The Doctor Visit

It began as a regular, humdrum doctor visit. In fact, I was feeling rather smug, proud of myself for addressing a nagging problem before it got way worse. I’m pushing 60 and I thought, new year, new me! Proactive! Don’t let things happen – make them happen!

Over the previous few weeks, I’d begun playing tennis twice as often as before, and my knees were whining. The compression wraps I used, with tourmaline (heat-producing) magnets in them, had worked surprisingly well for a few years but the jig was up. Ouch.

So, off I go to the doctor, a guy in my physician group I’ve never seen before, presenting with a case of achy knees, likely arthritis, bursitis, or some other kind of inflammation-itis.

We meet, exchange pleasantries, and he listens as I explain my knee situation. After running through standard range of motion and pain location evaluation, he says, “It looks like patellofemoral pain – not a tear, just inflammation under the knee cap.” He says no need for an orthopedic exam, prescribes physical therapy and a stretching regimen, and is about to leave when I say, “Oh, wait, there’s one more thing I wanted to ask you.”

I have this dry patch of skin on the back of my left calf. Been there, and only there, for years. I was out of the prescription steroidal ointment that’s good for it so I asked him to prescribe it for me. He said, “Show me that patch.”

Crap. I didn’t think this all the way through. Biting my lip a bit, in full cringe, I rolled up my pant leg to reveal the unshaven, unmoisturized middle-aged leg that I first saw on my mother a million years ago. I tried to laugh off the reptilian dry scales but he was all business.

Through my fog of silly yet palpable shame, I hear him say, “Well, you may want to use moisturizer.” I eke out, “Oh, I usually do, of course, but uh, well, I haven’t showered yet today…” My voice fades to black as he scrutinizes both legs now, scaly and pasty, and I cough up, “That rough patch is over here.” After a beat he says, “Oh. I see it now.” (Dying inside.)

He agrees I need the ointment I’d mentioned and types in the prescription. Then he stands up to say goodbye. So much for being proactive; I can barely look him in the eye. And he offers his parting shot on the way out, “You know, losing some weight could give your knees a break, too.”

Worst doctor visit ever.