I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow. I was just thinking about it and thinking *ugh*. I started to contemplate why I’m not a fan of doctors visits and realized I have pretty good reasons to dread them in general.
The first emergency doctor visit I remember was when I was probably around 8 years old. Although I realize I’m guessing on that. I was having really bad chest pains. I don’t remember exactly what they felt like or anything at this point. I don’t know if it was an acid reflux thing, which later I did have issues with, or if it was some other type of pain. We lived in Georgetown and I remember Dad driving very fast to get me to Dover Air Force Base as quickly as he could since I was in pain. By the time we arrived and got to see a doctor the pain wasn’t as bad. I only remember one other thing about this visit. The doctor took his stethoscope and smacked me in the chest with the bell (hard enough to leave a mark) and asked me if it hurt. Yes, it certainly did.
When I was in 4th grade we lived in Georgia for 10 months. I think the water there was terrible or something because I had four cavities, the only ones I’ve ever had. When I was at the dentist having them filled he decided that I didn’t need to be numbed and wanted to basically see if I could suck it up. He said it just feels like when you get ice cream on your teeth and the cold hurts. He told me that all I needed to do was raise my hand if it was too painful and he would stop and numb it. I was a little kid so it didn’t take long for me to decide that was pretty painful and I wanted him to stop so I raised my hand. He ignored it. I waved it. He ignored it. His assistant had to say something to him multiple times before he finally sighed and stopped. I had tears rolling down my cheeks at that point.
I broke my big toe on my left food at my neighbor’s house when I was probably around 12 years old. We had had a slumber party and had slept on sleeping bags in the garage. The thought of that now makes me think what a horrible idea. The next day we had a sleeping bag laying on the ground out the back door and were sliding out of it, kind of like the “Risky Business” slide. At one point I walked, rather than slid, out the door, and that’s when it happened. My foot slipped and my toe rolled under and I stepped down, pop. I’m pretty sure we headed to DAFB again because I’m an Army brat. The person I remember wasn’t actually a doctor but an X-ray technician. I had to lay on the table at various angles to get all sides of my toe X-rayed. The tech thought it was a great idea to “turn” me by turning the toe that was broken and not really giving the rest of me a chance to flip fast enough.
I got stitches in my hand when I was around 13 maybe, when he stuck the threaded hook in my hand for the first stitch it was not numb yet, he had to put another numbing needle in.
I gave birth to Brandon via caesarean after 30 hours of labor, my water having broken at the start of the labor. Turns out the cord was around his neck and the contractions started to cut off his air and drop his heart rate so finally the c-section. Having to endure this fun stuff being on Pitocin (aka Satan juice) the entire time and just all the joys of labor was bad enough but they almost gave my husband a heart attack. They put me in the OR and were working on the spinal as Ron was being taken with my stuff to a new room then escorted to the OR. He happened to walk up behind the doctors that were talking and heard them say, “This poor girl has been in labor so long when we open her up her uterus is just going to fall apart.”. Well, that is just what a husband wants to hear at that moment. I turned out okay, not sure about my uterus since it was never used again.
Brandon fell off a slide as a toddler and we went to the hospital to check him out and I ended up being accused, or my family accused, of child abuse because of a bruise I didn’t think about. Long story but as any military wife can attest to it happened because my husband was in the field and unreachable. Good times.
Ron had four blood clots in his lungs that took too many doctors and too many months to diagnose. The first doctor I saw upon entering the ICU when they were finally diagnosed said, “You’re lucky. Most of the time with blood clots you don’t even know and just drop and die in twenty seconds.”. Gee, thanks, doc.
I could keep going but I should probably stop thinking about it and go to bed. New primary care doctor tomorrow. Wish me luck. Hopefully they’re not one of those doctors that don’t “believe” in Fibromyalgia.