Last Monday I went to Labcorp here in town for my two hour blood test, which wound up being a three hour blood test.
First, they had me come in at 7 a.m. when they open up, and I got there about 10 minutes to, but of course, all the senior citizens who have no jobs and nowhere to go have to be lined up there ahead of me. They probably slept there the night before. Those old biddys queue up like the Beatles were having a reunion concert and tickets just went on sale. Then there was another woman who came into the vestibule complaining about how she had to make it to work, and I let her go ahead of me. I wouldn't want her having a coronary. So it was the old biddys, the lady with a job, and then me. They wound up not starting my test until 7:45.
Well, the way Dr. Melville asked this test to be done must really be unusual, because it totally threw the Lab Ladies for a loop. "Why is he doing it this way? I don't understand why he's doing it this way! I've never seen it done this way! You know I'm going to have to stick you five times?" Whatever. I've got to do what I've got to do, right? So they stuck me for a few vials of blood, because not only was Melville checking for glucose and insulin over a two-hour period, he was also checking about 15 other bodily functions as well. Then they gave me the sugary goo, gave me a timer set for 30 minutes, and sent me off to a little room to watch t.v. The problem soon became, when the timer went off, they weren't ready to check me, so what should have been blood draws in half-hour increments turned into 40 minute or more increments, and I wound up not getting out of there until 10:45. I'll just have to let Dr. Melville know that what's marked "two hours" is really three. I'm sure he can piece it together. I go back to him this Wednesday.
Now I'm going to talk about "female problems" now, so the squeamish men can skip this.
It had been at least four years since my last gynecological exam...at least four years. In fact, it may haven been longer than that. I don't do well with those pesky pelvic exams so the old gyno wasn't on the top of my list. But what finally got me off my rump was a monthly friend that hung around for two weeks. Not to mention that this friend comes to visit a little too often and I'm getting sick of it. So I found a new OB/GYN at Thomas Jefferson and went today. I'm not so thrilled with the staff at this place right off the bat....it's definitely another Physician Factory line with tons of patients and you're lucky to get 10 minutes with the doctor. The intake was a little different, though...they have a PC on the front desk and you put your own name into it to let them know you're there, and then they call you. But they know I'm here because I haven't had an exam in years, and at first they put me in the doctor's office because they don't realize I'm here for an exam. When they finally figure out I should be in the exam room instead, the room is so small and full of junk it makes my work desk look like it belongs to Martha Stewart, but whatever. I can't judge the doctor on the level of clutter. I've been in beautiful, immaculate offices where the doctors are idiots.
Dr. Zacher is probably about 50 and reminds me of the Church Lady...dowdy and humorless. I managed to get her to actually make conversation with me though, but it was tough. I got her to open up about Governor Rendell and malpractice insurance in Pennsylvania while her resident did the pelvic exam. Well, the bottom line is, it's never good when the resident takes one look and says, "Uh, Dr. Zacher, can you take a look at this please?" And now they're both staring up there mumbling about a "grey patch" and "don't swab it with the Q-tip" and I don't know what else, but they were very concerned about my "grey patch" and my abnormal bleeding and now I've got to go back in three weeks for an endometrial biopsy. Am I a little freaked out? Yeah, but honestly I'm more freaked out about having a biopsy of ANYTHING while I'm awake. The thought of sharp things without benefit of anesthesia is more distressing right now than the possibility of cancer. Hell, I'm eight hours apart from that little pelvic exam and my uterus still feels like it was combed with a cheese grater. How am I going to feel when they snip it? Oh hell. I told Jim he's coming with me for the biopsy, because I'm going to hepp myself up on so many pain killers I'll need him to lead me around by the hand to make sure I get on the right train coming back to New Jersey.
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