The Waiting Game

The Waiting Game

By

Marty Katz

It is written that when a man reaches the age of forty-five, he still has many good years left. I arrived, and suddenly it did not seem so true. All my life, I was extremely active both in my professional and social lives.  If that was not enough activity, I married a very young looking, in great shape woman almost eight years my junior. So when the little pain in my side began, I thought nothing of it. But it would not go away.

I would wake up at night feeling this constant discomfort, a dull ache in the lower left side of my abdomen. After rolling over onto my back, I would eventually fall asleep. But in time, a short time, the pain grew in its intensity. Now snoozing on my stomach was out of the question, and to make matters worse, so was sex. Finally, it was time to see the doctor. An appointment was scheduled with my family physician. 

Arriving early at the doctor’s office, I hoped I would be seen on time. My physician owns a large walk-in clinic. Eight rooms and no waiting. Reminiscent of an age gone by, of the three chairs, no waiting barbershops. My wait was slightly more than one hour. Then I was escorted into an examination room only to wait some more. They always tell you that an emergency had just come in, and it will only be a few more minutes. As time slowly ticked by, I thought about ordering pizza.

My physician, Dr. Robbins, asked a series of questions about my health.  We eventually got around to the questions about this new pain I had. It was then time to jump up onto the table and unbuckle my pants. While squeezing my abdomen, he asked if the compressions he did hurt me. Of course, they did, that is why I was here in the first place. Then he brought out the rubber gloves. Great. Prostates check. I was thankful he understood depth perception.

After more poking, he advised me he did not know the source of my problem. He would have to order some blood tests and a urine test. The results should be back within two days. He could not provide an answer, so I was instructed to make an appointment with his associate, Dr. Thompson, an internist. But for now, I got dressed and paid the insurance co-payment. Tonight I will sleep on my back.

Three days later, I was back to see Dr. Thompson. He asked identical questions to Dr. Robbins. I wondered why he simply did not read the notes from the first doctor. It was back up onto the table and more squeezing. Maybe the pain is due to the pressing everybody was doing to my body. Suddenly he smiled as doctors often do. Out came the rubber gloves. After his poke, we talked.  I learned the role of an internist is to recommend other physicians. Possibly my problem is something in my urinary tract, so I was handed the name of a good urologist. I got dressed and paid for my insurance co-payment. I was getting better at sleeping on my back.

Two days later,  Dr. Robbins’ office called with the results of the blood work and urine test. I was told everything appeared to have negative results; I passed.  My blood was good and red while my urine was good and yellow. 

The day of the urologist had arrived. Dr. Levy walked in, a pleasant-looking individual, he asked some questions and smiled a lot. I was handed a cup and requested to produce a urine sample. The test was completed while I waited. Again it was negative. He felt, no pun, the problem is outside his area and my urinary tract. Strange, I thought to myself, why my physician could not administer this other urine test? He wished me luck as I got dressed and paid my insurance co-payment.

The next stop was to locate a good gastroenterologist. I went to my health options book. Dr. Herman looked fairly ok in print, so he got the call. Dr. Herman was on vacation, so Dr. Bolt would be covering. An appointment was made for the following day. Still, I was sleeping on my back and I forgot to mention I had to filter my urine through a coffee filter as I was looking for possible kidney stones.

Dr. Bolt, pad in hand, asked the now-familiar questions. He suggested an upper GI endoscopy and a CAT scan because they were much better tools than plain x-rays. Of course, he told me this while putting on a rubber glove. After a quick check, I got dressed and paid my insurance co-payment. One week later, I would have the pleasure of being scanned.

It was off to the medical center. By now, I was hoping for frequent driving miles. The form I was handed inquired about any allergies. My answer was I am allergic to iodine and rubber gloves. Because of this type of test, I would have to drink a barium solution, a thick white, hard to swallow liquid that looked and tasted like chalk. A few shots of this, and you are not ready to party.  

