Tuesday, September 25, 2012

The Phone Call

I lie to my doctor.

I lie about how much I exercise, how much (and what) I drink and eat,and  how much (and what) I smoke.

I also lie about my weight and my height.  I insist that I be weighed with my shoes (and earrings, and bracelets, and rings, and jacket or sweater) off and measured with my high heel shoes on.  I claim to be 130 pounds, but I'm closer to 140 pounds.  I also claim to be 5'6" tall and I'm closer to 5'4 1/2".  

I don't really have to lie.  My doctor is cool.  He understands when I tell him I have not been to an ob/ gyn  in a couple of years because I'm not in the mood.  He understands when I say I haven't yet had the mammogram he ordered for me two years ago.

My doctor runs down a list with me and I tell him everything is fine and perfectly normal.  Yes, I sleep 8 hours a night; yes I have normal bowel and bladder activity; yes, I am socially active and have many interesting hobbies.  (Of course, he must know I'm lying about all that too.)

He's a pretty cool dude for a doctor.  He and I have even talked about going on a trip together.  We are both, uhm, free spirits of sorts.  We'd probably have a lot of fun.

I go to see my doctor once a year for a physical.  I only go more than that if I think I'm dying and need to get my affairs in order.  (I belong to the "less is more" school of medical ideology.)  If it ain't broke, I don't want it fixed in other words.

One thing I cannot lie about is lab work.  After my examination every year, my doctor hands me a slip that orders laboratory tests.  He checks everything from my thyroid to my blood richness to my cholesterol levels and everything in between.  I try to get the lab work done within a week of my visit for the exam.  I'm terrified of needles and it would be easy to put this off, but I never do.

After I get the lab work done, I wait breathlessly and in a state of panic for the results.  My doctor usually calls me within a week to tell me what is going on.  I sort of hold my breathe until his call.  (Underneath it all, I expect that I'm probably dying but just don't know it yet which may be just as well.)

The call comes in like clockwork.  My doctor runs down the list for me telling me that my cholesterol is perfect, my kidney and liver functions are perfect, my thyroid is perfect, my blood is good and rich (thank you red wine) and that I'm in good health.  I breathe a sigh of relief.

I've fooled him for one more year.