"The dizziness is ALS and the stomach problems is Crohn's disease."
I was floored. What I thought was a sinus problem was now going to put me in a wheelchair, and I would check out of the cosmos like Stephan Hawkins except I wasn't nearly as smart as he was. Later I recalled the same experience when I had a lower GI in my twenties. That invasive test was the precursor to the colonoscopy which no 24 year old should have had to endure, but I did because my doctor said so. Further tests were all negative. I was relieved but not before I waited a week for results as I practiced typing my blog with one of those unicorn head appendages. I really sweated it out.
Another time I went to a local neurologist for migraines. He was one of those doctors from the middle east which in itself didn't bother me. After examining me for five minutes, he said,
"You had a stroke."
I had just turned fifty and was in good shape. A stroke just didn't seem probable. He had me endure my sixth MRI in three years which revealed nothing so he declared,
"It must be a tumor."
I was a mess. Dr. Sinbad added,
"You can be my patient for the next fifteen years, then I'll retire."
What the fuck did that have to do with the price of dates in Yemen? Further tests and more waiting turned out all negative. Last year my primary healthcare physician convinced me that I should participate in a "routine hepatitis screening." I didn't have any symptoms, but as he put it,
"We have a treatment now so we're screening everyone."
So I took the test, waited ten days and sure enough it came back negative. I was pretty confident that I didn't have hepatitis because apart from having no symptoms, I never shared needles with drug addicts or socially kissed anyone but my wife. Still I did worry because that is the way my wiring works. I usually plan for the worst, expect the least and prepare for impending disaster. It's not rational, but you can't explain obsessive behavior. It takes ahold of your senses and frames reality in a manner that summons all your fears and folly that lie just beneath your rational self. I vowed never again to let a doctor convince me to take a test in which I was asymptomatic.
Recently during my yearly physical my doctor asked,
"Have you ever had an HIV test?"
"Once a year for twenty years when I was in the navy," I answered.
"Did you ever test positive?" he inquired.
"No," I said, then added, "My wife was tested four times. Twice for each pregnancy."
"Well, you should get tested again."
Now a few months ago while travelling out of state, I was pulled over on the highway by a very imposing looking state trouper who asked me,
"Do you know why I pulled you over?"
"No," I answered.
The officer, who was at least 6 1/2 feet tall, stern faced with a chiseled jaw, looked in the back seat of my car while saying authoritatively,
"Do you have any guns?"
"No," I chuckled nervously.
"Are you sure?" he continued.
His uniform was impeccable. I noticed an expert marksman ribbon on his chest. He seemed so sure of himself. In a moment of lapsed judgment, coupled with a sizeable amount of stupidity, I answered.
"I hope so."
That led to me being asked to exit the vehicle while a canine unit was called in so Dinkles could smell my car. At least they didn't handcuff me. As backup arrived, four cops surrounded me as three more snooped around my car. As all that authority bore down on my aging psyche, I thought,
"I sure hope they don't find any guns."
Now I don't own a gun, but I respect your right to do so. If I had a gun, I would accidently shoot myself taking it out of the packaging it came in. So there was no chance a gun would turn up in my car unless one came with my vehicle unbeknownst to me which I considered even though that scenario seemed unlikely. That's the nature of illogical fears. They don't make sense which is why in retrospect, they're so stupid.
So here I was again, my doctor in his white lab coat, his name stenciled in blue script across his left breast, me sitting atop an examination table wearing one of those open in the back garment, designed to make you feel insignificant. I looked up and saw all his degrees and accolades pinned to the walls. His reasoning for why I should undergo an HIV test at my age faded in my head as did the fact that I've been with the same person for twenty-four years and have had more HIV tests in the military than an award winning adult film star. He was less concerned about the things that were actually ailing me as he pushed the HIV test. Now my idea of risky behavior involves pulling the knife towards my thumb when I carve scrimshaw or perhaps waiting ten minutes to save while I type.
"Sure, " I said. After all what did I have to worry about?
One time I couldn't sleep so I was up late surfing through the thousands of television channels we never watch when I came across Howard Stern interviewing a porn actress who was attempting to beat the record for the number of sexual encounters in an hour. She was shooting for over a hundred or something. She narrated a video showing a horde of guys with their John Thomases pixelized queueing up like they were in a grocery check out line. Stern asked,
"How come some of these guys aren't wearing condoms?"
To which the woman answered, "They're in the business."
It took me a while to fathom that porn actors see themselves as cleaner than the rest of us because they get frequently tested. It doesn't matter that they've had 200 times as many sexual partners as well as engaged in some pretty fucked up shit. They're just cleaner. This is why Stormy Daniels thinks that we should believe her claim that Trump, a germaphobe, had an affair with her while his new wife was pregnant with their son. I think Trump's oldest son, Donald Junior, whose wife suddenly divorced him due to his supposed “frugalness”might have been stupid enough to dip little Donald into the eye of the Storm. I think Trump might have been protecting his son, and when his son's wife found out she decided to punch out of Trump Towers. We'll just have to wait for Stormy's tell all book which I'm sure will be a fascinating read if she can minimize the grammatical errors and number the pages consecutively.
My test results are still not in. I have to say that in typical obsessive compulsive fashion, I've sweated it out even though my behavior is a little less risky than an ugly nun. Most people think when you say you are worried about an HIV tests that you got drunk one night in Vegas after a particularly nasty argument with your wife and woke up in a seedy hotel wearing women's panties with whip cream under your castanets. I submit that hasn't happened. I've never even been to Vegas.
The part that bothers me most of all about all of these medical tests is that none of them are designed to actually make us healthier. We are just billable hours in a healthcare system originally designed to reduce the amount of care we receive. If you don't think so just listen to this tape of President Richard M. Nixon chatting with Domestic Affairs Counsel, John Ehrichman, in regards to the profitability of Health Maintenance Organizations (HMOs), unearthed by Michael Moore for his movie Sicko.
Life becomes more immediate when your vessel begins to break down, and you shift from achievement to survival. The truth is that our vast medical system is doing next to nothing to delay that day from coming.
Update: After waiting ten days, another useless test came back negative.
Update: Stormy Daniels’s book came out in which she dedicated four pages to body shaming President Trump. She later apologized.
Editor's Note: Originally published on September 18, 2018.
No comments:
Post a Comment