It's been 2 doctors since we last spoke. The hard of hearing dermatologist was like a visit to Willie Wonka. We got there, did the paperwork, waited and then this super cool woman-probably a nurse/office manager kind of a person? She actually read what I'd written down in terms of medical forms! I know! That's crazy but usually they don't-so you're starting all over when the nurse types your info into the computer and then you go through it again when the doctor appears. Dollars to doughnuts-it's all about overbooking-the key work here being 'dollars'. Duh.
(Figure 2-P on the exam table. Nurse in far right lower corner. Me in chair facing east and Dr on stool facing west.)
The nurse was extremely sharp also quick witted which is good because when you have a visit from A and P, we are there to brighten your day. "Steroid cream? Is that going to give me a beard?" and like that. We squished into this little exam room. Me, P and she. There was a tiny stool in the corner and P was gonna sit there but she said-no. That's where I sit. So she puts him sitting on the exam table. Like way up in the air from where I was sitting.
If you have never had one P. J. O'C. accompany you to a doctors appointment, I'm afraid you haven't lived. He begins misbehaving as soon as the nurse leaves the room. He puts down his dutiful yellow legal pad and fancy pen and walks all over the place touching stuff and pretending he's going to rifle through the cabinets. And in a gruff (yet lovable) voice I said," Grantley. Cut it out. Get over here by me." Exchanging his name for my beloved dog who might listen to me had she been invited along as opposed to P. but okay probably not.
Okay so. I have the paper robe on the wrong way. (I lost the will to care about modesty a long time ago.) Everybody comes in. The doctor does not smile or introduce himself. He starts giving orders about how I should stand so he can get a good look at this car crash of a skin event.
(Have I mentioned the pain and swelling of my ankles had me back using the rat smasher of a cane? I don't really have the rhythm of walking with a cane down but additional stability was completely appreciated.)
The nurse begins to shout things at him. It appears that he can only hear from the left rear-hey I'm not judging-it's just Really Weird.
He says I need to be 'seen on the University Level'. Which hospital did I prefer. We said Loyola. He seemed pleased because he was the head of the dermatology department for over thirty years. Or something. Don't quote me. Doctors offices make me nervous and stupid. Thus the legal pad and the man who carries it.
His nurse was able to score us a 9:00 appointment the very next day.
That night we had bowls of buttered mashed potatoes for dinner. Tidings of comfort, if not joy.