I am going to meet my new primary physician tomorrow. Good, you say? No, no, not good! I am a ball of dread, fear, anger, suspicion—every medical encounter I have had in AZ has been weird, botched surgery, long waits, attempted lectures about weight—now I hear they may also ask me to specify my death wishes.
Can’t we just get our prescriptions renewed and go on walking around?
Men and women, I once wrote, make different health blunders. It’s usually men who don’t want to go. Men are great deniers, I would told. They don’t like prostate exams, colonoscopies, they don’t check for testicular cancer, they eat drive-through.
But women also screw up. They take everyone but themselves to the doctor—the kid, the aging parent, the dog, the cat.
They are careless about birth control, women. They get STDs because they don’t want to rock the boat.
Women cross their legs at the knee—this can cause bulging veins. They skip breakfast. They don’t examine their breasts for lumps. They don’t get their blood tests.
OK, we are all bums. And tomorrow I get to be the bum on the spot.
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