As with many of my generation, my schedule now includes more medical appointments than formerly. This past year, with surgery and many follow-up and physical therapy appointments, my weekly schedule has barely allowed for household chores and Max-the-dog. Annual medical check-up appointments were postponed. I was sick of sitting in waiting rooms and repeating my medical history! It was thus with some trepidation that I belatedly scheduled the required annual test assortment.
“Ignorance is bliss,” friends in graduate school would often quote to calm my anxious state as we waited for test results. This phrase, written by English poet, Thomas Gray, in his 1742 “Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton College” has never offered solace to me. Its original transcription, “In knowing nothing, life is most delightful” conjures, at best, a momentary image of cocooned infancy.
Working in the medical field has done nothing to allay my concerns. When working with adults, I would often see the negative results of delayed acknowledgement of symptoms and medical evaluations. With age, my imagination can soar (if allowed) to imagine deadly diagnoses related to a stomach or shoulder pain.
With each evaluation, a sigh of relief came as the results were fine. Only the lab test with its 12-hour fasting glucose remained. Dutifully, I arrived at the neighboring medical facility. Wow! There was a long line waiting in a lobby outside the spacious urgent care facility. Wondering if a massive accident had occurred, I made my way to the lab in the rear of the lobby. A sign in the dim hall informed one to enter required identification and insurance information into a computer. A man and I watched as for 15 minutes an elderly woman tried to navigate the system, only to be “kicked out” when she could not enter the information as quickly as required. Eventually, she succeeded, and it was my turn. Her challenges were immediately understood as I attempted to follow prompts, place cards for scanning in the correct position, speedily tap in required information and attempt to keep slippery cards from scattering to the floor.
Entering the small waiting room, a lone chair awaited me. Soon another patient informed me that the standing line in the lobby was for the lab, not urgent care. A phlebotomist would periodically step into the waiting room, announcing a name. (Secretly, I called him Dracula.) Asked what the wait time was, he said two hours-plus. (There is an acute shortage of phlebotomists.) Physical therapy was in three hours and so I waited, reading emails and news. With 30 minutes remaining before PT, I exited, removing my name from the wait list.
The second try, an entire day was allocated to the fasting and lab with a protein shake and Max waiting in the car. Novel in hand, I chatted occasionally with a middle-aged British lady. An elderly man exited the inner sanctum of the lab. The lady rose to greet him as he said, “OK, it’s finally done.” She then informed our little group that this was their third trip to the lab. The first, they had waited for almost three hours. He could not fast any longer, so they left. On the second visit, she entered his information into the computer system, then went to run errands. When she returned after several hours, her husband was waiting in the front lobby. Imagine her surprise when two weeks later, a letter from their physician arrived, stating that it was imperative that these tests be completed. Her husband then informed her that when the allotted time on the second visit had expired, he went to the front lobby. He did not wish to inconvenience her with walking to/from the parking lot. As his wife finished her story, the elderly man turned and laughingly quipped, “I’m 97 years old and still alive. Why do I need tests to prove it?”
That comment still brings a chuckle. Finally, a wise man who understands “Ignorance is bliss.”
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