Today, I visited the doctor for my annual physical. It’s
funny how things have changed. In my younger life, I rarely had a physical, and
when I did, the entire thing consisted of checking my heart beat, determining
my hearing by holding a watch up to my ears, weighing on a scale, and peeing in
a
The first part of physicals these days is spent with a
nurse. She checked pulse, weight, and blood pressure. Then Linda and I had an
interesting talk about my medications. I nodded with the naming of every one of
them. Then I asked her to make sure the doctor wrote a new prescription for
Flonase and Nexium.
I’d name the rest of
the pills if I could spell them. All I know is that each morning and again each
night I swallow a fistful of pills and capsules. When a couple of them run in
short supply, I become nervous. The last thing I need is a case of acid reflux
or a bout of restless leg syndrome.
Doctor Catherine Mathes is my doctor. She took care of my
mother for several years, and I swear by her. She’s a no-nonsense doctor who
takes excellent care of her patients. She came into to the room and sat down at
the computer. The doctor reviewed my record while catching up on my condition at
present. I told her I was worn out, and she surmised that being so was, in
part, the result of getting older. Then she asked me how I felt, what physical
problems I had experienced, and whether any things had changed unexpectedly.
All answers were “no.”
An EKG was in order this year, so I lay upon the table as
Linda attached a handful of wires to my chest. It occurred to me that those
leads resembled the spark plug wires and distributor in my old Pathfinder. The
car is 30 years old but still manages to chug along; I do the same. When I was
young, those sticky things didn’t bother me a bit. Now, they are painfully
removed along with a small crop of gray hair. How’d that stuff get there and
turn so gray?
A few deep breaths, a couple of thumps on my abdomen, and new
prescriptions led to the end of my exam. I managed to escape the prostate exam
this year, and I said a quick, silent prayer. For some reason, I felt better;
maybe the fact that no serious “Hmm’s” were uttered let me know that I was good
to go.
Dr. Mathes escorted me to a waiting room, and ere long, a
man came in with a small clear cup with a lid. Yep, it was time to pee in that
cup, open a small metal door, and place it on the shelf. Some
Soon, I was off to the lab where three vials of blood were
drawn. Then I was sent to x-ray for a picture of my chest. Even though I’ve
been a reformed smoker for 13 years, the doctor wants a yearly
Finally, I walked to the last procedure of the exam. A nice
young women looked at the paper I handed her and then announced that I owed a
$35 co-pay. I thanked the clerk and walked out the door. Thankful for a good report and feeling
healthy, I decided to take the stairs instead of the elevator. By the time I
reached to ground floor, my legs were weak and muscles were burning. That was
all right with me. My mind focused on finding something to eat since I’d been
ordered to fast the following night.
The next visit is a year away. The goal is to do a better
job of living a healthy life, something I plan to start as soon as I pick up an
order of biscuit and gravy from Hardees.
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