It was nine am and showtime. To start my day and the test, I was given two different types of liquids to drink. One had to be downed real fast. I shot it down, and they took a series of x-ray pictures. The second one was identical to the one still lost somewhere inside of me. This time it was two full glasses of the chalk stuff to drink. Over the next three hours, I had x-rays taken. I felt as though I would glow. When it was over, the radiologist told me he believes everything is negative, but my physician will give me the final results. I always hated that word final. So I got dressed and paid my insurance co-payment. Where is all that liquid?

I went home to wait for the liquid to pass through me. While I was waiting, Dr. Bolt’s office called to proclaim this test was negative. The other happy news given to me was that in the morning, I was scheduled for that CAT Scan. I was informed that I could eat as there are no restrictions for this test. I was still waiting for the liquid to come out, so I wasn’t interested in any food or beverage.

The CAT scan is a table being slid into a round doughnut looking machine. I was told not to move, hold my breath, and relax. This was done again and again for the next fifty minutes. When it was over, I got dressed and paid my insurance co-payment.

That evening suddenly, I had a fever of 104 and rising. I called Dr. Bolt’s office. I got his service. A few calls later, I had an appointment for early the next morning. Dr. Bolt took one look at me as I threw up, and advised I should be immediately hospitalized. He told me he would call and arrange for my arrival. Everything should be ready for me.

Ready, I think not. I had to sit in the admitting office for over two hours as I completed the necessary forms. A room was not available yet. It is a good thing the doctor called ahead, imagine if he didn’t. Because of the high fever, blood had to be taken and often. Also, I was not allowed to eat anything. I had not eaten for the past few days since my upper GI test. Maybe my problem was the lack of food; then it hit me. Yes, the liquid was coming out. All night long, with a raging fever, I had to move with my IV stand and walk with it to the bathroom. This continued for the next twenty hours.

My temperature was still very high. Dr. Bolt ordered more blood cultures. Every time I tried closed my eyes to attempt to sleep, either I had to give blood or the bathroom ordeal. To help with my fever, I asked to be given something, anything to lower it. I was politely told the doctor did not order anything to be provided. I yelled for them to call him. The night nurse asked did I know it was three am? I knew it was three in the morning, at least now it should be easy to reach him.

I awoke the next morning to see a new physician staring down at me. He was the brother of Dr. Herman; you know the doctor that was on vacation.  The new doctor was a surgeon. He asked me to stand, and that was quite a chore. He pressed my abdomen, and I wanted to burst into tears. He concluded it was not a hernia. His service was not needed, but the bill for his visit would be one hundred fifty dollars. He is not on my plan.

Dr. Bolt came by to visit me. He was happy for my temperature was down, so he was ordering lunch for me and allowing me to be discharged at four in the afternoon. The food arrived simultaneously with the discharge forms at four in the afternoon. I guess I’ll eat at home.

The very next day, I had an appointment with Dr. Herman, back from some wonderful vacation. Again with the questions and, it is not a dream, the rubber glove. This was the first physician who could poke and talk at the same time. He suggested one of two procedures; both had to do with scopes. The only difference between the two scopes was the length of each. Talk about a light at the end of the tunnel. I could open my mouth, and one would see a bulb staring at them. Great for checking tonsils from the other end. I got dressed, paid my insurance co-payment, and went home to think about the future invasion.

I did not have to think long. Dr. Robbins called and wanted to do a sonogram. A test consisting of shooting my body with high-frequency sound waves. The reflection creates a picture of what is inside. This, along with every other test, was negative. Where to go and what to test next?

The last visit with my doctor was without gloves and poking. We talked about the ordeal I went through and about the findings, although all negative. He told me modern medical science and medicine was a process of eliminating facts until the truth was found, much like creating a sculpture from a block of granite. Sometimes all the looking and searching leads to no end. It is an imperfect art. As we sat there, an amazing thing happened. The pain went away. It left all by itself and has not returned. I resumed my work and training schedule, and most of all, I can sleep on my back. Sex well, that is very much back in the picture.  

Of course, for peace of mind, all possibilities must be examined. It was just an adventure into the wonders of medical science. All my waiting for the answer, sometimes it just is the way it is. 

Copyright Ó 2020 – Marty Katz

1887 words