My Trip to the Doctor's Office

Late yesterday, I started feeling a stiffness in my lower back. Now, I'm no stranger to back pain, but this was a whole new thing. By bedtime, it was much worse (I had a hard time sitting still during the Heroes premier) and by this morning, I decided I should check in with the doctor. I didn't really think anything was wrong besides normal back stuff, but I wanted to be sure. And I was hoping to get some good drugs out of it. Then the rest of my week would go much easier, and everybody wins. So I made an appointment to see the doctor.

I actually love my doctor. She's a jolly German woman who always answers all of my questions and takes as much time as I need. The only downside is, apparently, she does this for all of her patients, because by 8:15 everyday, she's about two hours behind on her appointments. My appointment was for 11:00, so I was prepared for a wait. I wasn't disappointed.

This time, one of the nurses actually came out and told everyone that the doctor was running even later than usual (someone had come in with some bizarre illness that wreaked havoc on the whole morning) but sit tight, we'll be with you in a minute. Since sitting was much more uncomfortable for me than standing, I opted to stand tight while I waited. Apparently, standing up is the universal sign for "I'm next" because every time someone came in and approached the desk, they looked at me and said "Are you next?" "No, I'm just standing tight."

After a few days, they call me. And I get to wait in a much smaller room. But I stood in there patiently and read every magazine they had (did you know that Amy Grant and Vince Gill routinely have 75 people over for Thanksgiving? or that you can make a wicked sweet hummus out of edamame?) before finally seeing the nurse.

My doctor's office recently started using electronic medical records, which I think is kind of cool. I feel like I'm in sickbay on the Enterprise. So I sit (and stand periodically) and answer this barrage of questions about my pain while this nurse types away. "Does it hurt more at some times than others? Is it excruciating? Does it radiate outward? Do you have any tingling anywhere? Are you incontinent? Do you have any abnormal secretions? ("No, just the normal ones.") And so on.

Then she starts reviewing my history. "It says here you are allergic to betadine?"

"I don't think so."

"Are you sure?"

"Pretty sure. I don't even know what that is."

"So, you are NOT allergic to Betadine?"

"Do they make cats out of betadine? I'm allergic to cats."

"It says here that you broke out in a rash and your throat closed up when you came in contact with betadine."

"Nope. I think I would remember that."

"OK," she says "I'll just take this off." She said it like I was returning a pair of socks I had already worn.

Now, I realize that most of you would be seeing a red flag at this point. But please know - when this office first converted to electronic records, my doctor was covering my history with me and it showed a record of gall stones and herpes. I have had neither. So my doctor said "Oh well, we'll just get rid of those." (I'm telling you, if you ever get gall stones or herpes, go see this doctor.) So I'm not at all concerned that my record shows a betadine allergy (I still don't know what that is.)

But then she continues to ask questions that don't seem quite right to me. Remember the Seinfeld episode where the newspaper reporter was interviewing Jerry, and she thought he and George were gay, and Jerry wasn't quite following her line of questioning? Remember the face he was making? That was me.

Finally, she says "And you're still taking claritin and naproxin?"

"Neither. Are you sure this is me?" (I point to the screen.)

"Do you live at 119 Suchandsuch street?"

"Nope."

"Is your name Ginger?"

"Nope."

"Oooohhhhhh." "I'll be right back."

So she finally finds my record and we go through the incontinence line of questioning again. (I was incontinent at that point, so we had a whole new set of answers to work with.)

Finally, I see the actual doctor, who diagnosed me with standard lower back strain, and who very gladly wrote me a prescription for some good drugs. I'm about to take some, and drift away to the land of rainbow ponies and marshmallows. But can I really rest well, knowing that some woman named Ginger with a horrible betadine allergy no longer has record of that allergy in her medical history? If the drugs are good enough, I bet I can.