The Endocrineologist

I've decided that you can judge a lot about a doctor by their office waiting room.  It should have been a warning sign, then, when I sat down in a waiting room that was completely devoid of magazines and decorated with dollar store fake flowers and a creepy stuffed lion.  I looked around for something to do while I waited, but the only reading material available to me was a pamphlet entitled "Why Osteoporosis is Important to You."  For the record, after reviewing the material I have decided that osteoporosis is not, in fact, important to me.

After waiting for a half an hour in the waiting room, a nurse called me back to the exam room.  She asked me the normal nurse-y string of questions, took my blood pressure and weighed me, and told me the doctor would be in to see me "soon."

Let me interject for a moment by updating you on my health situation - I no longer have a brain tumor but am still exhibiting all of the symptoms of it (including very high prolactin levels - google the symptoms of that if you're feeling brave and you don't puke easily).  Therefore I was getting checked out by an endocrineologist to try to fix me.

I sat on the exam table for a while, waiting for the doctor to arrive.  He didn't.  I read the posters on the wall.  Guess what they were about?  Osteoporosis.  This man is obsessed with osteoporosis.  I spotted a magazine in the corner of the counter.  It was WebMD magazine, but it was better than nothing.  I picked it up and found an issue of Las Vegas Bride underneath it.  Whoo hoo!  The magazine selection in the exam room almost made up for the lack of magazines in the waiting room.  I was so excited that I didn't even question why a highly qualified endocrineologist with only two magazines in his office chose WebMD and Las Vegas Bride as reading material.  Whatever - I'm not complaining.

An hour later......I was sitting on the floor reading my bridal magazine and leaning up against the wall because my posture had quickly deteriorated while sitting on the exam table.  I finished the magazine and looked at my watch.  I had been waiting for an hour and a half since I arrived at the doctor's office.  I thought perhaps I had been forgotten, so I got up to go check with the receptionist.  Before I walked out, I saw a sign on the door.  Upon closer investigation, I found that it said, "Endocrineology is a time-intensive subset of medicine.  Your wait time may be long.  Please refrain from verbally abusing our employees, or you may be asked to leave and your contract with this practice will be terminated."

Geez louise!  I wasn't going to verbally abuse anyone!  I just wanted to ask!  Feeling chastened, I retreated back to my corner to await the doctor.

Finally the doctor walked in.  He looked at me quizically and asked why I was on the floor.  I told him that I wanted something to lean up against, so I chose the wall.  I can't possibly be the first patient who has done that.

The doctor began to interview me in his nerdy Indian (Asia Indian, not Casino Indian) accent.  He asked me a bunch of questions that I have answered a million times.  I first found out about my tumor in 2007...Yes, I've had numerous MRI's....No, I have not experienced tunnel vision or frequent fainting...  I got the standard shocked response when he found out I don't want to have kids.  After our interview, he said, "Now I have to put this down for the record."  He then pulled out a weird recording device and started talking into it.  As he talked, the words he said were typed onto his computer screen.  He talked slowly and robotically.  It was creepy.  He was talking about me as if I weren't sitting right there.  It was awkward.

After about twenty minutes of discussing things, he came up with this brilliant diagnosis:  "Are you certain that you're not pregnant?"

Yes, Doctor.  That's the best you could come up with out of all of this?!  I'm pregnant?

"Are you positive?  Did you take a pregnancy test?"
 I didn't need a medical degree to come up with that diagnosis, and I was hoping for a little more help from Doctor Obvious.  Here was his response to me:

"Okay, so you say you're 'not pregnant.'  Hmmm.  Okay.  Well, I believe you, but just to be sure, I'm going to have you take a pregnancy test."

Oh you SO don't believe me....how rude!  Do you want me to outline our birth control methods to you, Doctor Disbelief?  Because let me assure you, it would take a miracle for a baby Webb to be born.  So anyway, he makes me take a test to make absolutely positively sure that I'm not pregnant (I'm not), and then he says, "Also, I think we should do a bone density scan to make sure you don't have osteoporosis."

I almost snapped.  Seriously.  I wanted to say, "WHY ARE YOU SO OBSESSED WITH OSTEOPOROSIS?!?!  I have now read the warning signs and symptoms THREE different places in your office, and I don't fit any of the risk groups.  Why are you so in love with this disease?!  I'm not pregnant, and I DON'T have osteoporosis!!  Could we please start talking about things that will actually FIX THE ISSUES AT HAND!?!?!?!"

But of course I didn't do that, because it's a bad idea to tick off your doctor.  He started talking into his recorder/typer again, which gave me a moment to cool off.  As he took notes, I heard him say, "With her extremely high prolactin levels, it is probable that the patient will experience issues of infertility."  My eyebrows shot up (I couldn't help it), and Doctor Nutso noticed.  He misunderstood my look, because he hastily added to his notes "...but fertility does not seem to be a desire or an issue for this patient."

Excuse me, Doctor?  I'm not surprised because you commented on my "probable infertility" when I already told you I don't want kids.  I'm surprised because you just spent the past twenty minutes trying to convince me that I'm secretly pregnant, and now you're saying I couldn't even get pregnant if I wanted to!  Are you insane?  Do you have osteoporosis of the brain?!

Finally the appointment was finished, over two hours after I arrived.  He sent me home with a slew of blood tests, scans, and weird freeze-your-urine tests that I have to do.  Why is he torturing me?!  Is this punishment for not being pregnant or having osteoporosis?!  I'm sorry, doctor!  I did my best!  It's my probable infertility and milk drinking that is causing my satisfactory bone and reproductive health!  Drat!

So anyway, I still don't know what's wrong.  We'll see if these tests reveal anything.  Just a heads up, though - if you come over and see a lemon ice in my freezer, it's not a lemon ice.  Don't eat it.