Fear of doctors

Well, I could just not write this evening.  It would be very easy to do. 

However, perhaps it would be better to document what's going on, for those who might be sort of in this unhealthy space.  Let's get out of it, OK?

I just hate going to the doctor!  OK, when I was a child, I used to like going to the doctor.  But that was very different than now.  We lived in a very small town (Welcome to Linden, Population 404).  The doctor lived three blocks west of us, and we could walk there.  His office was in a bedroom in his home, and we could say "Hi!" to his wife, whose name was Cookie, although she never seemed to have any, which as I child I thought rather ironic, although I didn't know the word "ironic" yet.  Whatever needed to be done could be done in his office.  No muss, no fuss.  When I was in kindergarten, I came down with the German Measles, and the doctor walked three blocks to the east, and came to our house.  He had a classic "little black bag" with a stethoscope in it.  I remember him as an "all business" but kindly person.  I thought going to the doctor would always be like that.  Boy, was I wrong!

Of course, these days a trip to the doctor involves wearing one of those cotton gowns that don't close, or covering one's naked body with paper towel-like sheets in cold rooms where you wait, cold and alone.  I feel utterly, totally shamed.  I don't want to write about this.  I don't want to think about this.  But tomorrow I'm going to go to the doctor.

I did my homework.  I found a woman doctor, and since I am also a woman, that alone is a giant help for me in the "shame" department.  I learned of her from one of her patients, who told me that she is "as down-to-earth and holistic as a naturopathic physician, but she is a traditional alopathic doctor, so she is actually the best of both worlds."  We shall see.  Actually, she literally took one look at me and said the word "biopsy" within the next five minutes.  But I will go back.  I have to go back tomorrow.  I haven't had a health checkup in --- actually, I have no idea in the world how long it's been.

My most vivid health care memory is of coming out of the anesthetic after giving birth to my first child, who is now 21.  That birth involved a prolapsed uterus, and they had to stuff me back up and then sew me together.  This woman --forgive me, but honestly, this bitch!-- was screaming at me, yelling at me, "Wake up!  Wake up!  Wake up!"  The tone of her voice was hateful!  If she hated the patients so much, why did she work there?  I don't remember if she was hitting me or not.  There was something.  I don't know.  I didn't want to come back into the world if she was going to be in it.  I wanted to keep sleeping, because I was so tired.  Couldn't anybody just leave me alone? 

That's pretty much my opinion of "modern health care."  Why do they have all these big, scary machines, cold, dusty rooms, painful procedures, anxiety-enducing situations?  All the health care personnel are strangers.  Yeah, yeah, I know it's about saving a person's life, so they can live longer.  But back in the old system, in the little town, people more or less lived until they died.  They didn't have to endure the tortures of  "modern health care." 

The point of this blog entry is that, as a grown up person with responsibilities to others besides myself, I realize that I must pull together the courage to go and get checked out.  I'll get that mamogram where strangers painfully smash your breasts.  I'll get the biopsy, and do all the other stupid things.  We have to do it.  It's not an option. 

I guess I'm doing it because I value myself and my life.  I think that I do contribute to the well-being of others, and to the general positive development of society.  I think I'm worth keeping around in the world, and I suppose I'm brave enough to face today's "health care system."  But just barely.