Today was my regularly scheduled medical checkup . . . every six months, whether I need it or not. I’m at that age.

So I dutifully dragged myself out of bed earlier than usual, picked out a nice top with sleeves that roll up above the elbow so the phlebotomist (a.k.a. “Vampire”) could get to my veins, and even put on a bit of makeup in order not to frighten them into thinking I was at death’s door.

When I arrived, about 15 minutes early, they were ready for me . . . off to a very good start. And it was all smooth sailing from there, except for one thing: When I left, I didn’t feel as though I’d been to the doctor at all.

First, a nurse (or P.A., not sure which) took my vital signs and asked a few questions, as usual. Then the doctor — a lovely young woman, knowledgeable and pleasant — came in, listened to my heart and lungs, and sat down for a chat. We discussed the usual things, and I voiced two complaints: a recurring pain in my left side, and my constant tiredness.

The tiredness is an ongoing issue, as I tend to be a bit anemic, so the lab results will tell us what, if anything, we need to do about that. Not a problem.

But here’s where I began wondering what the hell they’re teaching med students these days? Because she never offered to feel the site of the pain in my side for any anomalies.

And I don’t know whether it’s just here in the southland where I’ve been living for the past five years, or whether it’s consistent throughout the U.S.; but I can’t help wondering what has happened to the days when you had to disrobe for an exam, lie down on a table, and allow yourself to be groped by someone you hardly knew. Not that I miss that feeling of starring in an episode of “Invasion of the Body Snatchers” — but I do miss feeling reassured that, if there were something wrong, the doctor would most likely be able to detect it.

I used to have a doctor — my general practitioner — who was like a member of the family. And he could diagnose anything, only referring you to a specialist if you needed surgery, or for the most serious conditions. Today, if you have a cold, you need an otolaryngologist. Upset tummy? See a gastroenterologist. Arthritis? Talk to an orthopedist. And for a pain in the ass, there’s everyone’s favorite: the proctologist.

And so on. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn there’s a specialty for treating hangnails!

The medical profession doesn’t seem to understand that, as people reach an age when they develop the greatest number of physical problems, they’re also the least able to run from doctor to doctor to doctor. It’s exhausting.

I miss one-stop shopping.

Maybe that’s what gerontologists are for.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
5/1/25