the stones saga, part 2

(Read Part 1 here)

Bill Cosby said it best, and allow me to paraphrase, that you don’t want to go to the doctor because they may say that you have it. And you don’t want it. So if you never go see the doctor for them to tell you that you have it, they won’t tell you that you have it, and therefore you, logically of course, won’t have it.

I hit the interwebs to somewhat self-diagnose myself based on my symptoms. As I was also told, we layman aren’t supposed to do this because some people read one thing and think they have everything. They probably end up incorrect in thinking they have one thing, and really it’s just a mosquito bite. But I’m not a hypochondriac. I tried being rational. And again, I don’t exactly remember what I thought could have been wrong with me… but I’m pretty sure I landed on what I was hoping it wouldn’t be: the stones of kidneys. I eventually gave in and called a doctor. Sadly, the doctor couldn’t see me until a week later due to so many people checking in regarding the H1N1 virus. What’s up with that anyway? That’s certainly not making the nightly news as often these days.

Due to having to wait a week or longer, when death seemed like it would arrive before scheduled medical help, I decided to take a chance with a walk-in clinic. I had only been to one once before a couple years prior during a similar incident. However, I didn’t stay because once I saw how many people were in line waiting for who knows what, I left. Fortunately, that brief episode left shortly after too and I was never concerned about it.

I didn’t decide to go to the clinic until Friday, since Thursday the pipes seemed to have cleared themselves. But Friday morning was back to the same story and I made up my mind to get checked out. I prepared to leave early, making sure iSaac (my iPod) was fully charged so I could be prepared to wait for hours. I trekked off to the clinic. To my surprise, it was empty! No one was there and I was free to tell the entire room I was peeing blood if I chose to do so. I didn’t do this, but it felt great knowing I wouldn’t have to sit in the room watching dried paint get dryer. Again, it’s probably the stigma of being in a waiting room, looking around at others wondering why they are there and knowing they are wondering the same about you. But no worries today, other than the obvious reason I was there. I filled out my paperwork and within 20 minutes I was in the “littler waiting room,” as it’s called. And wait I did. For what felt like an hour. It was probably 20 minutes again, maybe even less. You realize how much time has gone by when you have time to count ceiling tiles or other medical things in the room.

I don’t visit the doctors as often as I should, so I forget the normalthat go on. The nurse came in first. Being as tense as I was, I told my life story. She was a cute nurse too, but in these urgent matters, there was no time for flirting and joking. Besides, I could be dying, why would she want to talk to me? Even if I wasn’t, what’s so attractive about a dude who is bleeding where he shouldn’t? This is not the ideal male to mate with. The other thing I was concerned about was disrobing. I had clean underwear on and everything… but if anything, I hoped they would close the blinds to the window I had been staring out of, watching other people walking in and out of the rain that may or may not have looked at me looking at them. We were on the 1st floor! But I was safe, there would be no disrobing. Not in that room anyway. She took my vitals and then asked me to pee in a cup in the bathroom. Easy enough. So far.

After that was done, I was told to return to the room and the doctor would see me shortly. More waiting took place. It was probably another 20 minutes, but in my mental “doctor visit” time, another hour. I recounted the ceiling tiles. I think I would like hospitals and these waiting rooms to have better pictures and paintings to look at. These were pretty bland, unfocused, black & white photos of grassy hills or someone’s hairy knee. Is this supposed to settle my mind or keep me calm?

The doctor finally came in. He was calm, friendly. Even though I looked at ease, I was just ready for him to calmly say something horrifying like “You’ve got polio and will die in 10 minutes.” But he didn’t.  So these were good signs. I forgot to mention that when my vitals were taken the first time, they reported I had high blood pressure. Something both my parents had issues with. I was already paranoid, this made me feel worse, hence my fear he was going to say something devastating. I later learned that this high blood pressure could just be a tense reaction to having to be at the doctor, and I shouldn’t worry too much about it.

I also tell the doctor my life story, hoping that my problem is easily explained and maybe it was a freak accident between the pasta concoction, Gas-X, Pepto, driving too fast and sleeping with too many pillows. He asked the questions I expected him too. My pulse shot up when he said he’d need to draw some blood and run some tests. Other than that, he told me not to worry and to live my life like I had been. I made a note to myself to stop eating so much salt, regarding the high blood pressure.

His little chat with me only lasted about 5 minutes. He wasn’t going to be the one to take my blood. I had to wait for someone else to do that. So wait in the room once again I was instructed to do. I was tired of counting ceiling tiles so I just admired the room, considering it would make for an interesting and very, very tight studio apartment. I also thought these things so I wouldn’t think about having to get my blood drawn for the first time ever in my life. This isn’t what I came here for, and aren’t I already losing enough blood whenever I go to the bathroom?

(The story concludes here)