Yesterday a car picked me up to take me to the European Medical center. They call it European because it bills you in Euros. Other than that, I'm not so sure.
When I arrived, the receptionist took my passport, insurance card, and asked me fill out forms. Of course I had to bring my coat to the coat check and put blue, protective booties over my shoes. Seemed pretty typical. Then she walked me to the appropriate wing and asked me to be seated.
A few minutes later, a doctor came out and called, "Mrs. Gawdy?" I responded. For the rest of the day, my last name was Gawdy. It's not worth the trouble of correcting her. I've learned that lesson a time or two. At Starbucks I tell them my name is Tanya. Once we were in the room, the doctor asked about my medical history and my current symptoms.
She then asked me to remove my pants. She motioned to a privacy screen where I could modestly undress. I was then instructed to lay on the table in the room, pantsless. What was the point of the privacy screen if I had to walk out in the open without pants anyway? After a thorough exam of my lower extremities, I was told to return to the "privacy" screen, put my pants back on, and remove all tops.
I removed all of my upper layers and proceeded to lay on the table in the center of the room topless. No blanket, no gown, but booties on my shoes. I laid on my back. That was not sufficient. Have you ever seen someone prep a model for a photo shoot? They fix the hair, the makeup, adjust the breasts if necessary, and strike a pose. That was me. With one arm under my head and the other on my hip, I tried to imagine myself as a centerfold for some great magazine instead of in this terrible, sterile, cold building with a cardiologist and a privacy screen.
During the exam, someone knocked on the door. The doctor invited her colleague in, he declined. Instead, the two doctors stood in the doorway, door wide open, while people (other patients) walked past us in the hallway. Did I mention I was topless?
The doctor finished the exam and asked to me to redress. As I did so, she flung open the privacy shade and talked to me, face to face, about my perceived conditions and future course of action. I tried to be attentive to her and the buttons on my sweater.
She referred me to a neurologist where I went today. During the consult he was completely professional, however, there was no privacy screen in this room. I was instructed to remove my pants again. It's always easier the second time. He sat patiently in his chair and waited...watching. How weird is that? I guess I wasn't thinking about my choice of panties when I got dressed this morning.
Best part about all of this: I have to pay them.
