The November Chronicles

If you've ever spent time with any medical specialist, I think it's safe to say that they're generally NOT known for their warm, fuzzy bedside manners.  My Neurologist was 25 minutes behind schedule ('tho I was her first appointment of the day), and breezed in as 'tho she was a few minutes early.  She started firing questions at me faster than most repeating guns have the capability of - family medical history, self medical history, worries, age, height, walk this line, touch these fingers, move this arm, now move THIS arm, move these fingers again, draw these circles, touch your nose.


And yes, this was BEFORE I'd had my mocha.  It was a hell of a way to start a day.

Between each "test", she'd type furiously into her computer while saying "ok got it".  I must've heard "ok got it" about 45 times in 15 minutes.  The $1,000,000 question I still had was:  Ok, what have I got?

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It was when she had me walk down the hallway for the third time that it dawned on me.  While she had read my medical history, she was testing me for things the GP had already cleared me of.  I appreciated her thoroughness, even though it made me somewhat nervous.  But, overall, I figured it was her time to waste.  I guessed she would just cross a few things off the list and we’d go from there.
 
When I came back to stop in front of her, she said “now we both know that’s NOT how you typically swing your arms.  I know you’re thinking about it and trying to walk as ‘normal’ as possible but I gotta really see what you walk like so let’s do it again”.

Properly scolded, I did a few more laps.  Then she had me sit back down and tested my reflexes and my wrist flexibility and pricked my toes with pins.  When she was writing down more responses and uttering more “ok got its”, she stopped mid-keyboard stroke and said “tell me why you’re holding your right hand down.”  She was being blunt and honest, so I did the same. “Because it’s shaking and I’m embarrassed.”  “Ok fair enough” she responded.  “So go ahead and just let it shake and why don’t you tell me how long your right foot has had a tremor.”

I looked down … disbelievingly … and, as if it knew it was in trouble, my right foot was completely still.  “Oh”, I said, eager to nip this line of thought in the bud.  “Oh – haha – no.  That’s just because my arm shaking when it’s resting on my leg is gonna make my leg shake.  Ha!  That’s all.” and I immediately moved my arm off my leg, as if to show how in control of my limbs I was.

Instead of agreement, I received another “ok got it”.  This phrase was becoming less and less satisfying with each time I heard it.  I was told to put my shoes back on while she visited her office for a few minutes.

I put on my socks and shoes while glaring at my right foot in disappointment … the problem child.

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