look.
Then I went to the internal medicine clinic where they asked if I could spell my last name and say my birthday. I did.
I sat for three minutes before the medical assistant came out and called my name. She then asked me to spell my last name and say my birthday. I did.
She weighed me (I've lost two pounds since August, so...yay?) checked my height (I don't think I've gotten taller) then ushered me into a room where she again asked me the spelling of my last name and my birthday. Which I gave her.
Blood pressure (normal) pulse (high, but okay) temp (normal) then the "depression panel" which they apparently run randomly. I was honest about how I love my couch and enjoy watching Netflix pretty much more than anything else in life.
I guess I scored pretty high on the depression panel.
What can I say? I've always tested well.
I didn't realize how high I scored on the depression panel until my doctor showed up and actually spent real time talking to me. I've been going to this guy for six years...and I picked him because he really doesn't pry much. I'm generally in and out in fifteen minutes because his manner is...um...non-intrusive.
But, I guess, when someone comes in for an iron check up and winds up looking like a suicide case on paper, even this guy sits up and takes notice.
I'm not sure how many other people had to wait in those sweaty exam rooms because I was taking up so much time, but you know what? I did not care. (Refer to the photo of me above. Do I look like a person well enough to be worried about taking up too much time?) So we talked. I'd brought along a long list of ailments, and we talked about all of them. Except the itchy ears. That was annoying that he didn't even look at my itchy ears. I guess being worried about whether or not I was going to off myself in the parking lot overshadowed my itchy ears.
Doc got serious about my knee and order x-rays. He also decided he needed blood work. I was prepared for this. This guy loves his blood work. I've never gone in to see him without winding up having to come back again and get my blood tested. I was prepared. Believe it or not, even for a 3:30 PM appointment, I did not eat all day so when he said I needed a blood test, I could tell him I'd been fasting and they could take the blood NOW.
Save myself a trip.
Except...I forgot I have to go back today for my mammogram.
My doctor printed out roughly a tree's worth of paper outlining instructions for the radiology department and the lab. He then turned me over to his medical assistant who ushered me to the door and told me to go to the lab first because radiology would take longer.
I've been to the lab in this clinic. NOTHING takes longer than labs. So I went to radiology.
A very nice lady there checked me, asking me the spelling of my last name and my birthdate. Which I gave her. Let's remember, she's also looking at this picture of me, which was taken one hour earlier. I'm still wearing the same clothes at this point...and probably the same "you've got to be kidding me" expression.
She printed up a nifty wristband with my name and birthdate on it. Then she had me sit and while I was waiting she checked to see if we could bump my mammogram to yesterday, save myself the trip.
Nope.
Oh well.
I hadn't waited more than three minutes when a moderately attractive radiology tech called me. I followed him to the x-ray room. He asked me, "can you spell your last name?"
Let's review: I've been asked that five times in the last hour. I'm wearing a wristband that the woman in his department printed out not three minutes earlier. AND he's looking at a file with my picture on it...and I'M WEARING THE SAME CLOTHES AS I AM IN THE PICTURE.
I ACHED to answer "NO! I've used up all my allotted last name spelling/birthday confirmations today. You'll have to wait until tomorrow....OR YOU COULD JUST LOOK AT MY WRIST."
But, since I didn't want to watch his head explode (because, I mean, he was sort of attractive) I spelled my last name, again, gave him my birthdate, again, and got my x-rays.
He then ushered me out of radiology and I headed down the hall to the lab.
I've blogged about this lab before. These are truly the slowest women I've ever had to work with. (And I once spent an afternoon at the DOT). You go there, they check you in, and then you sit...and sit...and sit...and you can see them all sitting there, chatting away, five feet from you. And then, as if given a message from a spirit no one in the waiting room can see, one of them will stand up and call a name.
It happens every time. It's like there's a rule that anyone coming in to the lab must wait no less than ten minutes.
Weirdly, though, I walked in and said "I'm here for a blood test" and they said, "You're Sarah?"
Didn't need to give my last name or my birthdate.
Either the lab is really on the ball, or they just don't care to be bothered with superfluous information. Gets in the way of their party planning.
(I'm not saying that to be mean...the last time I was in for labs, they were planning a St. Patrick's day party. Yesterday...well...New Year's...because Christmas was already planned.)
I sat my prerequisite ten minutes and then a young lady in a red sweat suit got up off the bench and called my name. She led me to a room, pointed to a hook for me to hang my coat and purse, and had me sit down.
She did not ask me my name or birthdate. I felt...well I felt like I had to fill the empty air with conversation and since she didn't seem interested in me, I asked her about her work...as it pertained to me.
"What does the doctor want with these blood samples?" I asked.
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| What I think I'm getting in a lab tech. |
"I don't know." Said Red Sweat suit, sticking vial number three (of four) onto the funnel attached to my arm.
"I mean, could you check?"
She heaved a heavy sigh, yanked the vial off my arm (half full, not sure that it matters) and looked at my file. "Well, he's asking for a bunch of panels." She shoved vial number four onto the funnel.
"Panels for what?"
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| What I'm pretty sure I got for a lab tech. |
"I haven't a clue. I could ask, I guess."
At this point she unplugged the needle from my arm and honestly, given my previous experiences with the lab, I didn't like to think about just how long I might have to wait for Red Sweat Suit to find out why she'd just filled four vials (well, half filled two of them) of my blood.
Good thing she didn't have to take my blood pressure at that point...
She did tell me that since it was 4:30 at this point, all the doctors (had gone home) and I wouldn't see results until tomorrow.
I'm pretty sure she'd already gone home half an hour ago, but I didn't want to seem ungrateful so I didn't say anything.
I got my results. My knee...well there's nothing really wrong with it. My doctor thinks maybe if I lose some weight that might help, but otherwise, hey, take some ibuprofen and call it a day.
As for the blood tests, I only got three of the panels back...and they're fine. I'm not dying or anything, that I'm aware of.
What happened to that fourth vial?
Who knows what those party animals in the lab are doing with it?
I get to go back today...but the good news is that I will only have to recite my last name and date of birth twice...I think...unless something goes horribly wrong, like maybe they give me another depression panel and this time I score even higher.
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