The last few weeks have been filled with medical news for me. I’ve met with my shoulder surgeon, connected with my GP and been introduced to a dermatologist. In addition, I bought a pair of hearing aids a couple years ago and have been wearing them more frequently. Old age creeps up
My shoulder surgeon is pleased with my progress. I’m not as patient as him. As I’ve written before, I should have had this done a couple decades ago, but I kept putting it off. By the time I decided to move forward, I was in worse shape than the MRIs and CAT scans predicted. I’m fine moving downward but can’t lift my arm past ninety degrees going up. I can push it up with my right arm, and hold it there, so the mobility will be fine. I just have no strength. I’m a work in progress.
My annual wellness physical with my GP went well. Many people, including him, are surprised that I don’t take any medication on a regular basis. I do take the occasional Tylenol or Aleve. I don’t do that unless I’m playing golf so that’s been off my radar.
The doctor wanted to know if I had any concerns. I did. I’ve had a dry spot on the bridge of my nose for a while. The side of my nose has had a similar spot off and on since my shoulder surgery. My GP recommended seeing a dermatologist and I agreed that it was a good idea. I asked him to make a referral for me. I wanted to be sure that I saw someone within the same network. Networks share information. I like that fact.
I met with the dermatologist last Monday. I was scheduled for a full body inspection, so I made sure I wore my best underwear. I had to answer about a billion questions through an electronic set of documents that they provided in advance of my visit. I had an 8:20 appointment and things progressed very smoothly. I was taken to an examination room by an attractive lady in her early forties. When I asked her position, she replied, “Today I’m doing intake, tomorrow assisting surgery and Wednesday I report to our Leesburg office.”
And then I said, “So you’re a utility player.”
“That’s a good way to put it.”
She had the results of my questionnaire on a tablet and reviewed some of my answers with me. When she was done, she gave me a paper gown and said, “This is our one size fits none gown. Please strip down to a level you’re comfortable with and put it on. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
I’m a pretty fast stripper so it didn’t take me long to get down to my tighty-whities. She was right. The gown was a joke. It might have fit a six-year-old child, but not a seventy-seven-year-old senior citizen. Once it was on, I sat back down on the exam table and waited.
Five minutes later there was a cursory knock on the door and three people entered: the original lady, a second even more attractive forty-something female and a young man in his twenties. I asked the new arrivals what their roles were. The new lady introduced herself as Lesley and told me she was a PA. “You won’t see Dr. Smith unless you need surgery.”
“Well, then I hope I never see him.”
After that Lesley introduced the twenty-something as a medical student doing his first internship. The young man shook my hand and asked if he could stay to observe my exam. As a former educator I want everyone to keep on learning, so I said. “Sure. No problem.”
Lesley produced a magic light with a magnifying glass and began to scan my face. As she scanned, she asked if I had any areas, other than my nose, that concerned me. I didn’t. She felt the texture of the dry spot on the bridge and said, “This isn’t cancer, but I’ll zap it with liquid nitrogen, so it doesn’t become a larger issue.”
As soon as she stopped speaking, the young intern said, “May I touch it?” I looked at him quizzically and he continued. “May I touch your nose. We’re taught in school to ask before touching.”
“Touch away.”
After Lesley examined my face, she went to the top of my head and pulled my hair apart looking for abnormalities. She found one. “This is probably nothing, but we should do a biopsy just in case. I’ll take a sample when I finish your body scan.”
She examined my hand and arms. After zapping a couple spots on my arms, she lowered the gown to look at my chest and worked her way around to my back. All clear.
As she moved down to my legs, she pulled the gown up. All that was left was a ball of paper sitting on my lap. When she asked me to stand up, it fell to the floor. I found myself dressed only in my underwear, and thankful that I’d worn my best pair.
When she completed the exam of my legs, she asked me to sit down. She returned to the top of my head, took a picture of the suspicious spot, scraped a sample and then showed me the picture. It looked a bit like an outline of Italy.
When they finished, she said, “We’ll give you some privacy so you can get dressed.” I thought to myself, I’ve spent the last twenty minutes with three strangers, clad only in my BVDs and now I’m getting some privacy?
Modesty be damned.
Modesty goes right out the window when those little paper gowns appear. Aren’t you glad you weren’t wearing those little pink undies your mother let you borrow? You’re very lucky to have lived here for 20 years and hadn’t been a regular with the Dermatologist.