My trip to the doctor, by eeka

I think this might be a first. I actually had a doctor's visit that I found interesting. I do mean that I found it "interesting" as in "humorous, intriguing, educational," not that I found it "interesting" as in "how the fuck do these people have medical licenses and who thought this sofa was attractive?"

2:30 After an afternoon several days of bouncing off the walls and freaking out about said doctor's visit, I realize I forgot the little blue embossed card thingy that Brigham and Women's Hospital kindly sent me after I called and made the appointment. I send an IM to Adam, who always has a good answer to every question, even if not necessarily a correct answer, and ask him if he is aware of the procedures involving these blue cardsOMG HOLY SHIT I FORGOT THE BLUE CARD ARE THEY GOING TO REFUSE TO SEE ME OR FLOG ME OR SUBJECT ME TO UNNECESSARY MEDICAL PROCEDURES INVOLVING LUBE. He informed me that, no, they wouldn't flog me, but the "woman with glasses hanging around her neck on a chain will look at you as if you've committed a series of murders, then will politely and patiently explain to you the alternative procedure for registering for your appointment."

3:15 I step off the train, laugh at "Peter Bent Brigham" sign, find the correct building, find my way to the office.

3:20 I walk into the office, walk up to the check-in desk, notice that the woman has glasses hanging around her neck on a chain.

Me: Hima'amIhaveanappointmentwithgastroenterologyat3:30
pleasedon'thurtme

Her: Can I have your blue card?

Me: OhI'mterriblysorryImusthavemisplacedit
I'mtooyoungtodienoyoudon'twanttoreachforthosescissorsjustnow

Her: *looks at me as if I've committed a series of murders*

Me: *scans around to see what other weapons are within her reach*

Her: All right, I'll need your name and date of birth, and I can get you another blue card just this once. But I do want you to remember that you need to think of your blue card as your American Express to The Brigham. You need to keep it in a safe place.

My brain: It's in a safe place...the safe place just happens to be on top of my desk. Which I didn't bring.

My mouth: UmyesIwillma'amthankyousomuch

3:30 I get called into exam room, where my blood pressure is approximately 400 over 399. The doctor comes in, talks to me, gets particular points for not mentioning the blood pressure, thus requiring me to explain that, yes, I'm neurotic everywhere, but I'm only neurotic enough to risk bursting my aorta while in doctor's offices. She answers questions, explains things, is a generally helpful and thorough and considerate doctor. She writes me a prescription and a labwork slip and I'm on my way.

4:30 I stop by the reception desk to ask for directions to the lab.

American Express To The Brigham Agent: Hi, can I help you?

Me: Yes, could you tell me how I get to the lab?

AETTBA: Wait wait wait. First we need to get a few things straight here.

She grabs my lab slip from one hand, my blue card from the other, efficiently flattens the paper out, and paperclips the card to the paper. She gives me a look that doesn't seem to involve any accusations of murder this time, but rather conveys that she only helped me arrange the documents correctly out of pure compassion and understanding, because she just couldn't bear to have sent me on my way with the documents all unfastened as I had had them, which would have caused all kinds of trouble in the lab and would have prevented me from receiving any sort of healthcare. She pulls out a map of the hospital and draws an arrow showing me where the lab is.

AETTBA: There you are now.

Me: Thanks

I bolt out of there as fast as I can to the lab.

4:45 They take my blue card. I sit there with a tourniquet on my arm, worrying about the fate of My American Express To The Brigham and hoping no one is making any unauthorized charges. I think back to the canary and goldenrod papers I signed back in the appointment suite and try to remember if I decided on the optional protection plan on the--OW! Jeez.

The vampire phlebotomist tapes a piece of cotton to my arm, because apparently phlebotomy school doesn't teach people about the existence of bandaids. Blood is sent off to wherever it is that blood is sent. I am handed my blue card. I step out into the lobby and walk off on a little detour to snap some photos of a few signs that I noticed early and found to have particular artistic and cultural merit hilarious because I really am a 12-year-old boy.



5:15 A security guard stops me in the hall.

Him: Is there something I can help you with?

Me: No, sir. I was just leaving.

Him: See that you do.

I head out of there, realizing that it had actually been more than two years since the last time I got kicked out of somewhere.

I really accomplished quite a lot during one short visit.