Well, first of all...

For the benefit of Mrs. Adams, this is what sort of paper boxer shorts I am required to drape myself in when I visit the quackhouse: the lovely Graham MediShorts. As you can see, they are constructed of a durable nonwoven material which provides comfort with modest coverage, and they have a latex-free sewn elastic waist band to ensure a secure fit. They come in an attractive navy blue color, and offer a fit reminiscent of a pair of 19th Century Zouave pantaloons. They are used by my physician as an alternative to the normal exam gown, or as an alternative to having me wander about the exam room naked.

All in all, it was one of my less horrifying exams. For those of you who have come upon Possumblog recently, and haven't had the intestinal fortitude to explore the archives to see what you have missed, my annual physicals and various semi-annual rechecks and drop-ins to the doctor have long formed a base for much blogging merriment, as well as pushing forward the boundaries of medical science. You also got to learn about great art, such as that produced by the Lewitt-Him partnership or by famous wood mosaicist De Groot.

My former doctor retired a couple of years ago--he was a very good old-school sort of fellow, thorough, with a wonderful dry wit and a less-than-wonderful gloved hand technique that felt more like he was trying to chop timber. He handed over (no pun intended) part of his patients, including me, to a replacement doctor, who just happens to be very female. Which I really didn't mind at the time--I don't get freaked out by women doctors (my sister's one) and I figured, rightly, that her fingers would be of an exponentially smaller diameter.

After having gotten to know her, I can say she knows her stuff and I feel like she's concerned and involved in my care, and also has a wicked sense of humor.

Got to the office and saw that there had been some kind of turnover since my last visit--the receptionist was different, and was NOT the crone with the voice box full of gravel, but was a nice-looking young lady in scrubs. I was hoping this was a trend, because the last time I was in for a follow-up visit in November, I was seen by yet another hot young chick wholesome, efficient and friendly young nurse who looked like Denise Richards. Imagine my surprise when the door to the exam corridor opened and out stepped a nurse to call my name who was a dead ringer for...




a very burly George Clooney. Oh well.

Amazingly, for such a large man, Burly was very light on his feet. We went to the scale, where I found I had lost no weight, but then again, had gained none. "My shoes weigh 15 pounds, you know." Burly almost laughed, raised his eyebrow, and then cheated me a pound or two off. "I have some of those heavy shoes, too," he said. Back to the exam room and it was thankfully one WITHOUT a picture of cast-off wood bits. It had a print of the old Birmingham Terminal Station by local artist Carl Salter. Much nicer. Pulse, BP. Normal on both.

Wait. Read oldish copy of USNews and World Report, talking about the powerhouse Howard Dean campaign, and wondering if anyone could stop his momentum. Their best guess was genial game-show host John Edwards, who was set forth as a spoiler. Also noted John Kerry, whom the article noted served in Viet Nam. Who knew?! (I think his campaign needs to let people know that.)

Doc came in and we chatted for a while--all my bloodwork was more or less normal, although I think I'm going to have to not sneak anymore steak, egg and cheese breakfast burritos from Sonic. At least for a while. Time then for the fun paper panties, and she turned to step out and let me change. As she reached for the door, I pleaded, "I just need to check and see, but is there any way I can just tell you everything's okay up inside there?" She paused and thoughtfully looked up, "Mmmm...no." ::sigh::

Got nekkid and into my paper, then she came back in. Looked deep into my head holes, listened to my heart and lungs, felt my innards, and then it was time. She stepped to the door and asked Burly to stand in for a minute while she did the final check. It was bad enough the first time there had to be a witness in the room, back when it was her first nurse who looked a bit like a young Lulu Roman. But now, I think I was much less comfortable with said witness being someone whom (I imagined to myself) enjoyed this sort of activity recreationally away from work. Oh well.

As Burly came in, Doc allowed that she does have several patients who flatly refuse to be examined, and said that her women patients were worse about it than the men. "Well, I guess I don't mind incredibly much--I mean, you ARE a doctor a..."

"No I'm not."

Told you she had a wicked sense of humor.

Anyway, no untoward lumps or knots or other horrors, and I was ready to go. After I got my clothes on, of course. And, Marc, I was able to walk out of there without doing the Silly Walk.

And now you know more than you ever wanted to about me.
posted by Terry at 9:08:00 AM