Last week I had my yearly check-up with the nurse practitioner at my doctor’s office, a woman I call, “the investigator.” She will tease out any underlying health issues and make you pay attention to them whether you want to or not.
I always try to present myself as someone who is pro-active in her own health and does the responsible thing at all times. When she asks, “Do you practice breast self-awareness?” I say “Yes,” but she catches me this time.
“Do you know the difference between breast self-examination and self-awareness?” she asks.
“No, I guess I don’t,” I admit.
Those medical elite are always changing the rules and regulations. They finally realized that in order to know if there is a new lump in your breast, you have to know what that breast usually feels like, because breasts are naturally lumpy.
One point for her.
The investigator has a huge list of questions for me, like, “Any aches and pains or stiffness?”
Now who, at the age of seventy-one, doesn’t have any aches and pains or stiffness from time to time? But I’m not going to admit it because that will surely lead to more investigation and advice.
“Nope,” I answer.
She gives me a surprised look. “Well, that’s great,” she says, like I just won the Boston marathon.
She always asks about my level of physical activity, and I prove I’m telling the truth when she checks my abs during the physical examination. I tell her about my strength training, my walking in the woods up and down hills, and Dance Dance Revolution—an MP-3 interactive game that came out before Nintendo’s Wii.
“There’s a lot of jumping up and down in that one,” I tell her.
“And you don’t leak urine when you jump?”
No, I say emphatically, but a few minutes later she asks me if I wear a sanitary pad to catch those leaks.
She asks every question twice in a different way, to catch you, but I am determined to win this game.
I always prepare for these visits by making sure I have all the evidence to back up my position: I take my blood pressure after meditating so it will be low, and I write this number down.
My blood pressure is always too high when the investigator takes it in her office, so I need to prove that it’s an anomaly she doesn’t have to worry about. This time I meditate while sitting in the waiting room before she calls me in. But after her zillion questions, I’ve lost my calm.
I can always tell by the look on her face when my blood pressure reading is too high, but I breathe deeply, hoping for a better outcome. This time it’s not outrageously bad, just a bit over my normal, so she lets it pass.
I’ve written down all the supplements and meds I take, plus I brought in a jar of something called “Mannose-D” so she can check the ingredients herself. I found this supplement online after doing a lot of research. Doctors today know that they don’t have an official cure for every problem, so they are more relaxed about their patients finding their own cures.
They just want to make sure we’re not taking something that can do more harm than good.
What you want to present to your doctor is that you are a model patient: you take the doctor’s advice. You are pro-active. You monitor your own health. But most important, you are of sound mind and can make good decisions.
I want as little interference in my life as possible from my doctors. If there’s a problem—sure—I want it solved immediately. But when I go for my wellness visit, I don’t want them to find anything or hassle me about new tests and procedures.
I just want to get out of there with my sleep-aid prescription and get on with my life. But the investigator questions how often I’m taking the temazepam, worried, she says, that I might become addicted to it if I take it too many nights in a row.
“I’m aware of that,” I say. “I’m careful about it. But my therapist says it’s important to get a good night’s sleep.”
Got her there. Can’t argue with the therapist, can you?
Prescription in hand, I hightail it out of there.
