I’m a Doctor, Jim, not a comedian!

 

If you are a Star Trek fan you will understand the title.

Every year, I manage to keep a light-hearted attitude at my annual exam. (Except for the anxiety about my weight, of course.)

I arrived early, allowing me to be in the waiting area long enough to chat with someone who went to my high school, gush with envy over someone expecting her first great-great-grandchild, and meet a woman from Australia.

When I got my blood drawn, the phlebotomist did not mention how beautiful my veins are. I felt a need to point that out to her. Realizing her oversight, she quickly agreed and expounded on that subject.

In the examination room, my nurse asked me to sit on the table, which also serves as a scale. She noted and announced my weight. Hearing that number read aloud is always more embarrassing than being undressed.

She then asked if I would agree to take the memory test. I gave an enthusiastic “yes.” She showed me a clipboard with three words circled. I was to look at the words and then recite them back when asked. Will you label me a cheater when I share that the three words were the same ones from last year? And the ones Martin memorized last week during his exam? And the ones I practiced all week in preparation?  I aced the memory test.

Side note - I question why protocol dictates that I must agree to the memory test but not to being weighed.

Then my very polite and professional doctor came in, reviewed my chart and instructed me to undress, to put the robe on with the opening to the back, not to tie the robe, and to sit on the table.

After the initial set of exams, part two of dressing instructions included dressing the lower half of my body, not dressing the top portion, to sit in the chair for the nurse to take a blood pressure reading, then move to the exam table in preparation for the EKG.

I managed NOT to comment that his dressing and undressing instructions would have made a much more challenging memory test than the three words.

My doctor never laughs at my attempts at humor. But as I lay on the table in my robe (opened to the back as instructed), he said, “I had a patient who asked me why I told her to undress. I said, ‘Because I'm a doctor.’”

I laughed and asked him if he had lots of funny patient stories to share at home, and he reverted to his usual impassive self by replying, “I’m not allowed.”

Not allowed? Because of his Hippocratic oath? Methodist Hospital bylaws? Or did his wife get tired of the stories? I had so many questions.

Next year, I plan to start my visit with a doctor joke.

How many doctors does it take to screw in a lightbulb?

One to find a bulb specialist, one to find a bulb installation specialist, and one to bill it all to Medicare.