Watch what you say to your doctor, jeez. This new doc I talked about seeing last week took the records from my old doc and just copied a bunch of stuff without going over it with me – and the stuff was wildly inaccurate. Unbeknownst to me the first doc had written this about me:
None of which is true. None of it!
Take syncope, which means fainting. Sure, I fainted some in my school days but the roots of that were theological. The minute I joined the Congregational Church the fainting stopped.
And sure I may have mentioned the time I fainted one midnight in a lovely old Vermont farmhouse where I was a guest but that was only because I had spent 8 hours on my feet that day, then driven three hours to get there. At midnight, in my little bed, I suddenly got a cramp in the leg of that accelerator foot that was so painful it lifted me like Lazarus from out-flat to upright in less than half a second. You can’t zoom the elevator to the top that fast without losing a little blood to the head, naturally and so I fainted. Got up too fast from that spectacular slump, and lurched toward the bathroom – where I fainted again, hitting my head on sharp corner of the bathroom vanity en route to the floor.
That’s where the ‘neck pain’ came from: ten days after the episode when the finally did an X-ray to see about things my neck muscles were still in spasm.
So yes I had neck pain, FOR A WHILE, yes.
And I had fainted that night one night; I did. But I haven’t fainted more than twice in 40 years. The only other time I remember fainting was at the Harvard Coop when I was shopping for a nice wide necktie for David’s birthday. It was the 70s and ties were wonderfully wide, and colorful. I went down in the aisle and the floor manager dragged me behind the counter to get me out of the way. (Fainting is like, that, trust me: the people around the fainter just want to haul off the body.)
As for Osteoporosis I don’t know here the first doc got that one, unless it was from the little joke I made about Osteopenia, which I called the other osteo’s waiting room.
I look now at this sheet with my ‘conditions’ on it as I exited he new doc’s office last week and it makes my blood boil. To make matters worse there’s this disclaimer that says if anything is in error tell your PCP. Like, ‘Don’t tell us! We don’t care!’
I found that strange too.
When I first sat down with the new doc I asked the guy Should I write down every procedure I ever had? Meaning should I write that I had my tubes tied back in ‘84?
“Nah,” he said at his desk without even looking over his shoulder at me. “We just care about eye stuff. ”
So there you are: if the first doc wrote down too much and wrote it down inaccurately then this second doc was willing to write down too little.
So maybe the sipping straws that are a person’s fallopian tubes really aren’t that interesting to anyone 30 years down the line but something about the whole thing griped me. I should have told him I’d had my head replaced, like they did with old Jeremy Bentham when they staffed him and put him on display in that British museum. (You see his fake head on top, see, as his actual, somewhat worse-for-the-wear head rests under the chair on which he sits.) I wonder what either one of them would have written down then?