bunt sign

Wednesday, August 8, 2001

Despite my best efforts to put it out of my mind, I'm spending a lot of time thinking about the "procedure" I'm having in the doctor's office next Tuesday. I went to the store today and bought the supplies I'll need to get ready for it. Milk of magnesia (one ounce the day before). Two Fleet enemas (I'm supposed to use both of them before I go to the doctor that morning).

I've deliberately stopped myself from researching the exact nature of a sigmoidoscopy. But considering everything I have to do to prepare for it, it can't possibly be a pleasant experience. I'm not supposed to eat solid food after midnight Sunday, and I'm on a diet of clear liquids all day Monday. This is on my mind all the time lately. I really want it to be over.

If I didn't believe there was a chance the doctor would find something that he could fix, I'd bail on the whole deal. I've been about two seconds away from calling to cancel several times over the last week. But what if it turns up something serious? I'm worried about that, too, almost to the exclusion of thinking about anything else.

I'm not sure if I'm trying to talk myself into getting out of this deal, or going ahead with it. One thing my doctor has going for him, in my eyes, is that he doesn't do much. If he doesn't do much, he can't do much harm.

Whenever I go to him, he treats me for the one thing that brings me into his office. He never asks questions or tries to find out more about me. I like that. Some doctors would keep working until they found out what was wrong. My doctor made a guess, assumed he was right, and declared his treatment a success. He didn't call me a week later to see if I still had the symptoms (I did). He didn't send me for a blood test.

I'm pretty sure the HMO compensates him pretty well for this "procedure" he wants me to have. Otherwise he'd never have suggested it. If the Hippocratic oath says something like "first do no harm" (or is that the Prime Directive?), then I have one of the best doctors around.

I'm fairly confident he won't find anything wrong with me Tuesday, because there isn't anything in it for him if he does. Or is it like the lottery, where the store owner gets a percentage if he sells the winning ticket? Maybe the real jackpot is in finding something serious enough to send me to a specialist. Hmmm... Now I'm worried again.

my garden

Whatever these blue flowers are, they're all over town. But I like the ones in my garden the best.

The enema box has graphic drawings of two possible positions you can assume when you do this to yourself. The instructions are grossly explicit as well. It's making my stomach knot up, just thinking about using it. Isn't that what got me in this situation in the first place?

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