A forty five minute drive to a general practitioner is a little extreme, especially when I pass so many doctors on that drive. But I know what it is like to get a doctor that won’t listen or who isn’t willing to work with my oncologist and endocrinologist. Unfortunately, I have more doctors than compliment my social life.
“He’s a good doctor.” I think as I wait. It is the familiar setting: the patient chair/bed/(what in the hell is that thing?), two extra chairs, a little desk with a computer, and the doctor swivel stool. It is a setting I am quite familiar with. There are no bragging points in that statement. I take a seat in one of the upright chairs.
Glancing around. Waiting. Reading the posters on the wall: “attention to insurance policy holders” …I spy a magazine…nah…wait…check my phone…wait…I feel my heart rate increase. “This is the easy stuff,” I tell myself.
I have a lump under my arm. It bothers me off and on. Months ago, I already ran it nervously by my oncologist. It is not a tumor.
I remind myself of that now, “It is not a tumor. This is the easy stuff.”
I am so used to dealing with the hard stuff. I am so used to the extreme, the life threatening, the worst case scenarios, that when I sit and deal with the common, everyday stuff, it is hard for my mind to not fall into that rare type of cancer mode.
He smiles politely, “Most likely we will just leave it there and do nothing.” He directs me to checkout.
Oh happy day! I know the joys of getting the opportunity to be the boring case at the doctor’s office!