Wednesday, August 10, 2011

doctor days

This is a T.M.I post. Turn back now if you don't care to hear about my intestinal ailments:

I like my doctor a lot. He’s my first grown up primary care provider, and I feel kind of cool that I get to be in an office without Sesame Street wallpaper or Dora the Explorer stickers. When I walk in, the cutie at the front desk calls me “Mrs. Baker” and I feel very adult about it, although I do admit that I am still childishly fascinated by aquariums and medical posters with pictures of the inner ear and whatnot.



I went to the doc yesterday. I was fussing with my phone and eating a lifesaver when he walked in. I never know what I should be doing when a doctor walks in. Do I sit on the big table with the white tissue paper stuff that always rips the second you even think of sitting on it? Do I sit on a regular chair with my purse in my lap and act dignified? I didn’t do either of these. I was squinting at a poster about Body Mass Index, trying to figure out what my height is in inches so I’ll know if I’m normal weight.

I made the appointment about a week ago. I wanted to take a blood test to know once and for all if I have Celiac Disease.


The doc walked in and immediately asked


“Why are you here today? What’s happenin’?”


I truly don’t understand why doctors always ask you this. I always think


Doesn’t that clipboard you’re carrying already say exactly why I’m in here?


Instead I answered,


“I’m having some intestinal issues.”


“For how long?”


“As long as I can remember, but I’ve always been told it’s IBS or lactose intolerant, and I just don’t believe that.”


“OK. Let’s talk symptoms. Bloody stool?”


I shook my head


“Bloating?”


“Yeah! I just ate a sandwich and look at my belly!” I poked at my distended abdomen to show him just how bloated I get.


“Yeah, that’s a pouch! Diarrhea?”


“Occasionally.”


“Gas?”


“Oh yeah.” (I chuckled like a teenage boy telling a dirty joke)


“How often?”


“How often what?”

“How often do you pass gas?”


I’m practically crying from laughter at this point, but I’m also picking at my nail polish because I’m so embarrassed by this conversation.


“Are you asking how often I fart?”


“Girls toot. Boys fart.”


“I probably toot more often than your average person.” I’m in a fit of giggles now, and there’s no end in site. I’m also crimson.






Long story short, a nurse came in and took a (large) vial of blood from my arm. I’ll know tomorrow whether or not I have the disease. Let’s pray that I don’t, and that within the next few years, I can regain some of the dignity that I lost yesterday.






If you made it through this post without unfollowing me, I love you.






Xo,


b

4 comments:

  1. girrrrrl...why do you think Tim and I keep stashes of matches around the house? we are a family of tooters haha

    fingers crossed for your results!!!

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  2. Still here. Hope your doctor figures out what's causing all the trouble!

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  3. Brett,
    Just to put it out there.... you may feel more comfortable with a Women's Health Nurse Practitioner or Family Practice Nurse Practitioner. The whole educational philosophy behind nurse practitioners is preventative medicine and educating their patients, very different than the medical bent which is to find pathology and treat it.
    Like your blog, btw... found it through Trinity's :)
    Michelle Chiafulio

    ReplyDelete