One of the things I do every summer is schedule all my doctors’ visits.
This is a leftover from when Marcus was little. I lumped all our appointments close together, to get them out of the way. “All” of my doctors consisted of my dentist, my optometrist and my gynecologist.
Times have changed.
Now I have added a general physician to the mix. Back when I was of child-bearing age, my gynecologist was happy to monitor my general health. Once I hit menopause, I found that while he’s still interested in my hormones, the rest of me is a lot less interesting.
It took me a little time to find a good GP. I wanted someone who would be invested in my well-being, but realize that I’m trying to do my best. I admit, I’m no saint.
Especially when it comes to cheesecake.
I had my yearly physical this week. Usually, the doctor discusses my blood pressure, which is a little high, then orders a few blood tests. My response is to have the tests, receive a message from the office asking me to come back in, then schedule another checkup in a year.
I’m not in denial. There’s just no need to overreact.
This year, I decided to have a real discussion about my health. I’ve gained a significant amount of weight recently, pounds that do not want to leave no matter how much I exercise and how little I eat. The plan was to deflect the talk about my blood pressure, and focus on why I was gaining and not losing.
My plan hit an immediate snag when the nurse took my blood pressure. It was normal, so normal there was nothing to talk about. The doctor walked in and checked my charts, asking about my general well-being.
I began to tell her my long, sad saga of weight non-loss. She stared at my chart as I talked. I was expecting to hear her say, “It could be your flummox capacitor. I’ll order those tests as well.”
Instead she told me, “It gets harder with age.”
That was it. When I poked about, looking for more answers, she held firm. Even if my thyroid was out of whack, she said, correcting it isn’t some magic weight-loss bullet.
“But you should try a regimen of no sugar, or whey products,” she suggested. Actually, it was less of a suggestion, and more of an order. It was also depressing, but not as bad as the next topic of conversation.
We talked about my need for a mammogram, and I said I was seeing my gynecologist next week for all that. She asked who that was, and I replied.
“Did you hear his brother is retiring?”
“No, I’ve been seeing them both…