Gimme the stethoscope

and I’ll do it myself. *eye roll*

First thing, I busted my ass getting everyone up, out and to school on time to make it possible to arrive at Dr Z’s office on time. I was there at 9am and the place was locked up tight, no one in sight. I sat on the cushioned bench outside his office and called.
”Hello, I have an appointment this morning. Am I at the wrong office?”  Yes and no. They moved,  thankfully I didn’t have to drive all the way to Chadd’s Ford. That was an additional 20 minutes commute. The new office was less than 5 minutes away and back the way I came. When the patient makes and appointment, wouldn’t it be a good idea to tell the patient the office moved? I have seen my doc a handful of times, why didn’t he tell me himself? He pops in to work, we chit chat, he writes some orders and then signs some charts. He leaves. No mention of an office move. His office moves as often as a crackhead moves.  He’s nomadic like that.

I arrive at the new place and it’s a store front. I hate offices in store fronts. It’s so impersonal. So business-like and medicine should not be business, but it is. My externship medical assistant made sure to fill me in on her medical history while taking mine and trying hard to input the info into the computer system.
“How tall are you?”
”4’11.”
“Wow, I don’t even think I can put that in the computer.” O.M.G. yes you can, but I kept my mouth shut.
“How about 5 foot?”
”Oh, ok. I can put that in.” She says. “What’s that in inches?”
O.M.G., “60 inches.”  This is where I am begging to the Lord I don’t believe in that this MA won’t draw.my.blood. Please, Lord I don’t believe in, please, Lord, are you listening????????

“Why are you here?” She asks.
Good question, “An annual physical. Labs. Ummm, that’s why. I am not ill or anything.”
She types away, “What was your weight?”
”167.” I answer.
”Well, what did you weigh before?”
”Umm, 181.” She types. I have lost 14 pounds. Woot-woot!!!

She finishes up inputting my info, then attempts a blood pressure. I get a little tingle inside because she uses a manual cuff. A real manual blood pressure cuff and a stethoscope. She couldn’t get the pressure. She leaves me to get help. Help. With a blood pressure. That’s like first day of school shit right there. Please, Lord I don’t believe in, please, Lord, are you listening????????don’t let her draw my blood.

134/68. Great. I can live with that. Pulse-102, pulse ox%-98. I’m going to live through the appointment. She leaves me again, so I facebook what I hear, thinking HIPPA, HIPPA, HIPPA as I type that Ralph needs valtrex, but it’s an expensive antiviral. Which anti-viral would be good for Ralph? This one? I don’t think they even make that anymore, the doc tells him. Cause Ralph is a penny pincher with shingles. “It’s ok to lance that I think. “ Lance that?! Jesus. Ralph is a senior and wants to lance his shingles blisters. Fuck, no. Do that and it spreads more. No, Ralph, I felt like screaming, No, Ralph! Don’t lance it! It ain’t a boil, Ralph!

Usually Dr Z’s office is a mecca for seniors like Ralph, retarded people with their care providers and mental cases with their care providers. People that should not be left loose on their own 2 wheels or their own two feet. This morning it was me and Ralph. And the pharmacy rep with her samples had to wait in the lobby. Yes!

Dr Z walks through the door and tells me that I sound wonderful. He can hear me wheezing in the hallway. Well, It could be morning lung? And I have the tail end of a chest cold. Tail end? That’s no tail end, Jill. OK, ok, he gives me the once over and decides I need steroids and a z pack. And the inhaler. How bout a ventilator, doc? I’m a DNR!!!
” But…but what? Are you using your inhaler?”
” No, only when I need it.”
Well, you need it (as directed).

He asks about the family, the sister I don’t speak to and the mother I don’t speak to. We talk about the dead ones I wish I could speak to. We talk about pharmacies and the e-sciber system and the fines the docs will get if the don’t e-scribe. We chat about work, administration or the lack thereof. We chit chat and chit chat and then he leaves me with…her. The MA that is shaking because she has to draw blood.

Brain tumor surgery and hysterectomy MA who is a former smoker who has gained so much weight is shaking. Please, Lord I don’t believe in, please, Lord, are you listening????????don’t let her draw my blood.
He wasn’t hearing me and there she was with 6 tubes and a big fucking needle and her basket of band aids and cotton balls…shaking. Oh, fuck, here we go. So I am a trooper. I had to learn how to draw bloods too and used many, MANY as my guinea  pigs. I was scared too, so I turned my head after I told her which fat covered vein was appropriate. And she did great! That’s when she asked me about being a medical assistant. When did I go to school?
“Oh, I am not a medical assistant. I’m a RN. I work in a nursing home. I’m a supervisor.”
OUT COMES THE NEEDLE with 3 tubes to go. Oh, FFS, “it’s ok.” I tell her. “That happens.” Not really, but she looked devastated. I offer up my other arm, she ties me off, she hits the vein. She’s apologizing still. I used to have a hard time with needles til I had babies. Then the blood stops flowing. I wriggle around cause sometimes that’s a positional thing and we’re all good.

I peed in a cup afterwards and left and all is well.

***

The point to this post is that the medical staff you trust all have to learn somewhere. Every MA, every RN, every MD has to start somewhere. Allow first timers to first time on you. Pop their cherries with a smile, some humor and some understanding.

Jill
1/31/12