My Negligee


I went to see the doctor.

The receptionist, a woman we’ve known for a long time, seemed to sense my anxiety and assured me, after I stopped to book in, that the Doctor I was seeing was a good guy. That helped. Like my own doctor, this guy was on time with my appointment. That was one of the first things I noticed when I came to these offices the first time, wait time for a booked appointment is never more than 5, or rarely 10, minutes past the time set.

He guided me down to his office and scooted by to move a chair to ensure I had enough room. I was able to take a moment to settle and gather my thoughts after he asked me why I was there. “There’s so much back story,” I said, “give me a second to pare it down.” He waited. Then I answered his question.

One of the things I knew was going to happen was that I was going to have to drop my pants and bare myself a little. This makes me really uncomfortable. I do what I have always done. I pulled out a nightshirt, a blue, used to be flannel, one. I told the doctor that I needed to put my negligee on first. The doctor said that I needn’t worry, that he’s been around, “I tell people that if I see something I haven’t seen before, I shoot it.” I laughed and said, “Well, then I’m definitely putting this on, I don’t want to leave here with gunshot wounds.” I popped the night shirt over my head. Let it fall over my clothing. Then dropped my pants so he could see my lower legs. They were the issue here and the banter had somehow just reduced my sense of anxiety.

As he handed me my prescription, which he did after talking about the way forward and what we needed to do, I felt that I could trust the treatment plan. I had been involved, respected and heard. That’s all I really ask from a doctor, or indeed, anyone.

I told him that I had been worried sick about seeing him and that past experiences with medical types had left me a bit fearful about seeing someone new, someone I don’t know.

This was nice.

He didn’t brush the compliment away. He took my word that my experiences with the medical world had left me a bit traumatized and that my fear was real.

He let me thank him and in doing so acknowledged, without question, that it was worth something.

That I was worth something.

So, I’m sick, but I’m going to get better.

That’s the news for now.

This entry was posted in Rolling Around In My Head doing damns the darkness/ A Blog By Dave Hingsburger. Bookmark the permalink. Post a comment or leave a trackback: Trackback URL.

Post a Comment

Your email is never published nor shared. Required fields are marked *

You may use these HTML tags and attributes <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <s> <strike> <strong>