I enjoy going to medical appointments. Yes, I do have a super primary physician. Yes, they do have an excellent lab and a friendly and professional staff. However, the real enjoyment is watching seniors like myself work through the appointment process. Of course, I don’t mean those dealing with grave illness, or struggling with disabilities. That can be heart breaking at any age.
I rarely drive to appointments at InterMed, only because driving causes me to deal with the Big, big truck – Tiny, tiny parking space phenomena. Subsequently, two days prior an an appointment I grouse about being old, complain about non-existent aches and pains, loudly make an appointment with an attorney to review my will, and repeat, until someone is guilted into offering me a ride. If that doesn’t work, see “Big, big truck – Tiny, tiny parking space phenomena”.
Like eating meals ever earlier, I arrive at appointments with the same aplomb. No, not a plum… I hate plums, especially the two mega producing trees in my yard. Anyway, I pick a seat in the waiting area with the best vantage point for observing human behavior, bring up a digital book on my phone and sit back.
Teamwork…
It seems that old men are often a part of a team that is usually under the direction of a senior woman. A senior woman who had convinced the man to dress like a twelve year old; a jaunty baseball cap, pastel colored buttoned long sleeve shirt, tan Chino shorts… showcasing skinny legs and knobby knees, high on the calf white socks, and brightly colored walking shoes. The latter, inferring a still sporty personality.
The couple sits, often holding hands. She never stops talking to him about meaningful things; future appointments, an adventure in food shopping, grandkids, etc. while he stares straight ahead, not quite sure what she is saying. They call his name. He knows because she told him so. He stands, she offers to go in with him. He declines. She puts her hand gently on the small of his back, and launches him toward the awaiting open door with the ushering, greeting nurse.
No, not ridicule. Quite the opposite. It is a story of people who remain close, know each other well and protect one another in senior years. In abilities, one picks up where the other leaves off. Together, they can do anything. I know. I’ve been there. Now I sit wearing carpenter’s jeans and work boots, and a logoed T-shirt as though still an active member of society. Head down, reading a digital book on my phone.
What? Who? Say again…
Of course there is always the couple where one is hard of hearing… yes, of course it is always the man, and the wife not only has to steer Mr. Magoo around the waiting area and into the exam room, but she is forced to speak loud enough for all to hear. Most of it is a list of reminders of issues to address with the doctor, and to not forget his jacket when he leaves the examination room.
Without a human laser like guidance system to keep me on track, I rely on not wearing a jacket, reference notes stuffed in my pockets, and the kindness of a stranger to wake me from a nap when called. How do they know it is me being called? Well, they non-verbally query one another, find no one takes ownership of the name, and so deduce it must be the old guy seated in the end chair, rhythmically snoring.
What medications are you taking Mr D’Al… sal…escario?
Once in the exam room I pay attention, engage whoever needs engaging, make sure I have the answers to the mental acuity test on the tip of my tongue, “Spell your last name. Date of birth? Still living at…?”. When they ask me to recite the dozen or so prescription drugs that bless me with an almost lifelike appearance, I thumb through my wallet, take out a neatly typed medication list and hand it over. I keep a second copy of the list in my wallet, because the nurse will leave, not update the list, and the doctor will ask for the same information along with “Is your blood pressure always that high?”.
Doctors want the pharmaceutical name for medications spoken aloud, and they get annoyed if you cannot do so. To me, drugs have names that read like Welsh road signs. No, I do not know why. I cannot remember and/or pronounce the word “atorvastatin”, so I refer to all medications of that ilk as Lipitor, even if it is not. So a couple of runs at pronouncing Metoprolol, like a person simultaneously speaking French and throwing up, will usually cause the doctor to accept the second typed list and figure the rest out for himself.
You drove. No, you drove. No…
So I wrapped up with the doctor. On a first name basis, we part company on a firm handshake. No check out required, so it’s to the lobby elevator, and out into the parking area to wait to be picked up. There is a nice bench at the lobby exit to the indoor parking. A place to kick back, take in the exhaust fumes and watch arrivals file in.
This last time, a black SUV pulled up adjacent to the lobby door, but in the middle of the roadway. The back lift gate was full open on arrival, and the vehicle was unsteadily being brought to a full stop with more than a little brake, gas, brake, gas action. A woman jumped out of the driver’s side, flinging the door open and out into the path of passing traffic. Squealing tires, wild veering, loud expletives followed.
Leaving her door fully opened, she walked around to the passenger’s side door, opened it, freeing an elderly man. He popped out, unfolded a walker, and proceeded to shuffle step his way through the automatic lobby doors. The woman who brought him followed close behind. The doors closed, ten minutes passed, and then the elderly gentleman… without the walker, and without the woman, shuffle stepped his way back to the car.
He opened the back door on the passenger side and tossed in the refolded walker. Without closing that door, or the front passenger door that had been left open since arrival, he circumvented the rear of the vehicle, ignored the still open tailgate, made his way to the still open driver’s side door, and pretty much fell into the driver seat. The car had never been shut off, so he just floored the gas, then jammed on the brakes and repeated until inertia slammed all of the doors shut, with the exception of the tailgate, and he had exited the parking lot.
About ten minutes later, the female member of his team exited the building, came over and sat down on the bench. I glanced over, but she just looked straight ahead. About 20 seconds later she whispered, “He’ll be back. He does this a lot”.