Clinic Appointment

I have a love/hate relationship with clinic appointments.

First of all, I guess it goes without saying that I’m sure all of us who have to go to clinic appointments for whatever reason would prefer to not go to them at all. Let’s just get that statement out of the way.

Now, sometimes I like going to clinic appointments. It’s an opportunity to bring forth any concerns or questions that I may have about changes I’m feeling in my body, things I’ve researched and have questions about, etc. It is also a time that my medication may be adjusted (hopefully going lower…*cough* prednisone *cough*). Those are the good things about clinic appointments.

Bad things? Well, when I go to a clinic appointment, I don’t like talking to other people besides my actual doctor. I don’t like being harassed by several different people about participating in some study. I think I’ve participated in just under a kabillion studies. The amount of blood that I alone have given over the years should most definitely be sufficient enough to have foound a cure for Lupus.

I can’t say that I’m a fan of the “fellow”. I’m all about learning and stuff like this. In fact, in previous days, I’d be willing to let fellows perform procedures on me even if it meant some blood had to be shed. **Tangent alert** I remember when I was at sick kid’s hospital, a fellow came along and stuck one of those magnifying ear viewer things in my ear so she could see what was going on in there. Boy did she ever shove it in there. She put it in so hard that when she left, I asked my dad for some tissue so I could put it in my ear. She actually drew blood. She cut my ear! In the same hospital admission, I remember a team of like 10 doctors coming into my room. One was the “boss” while the others were still learning. The “boss” thought it would be ok for him to allow ALL of these doctors to examine me just because I was a little older than the other people in sick kids hospital. I was too shy to say no. They all, one after another, examined me. “Now let’s check for the pulse near her groin.” “OK!” yelled the murder of doctors. How humiliating. And THEN there was the time when I had aseptic arthritis in my knee and required surgery. I had to wait a few days for the surgery so in the meantime, I had to have my knee tapped with a big scary needle almost twice daily. While it hurt immensely, the “boss” doctor seemed to do it with ease. This one fellow in particular kept on trying to do it but it just wouldn’t work. He’d sometimes come into my room by himself to try and do it and it never worked. All he did was cause me immense pain. **end tangent**

So, as you can see, I don’t like being seen by “other people”. This recent clinic appointment, I learned that I’d have to see a nurse before seeing my doctor. Oh brother…not another person! When I got to the hospital 20 minutes before my appointment tine, I decided to stop at Tim Hortons to get a black tea and a donut. After that, I took my medication as I knew I’d be eating my donut soon. I then headed to my appointment.

After checking in, I sat down and got ready to eat my donut. As soon as my butt hit the chair, a lady came around and asked me to come with her. What’s this now?? I just want to eat my donut I’m starving!

As we headed to a room, she said “You didn’t eat any of that donut, did you?” I said I hadn’t. She said good, as we needed to do a cholesterol blood test today. I knew in my mind that I would NOT be doing a cholesterol blood test today for 2 reasons: A–I did one in January of this year as she said that the last one she had was from January last year. B– I just took my medication and had no interest in suffering from a stomach ache all day just so I could wait 30 minutes for a blood test.

I told her I did the blood test already. She couldn’t find it in the computer. I explained my reasons, as listed above, that I wouldn’t be doing a blood test today. She reluctantly agreed.

After taking my blood pressure, she went into discussing my diet. “So what’s that you’re eating there?” she asked. I bit my lip as I contemplated saying “a salad”. It was clear that I was eating a chocolate donut. In not so many words, she scolded me on my food choice. She then showed me some sheet she made showing my HDL, LDL, and probability of getting heart disease. My HDL and LDL were both in a better range than most people. My probability of getting heart disease in the next 10 years was, get this: 0%. So why was she scolding me? I’m 166cm (almost 5’5 and a half) and I weigh 120 pounds. Not at all obese or even overweight. So how dare she?? She told me that fast food was bad. I’m not sure where she got the idea that I eat fast food because I never mentioned it. At any rate, I continued to savor and enjoy my donut, but this conversation was really annoying me. She asked me what I eat on a regular basis. I told her that I eat rice, veggies, chicken, pasta, etc. She asked me about fruit and I told her that I ate vegetables more often than I eat fruit. “WELL YOU HAVE TO MAKE MORE OF AN EFFORT TO EAT MORE FRUIT”.

Annoyed. Annoyed and hurt. I wouldn’t so much mind hearing such information from someone even though it was information I already knew, but as is often said, it’s all about how you say things! I decided that I’d just ignore the comments as they were beginning to piss me off. I was happy when it was over. Oh, and the most annoying part of it all? She asked me which medications I was on. “I don’t know”. I answered. “You don’t know??” she asked. “It’s in the chart. Nothing has changed”. I said. Annoyed.

After that, I went back to the waiting room to sit down when a FELLOW came to talk to me?? ARGH!!

Turns out that this fellow was great. She didn’t ask me anything that was already written right in front of her. I saw my actual doctor for about 3.5 minutes. He dropped my prednisone by 1 mg. That was all.

Apparently this is the new routine that I’ll have to go through all the time. I just hate repeating myself, I hate being hurt (whether phyiscally or other ways), and I hate being spoken to like I’m an idiot. Bah! Time to leave for school.