Why are doctors’ offices so depressing? Is it the awareness of your own mortality? I certainly found no answers in the Pataskala urgent care as I lounged in a plush beige arm chair. One of many equally plush furnishings meant to rest the body in what is, as ordained by our society, a strictly non-life threatening event. They could do to turn the lights and radio up. Nothing irks me more than a pop hit that’s too quiet to hum along with.
The man beside me is – my thoughts are interrupted as a beautiful blonde nurse calls my name in a slight rural Ohioan accent. She laughs when I tell her my ear piercings went south and discloses to me her desire for a cartilage piercing in spite of the obvious downsides I am presenting. A quick squeeze on my arm, a clamp on my right index finger and a beep on my forehead. I have been intook. The nurse excuses herself and I am left with only my thoughts and my phone. Which do you think I grab?
The room is small but large enough not to upset someone. Enough room to maintain the five or so feet of semi-personal space so frequently used as the orbit of health care professionals. A scale sits across from me. Probably from the 90’s if I’m any judge of LCD screens. Though I suppose gravity hasn’t changed much. Why do these rooms have sinks? I assume it’s for hand washing. As I look up and to the right of the sink my suspicion is confirmed by an instructional paper.
A second nurse enters. I ask her how she is and am informed that she “is here”. I understand the sentiment but the following customer service is quite rough. I am interrogated about my medical history which doesn’t bother me until she casually reveals that she has my entire psychiatric medication history at her disposal. This upsets me because I’ve never worked with this hospital. I guess somebody doesn’t care who knows I take Adderall. More likely, I signed some agreement which I had no choice but to sign for the completely separate issue of my ear. I suppose I wouldn’t have felt good enough to get a piercing if it weren’t for the antidepressant. Fair is fair.
I’m now studying the carpet. It’s one of those boring dark brown splotchy things you would never want in your own home. But I suppose it’s better than those clinics that have only white tile. Unforgiving white tile. The kind that some part of you fears to slip on. Because how could you even tell if it’s wet? I guess we’ll never know. Because the doctor walks in and commands my attention as only a doctor can.
Subordinate to his awareness of what is best for me I agree to allow him to remove my middle two piercings on my right ear. Unfortunately, piercing removal is not covered in eight years of medical school and after some painful struggling I resign to have my piercings removed at the store where I got them. I am given amoxicillin and sent on my way.
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