Blood Work

Being the typical American male, there are very few things that I dread and fear worse than routine physicals from Doctors.I have to go every six months to have my prescriptions renewed and I start dreading the ordeal on my way home from the most recent exam for the next six months. Now my medical problems at this stage of my life seems to be wrapped up in hypertension and cholesterol control;that is not to say that I don't have some mental issues, but I'm working through those myself. Freudian Psychology seems to be a walk through the park compared with the tight path of living with a woman, but I'm learning that after 32 years and I feel that my success is much like alcoholism,i.e. one step at a time.Anyway I digress,as I was discussing trips to the MD. My last visit in July of last year was wrapping up, and Johnny Clark( my personal physician) was writing out my prescription renewals and he casually mentioned that he was writing out an order for my blood work since it had been a while since I had had my blood checked. No kidding, Johnny. I feel my blood needs to stay in a sealed system without interruptions from nosy medical peoploe.However I didn't say anything to the Doc because he had already written the prescriptions and I was leaving that antiseptic, alcohol smelling place with a song in my heart!No blood work for me this time!!Well as I knew it would happen , the 6 months rolled around and I kept counting down my pills and the sense of growing dread each night as the Lipitor and Diovan steadily shrank inside my bottle. I was counting the pills with less than a week left when I dropped a Lipitor down the drain! Holy Hell !!I had just taken a day off my rapidly approaching appointment.It suddenly struck me that I was going to have to get the bloodwork done before I met with the physician. Well I hope the blood babes have a sense of humor , and afterall, 6 months isn't a long time to be behind; at least in the perspective of the historical eras. I got the blood test and saw Johnny and everything was ok. I always thing that my blood sugar will be high or that the PSA (prostate something I think)will be off the scale, or that my cholesterol will be up again. Everything was normal and I immediately thought that they had mixed mine up with someone else, but I didn't push the issue. One reason I hate the ritual is that you have to go to a crowded waiting area filled with old farts who love frequent visits for exams and bloodwork, and talk to each other about medical procedures while they waiting . Every old person in the room knew as much medicine as the Doctor and was keen to tell everyone in the room about the past medical tests. One old biddy had had every scope run up, down, in, and out of her wrinkled,mummified body , and proudly proclaimed each procedure. Another was sitting there clearly 200 pounds overweight, wedged into a chair that was threatening to collapse at any minute. The old biddy knew her and asked what was wrong with her and the behemoth said she had an ear infection. I wanted to scream"Hell lady you need some bloodwork!" But I didn't, as I only wanted white noise and peace!! Maybe some Bose headphones with Steely Dan masking out the old crone. A little Deacon Blue would cause the systolic pressure to decrease. Another thought was how nice one of those buzzers like you are given in restaurants to tell you when your table is ready would be in this waiting room hell. Every so often some shrew would open the door and nasally shout someone's name above this cacophony, and I wished I was somewhere else. A barroom brawl would have been less wearing on my nerves;at least there's usually not an octagenarian coughing and wheezing their rheummy lungs all over your space! There was one brief silver lining in this medical hell as some Pharmaceutical Rep babe came waltzing through on her way to give samples and pens with drug names to the Doctors. She was young, attractive , and wearing long ,pointed stripper shoes. Johnny Clark got to see her and I had to listen about Granny's colonoscophy.Life is sometimes not fair. So here I am dreading the next visit six months from now, a little happy the last one was ok, but a little afraid of the next one. They call Alabama the Crimson Tide, Call me Deacon Blue.