A little background first:
Some years ago I was in an accident that damaged my right knee. A month or so ago, I twisted my knee again and finally went to the doctor about it about a week and a half ago. This doctor (Dr. Hoffman) suggested surgery, which I want to avoid. I asked him to refer me to Dr. Rao, the doctor who originally worked on my knee. (I couldn’t go straight to Rao because he’s not covered by my insurance company, but insurance will cover any visits to any doctor my current point of contact doctor refers me to. Does that make sense?)
So I go to Dr. Rao, who immediately chastized me for not keeping up my physical therapy and the fact that I’m still smoking. He checked out my knee and agreed that surgery could be avoidable if I build up my knee strength again. Which means I go back to physical therapy.
He also suggested I lose some weight. Thanks doc, how about next time before you suggest someone loses weight, you actually weigh them on a scale or something? It’s sort of disheartening to go into the doctor office and you take one look at them and say, “You could stand to lose some weight.” Tact, doc, it’s called tact. I know I need to lose weight, I have to look at myself naked in the mirror everyday when I get out of the shower. I don’t need you taking one glimpse of my fat ass and declaring it a matter of medical necessity.
So before putting me on an excerise regimen (apparently the one I had planned for myself would be too strenuous for a fat bastard like myself to start with), Dr. Rao said I should have a physical, since I haven’t had a complete physical since I left the Air Force five years ago. So I made an appointment to come back the next day (which would be this morning) for a physical.
Now in my mind, I think I’m there to get checked out to see how much abuse my knee will take. I started by waiting in the waiting room and finally the receptionist called my name and I was led to an examination room. I was told to strip to my underwear and have a seat. So I did, and of course the only place to sit is on that little bed-like contraption, the padding of which is that special shade of green which is only found on the padding of those bed-like contraptions in examination rooms. So I sat on the deli paper, feeling like a ham and swiss on rye, wishing there was a heater or something in the room, because quite frankly, it was cold in there. It was damn cold. It was nipples-so-hard-they-could-cut-glass cold. After a few minutes, I started to get paranoid and I was sure that the doctor and his assistants were looking at me through a peephole somewhere, all having a good laugh at the fat man on the deli paper. I tested my theory by getting off the bed-like thing and licking all the tongue depressors. If I was being watched, the doctor would be in soon to make me stop.
The doctor arrived just before I was about to have some fun with the little thing they use to check out your ears and told me to have a seat on the bed-like thing again. He talked about my knee problems for a few minutes and sent me to get X-rays to make sure everything is attached the way it should be in there. (I suddenly realized my point-of-contact doctor didn’t do this and made a mental note to myself to change point-of-contact doctors on my insurance when I got home.)
After the X-rays, the doctor took my blood pressure, checked my ears (making me glad I didn’t have time to do what I was planning to do with that thing), and the tongue depressor bit (which I didn’t mind until I started wondering how many other bored people had taken to licking the tongue depressors?). Then it’s time for the hernia test. No big deal, done this before. After the turning-your-head-and-cough bit, I started to pull my underwear back up.
“Not so fast,” said the doctor, “We need to check your prostate.”
Who what huh? “No, no,” I said, “No need for that. I’m just here to make sure I can excerise on my knee.”
“You haven’t had a complete physical in 5 years and you want to start a diet and excersise program,” said the doctor. “You need a complete physical.”
“No,” I argue, “I just need to know if my knee can handle an excercise program. I’m 27. There’s nothing wrong with my prostate or anything in that general area. In fact, that’s the one part of me that still works properly and doesn’t ache in the morning.”
Of course there’s no arguing with a doctor for long, so we’ll just skip over what happened next.
So anyway, long story short (too late), starting next week, I will be going back to a physical therapist to build up my knee strength again, but hopefully surgery will be avoided and if anyone knows why the hell a doctor would need to examine my prostate to tell me if I can go jogging, I’d love an explanation.