I don’t know how many of you get to experience the joy of going to the rheumatologist’s office so, please allow me to share.  There has never been a light-hearted rheumatologist.  They are all experts in gloom and doom.  They have no bedside manner.  They use terms like…at your age (ugh!), and exercise.  They have no sense of humor and the magazines in their waiting rooms suck unless you are really into  Arthritis Today  or  AARP.   My semi-annual appointment was yesterday. This is my third rheumatologist.  I fired the first one, the second one fired me, and this one isn’t any better I’ve just learned not to respond to his attitude if I want to get the medication that makes my life easier.

The first thing that is interesting about going to the rheumatologist is the clientele.  I assume there is a pediatric rheumatologist for those unfortunate children who have juvenile arthritis because I have never seen any kids at my docs.  In fact, I am the youngest person without fail, in the waiting room.  Generally speaking, I am the only one sitting there without oxygen and some helpful walking aid that doesn’t involve split tennis balls on its legs.  When I walk in on my own steam these haters look at me like I don’t belong.  Ageists!  How dare they!  They’ll see…I’ll walk out of here with just as many prescriptions as any of them.  The nurse calls in one of the elderly and she makes the noise.  You know, the noise old people make when they rise up out of their chairs?  Kind of a mix between a creak and a groan.  I think the creak is the joints moving again and the groan is from the pain.  Anyway, in this case the patient is a woman.  She begins to make the trek.  First she takes off her reading glasses, obviously she is post-cataract surgery (way to go!), and she put them back in her purse.  She then hands her purse to her husband.  Then she puts down the newspaper she was reading.  Then the two of them discuss whether or not he should go in with her (believe me…he should!).  Finally, she starts the climb in earnest.  After two failed attempts she finally gets enough  force behind her to pull up…and she’s off…traveling down the path close to the rail it’s elderly lady.  Trailing close behind and toting a handbag it’s elderly man.  They’re neck and neck as the finish line approaches.  It looks like it’s going to be a photo finish…and it’s elderly man by a purse strap!  The next patient is a man, and considering he is in a wheel chair you’d think he would go a little faster.  No way.  His name is called.  The companion who brought him is in the restroom and apparently he can’t call out to the nurse that this is the case because he is just becoming more and more panicked until his companion comes back into the waiting room.  I know he has a tongue, I saw him licking beneath his chin a little earlier…I don’t have a reason for his lack of speech.  Stroke maybe? There’s that tongue again.   It’s like a giraffe’s.  Why do people read magazines in Dr.’s offices when there is so much to ponder while you are just looking around?

By the time they get to me, it’s about 45 minutes past my appointment time but I don’t mind.  I used that time for research.  You my dear ones are reaping the rewards.  I get into the little room and in comes my doctor.  This guy is tall and very angular.  He has very gray hair and a gray beard and mustache, and his personality is just as colorful as his facial hair. “How are we feeling today?”  “I don’t know about you, but I’m doing okay.” (crickets chirping…never looks up from my chart)  “How have your pain levels been?”  “Well, I’ve always wanted to be a ten, and with the help of these illnesses some days I am.” (crickets still chirping)  “Are you taking your pain meds daily?”  I give up.  It doesn’t matter how hard I try I cannot make this gomer laugh, so I begin to just answer his questions yes and no.  The response is the same.  He gives me my 15 or so prescriptions and I head for the door.  As I am leaving I hear someone calling my name across the waiting room “Mrs. Chickentush, Mrs. Chickentush!  Wait.”  It is the doctor.  I go back to the front desk to see what he needs.  “Mrs. Chickentush, you must remember to take your pain meds four times a day everyday.  With your pain level it is important that you stay ahead of it.”  I looked around at all the old people in the room.  Yup.  They’re listening.  One thing about old people, they think docs are Gods.  I assure him I will, and I walk unaided out of the room.  Vindication is mine!