Going to the Doctor

Last night I met Dr. F for the first time.

I got there early, just as directed by the receptionist, since I am a new patient. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I decided that if I was there early they would take me back early. Wrong. Darn that pesky optimism. I waited for an hour.

When the nurse took me back, she weighed me (yuck) and measured my height. I am 5'4 1/2". I know this because when you are shorter than a lot of people around you, you tend to be pretty anal about knowing how tall you actually are. I am 29, so I probably will never get taller, but occasionally I measure my height, just in case. That 1/2" is pretty important to me. It was not important to the nurse. She did not even let me stand up straight before reading the measurement.

Next, she took my blood pressure. I was nervous, and I tend to get a little panicky when I am cornered in a room, especially with a cuff cutting the circulation off my arm. High blood pressure runs in my family. So, mine should be high, right? She had to try it twice. The second time she finally identified some numbers. According to my blood pressure, I am getting ready to drop into a coma. It was low, low, low. Me. Anxious, totally stressed-out, ready-to-attack-the-nurse-to-reclaim-my-personal-space me.

The nurse walked me back to an exam room, and we bypassed a desk with Dr. F sitting there. (I recognized his picture from their website.) I didn't realize it until later, but he was actually there studying my case notes. I was pretty impressed when I realized this, because most doctors that I have been to do not even know who they are seeing until they open the door.

Dr. F spent a long time in the room with me explaining potential paths that we will take to diagnose me. He was a wealth of information and ideas. He rambled through a number of potential problems and how my medical history may relate to some of those.

Our next course of action will include blood work and a sonogram on day 1 of my cycle. That will probably be the last time I will be allowed in their office. I am pretty terrified of needles, and for my blood work I require three hefty security guards to hold me down, a nice old lady to get me soda (and fan me), and finally, my husband or my dad to hold my hand. Otherwise, I will either a) pass out; b) throw up; c) both.

Depending on the results of these tests, we may have to do a laparoscopy (warning...scary pictures) or some other kind of more extensive testing. Now that I have had time to think about it (and remember what a wimp I am as I was typing the paragraph above), I really hope that any further testing will require sedation.

By the way, J has to do testing too. He is not really looking forward to that.