I don't really know why I don't like doctors, but I can speculate. It's not as if I was born with this dislike. I don't remember particularly hating going when I was kid. They gave you cool stickers and I don't remember it being scary. My grandpa was a doctor. We didn't live to close to him growing up, but I remember my mom telling me lots of stories about her dad. She'd tell me how he had sewn her toe back on without anesthesia (!) when she had accidentally cut it off on a piece of lamp she broke and tried to hide. I now realize this must have been an exaggeration to get me not to hide my mistakes, but nonetheless the idea has stuck with me. The only thing I can think of stems back to several experiences that I had in high school.
The first was that I took 2 rounds of Acutane for really bad cystic acne and it still didn't clear everything up. I had horrible acne as a teenager, and still to this day have it (though thanks to BeautiControl and perhaps those Acutane treatments it is decidedly better). Taking Acutane required not only taking a different number of pills each day of the week, it also required monthly visits to get my blood drawn. It was there that I discovered that my blood is exceedingly difficult to draw. As a result, I always endured multiple pokes in each arm. This instilled my first ounce of fear.
The second was an experience with a rather unsympathetic female doctor who wouldn't believe a word I said, but refused to talk to my mother because I had just turned 18. It was a sort of catch 22. I was too young to be trustworthy and too old to have my mom step in as an advocate. This instilled the idea in me that doctors don't get a rat's hiney about how I'm really doing.
My third experience that comes to mind served only to expand my fear. I was deathly ill at the end of high school. I'm not sure how long I was sick or what exactly made me sick, but suffice it to say that it was nasty and laid me flat on my back for most of the summer and almost kept me home from my first year of college. It again, required crazy amounts of blood to draw, only this time I was sick and it was harder to get it. They'd poke me about 3 times in each arm, start eyeing the tops of my feet, than finally settle on the back of my hands where they'd again poke multiple times in each hand, and then dig around until finding a vein.
I can think of several other experience that could also make the list, but I don't want to bore you so I'll spare you the details for now. I guess you can say that my dislike of the doctor is justified. I hate taking pills and I hate getting blood drawn. Most of my medical problems are cured only by changes in diet and exercise. Thought I haven't lately, I do think that I generally do a pretty good job of regulating both. The other thing I hate is their boat sized egos, but I'll save that for another post.
1 comment:
The toe story is true. I broke a vase and hid it behind the long curtains in our living room. Someone came over to visit. My Mom sat in the chair next to the curtains where I'd hidden the vase. I was behind the chair listening. I swung my foot around and sliced off the toe to the bone withotu anyone noticing. I debated it awhile before I finally told my Mom, "I think I'm bleeding" and she looked at the puddle of blood pooling around my toe and cried, "Don't bleed on the carpet!" The carpet was new. My Mom picked up the toe and drove me to the hospital where your Grandpa worked. He said it would take 4 or so stitches to reattach and 2 shots to numb. I chose to skip the shots. It seemed silly to get two shots for only 4 stitches. So yes, he did sew it back on without anesthesia.
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