Last week, I paid my first visit to the doctor in... actually, i don't know how long it's been... more than a decade, for sure. This was my promised Christmas present for my dad, delayed so long to now be a combo Fathers' Day gift.
My family genetic history is stacked against me, in league with my poor diet and non-existent workout regimen. With the brick wall of AGE40 looming, it was high time to get checked out. And boy, did i get checked out.
Height: 5' 11" (it's gotta be the shoes - we settled on 5' 10")
Weight: 200
Blood Pressure: 130/70 (hey, so far, so good!)
EKG: all clear
The EKG was interesting, and a bit nerve-wracking, what with the half-dozen or so little jumper-cable-clamps crimped on my skin. I didn't know what was going to happen, and they didn't say, so i naturally wondered when the little tingles or shocks would hit. In reality, you don't feel anything.
Well, i was still feeling the after-shock of the just-completed THING THAT THEY DO WHEN YOU TURN 40, otherwise known as the prostate exam. If i remember my Social Studies right, i think the doctor and i may be considered married in some Micronesian tribes.
Speaking of the doc, he's quite the lecturer and moralist. Wasn't enough to ask about any history of illness or broken bones, he also wanted to know if i wear my seat belt, have a smoke alarm in the house, or have any guns in the house. And hey, make sure that there are no guns in the houses where your kids play, he admonishes. Go ask those parents. Umm huh.
Then, he goes off on diet, asking me if i ever eat out. Sure, i say. Well don't do that any more!, doc scolds. "All restaurant food is bad; you need to brown bag it. Besides, it will save you tons of money that you can put into your kids' college funds. That reminds me, have you opened one of those 529 plans?"
My final adventure was with the blood draw. I went in without conscious worry or nervousness, chatting breezily with the technician as she took 2 small vials from my left arm. As she's finishing up, i tell her that i sometimes get woozy. She wishes i had told her that beforehand. Why, is that bad? Well, we could have had you lay down. Meanwhile, my body is starting to react. I feel the wooziness, a little nausea. It just gets worse and worse, then i break out into a full body sweat. You can see my drenched forearms. She has to call for a wheelchair. How embarassing!
One other funny part of the blood stuff was that a young boy had been in front of me in line, but he got so nervous that he excused himself from the chair and went to the bathroom. His mom said he was probably in there throwing up. So they let me go first, only to see the big, grown man get carted off in a wheelchair, half-coherent, as the kid came back from the bathroom, likely forever traumatized.
Final Thought: one of my key considerations in picking a dentist is small hands. I don't like giant fingers probing around in my mouth. I now believe that's a good rule of thumb (so to speak) for doctors, too.
