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This is just my luck to get sick for the first time in over a year a WEEK before my vacation. Now of all times, my immune system decides to take a break and roll out the red carpet to the little ghosties and beasties to invade my body causing it to wreck havoc. My throat is resonating a teenage boy going through puberty and my nose is working overtime excreting some leftover science experiment that has obviously gone awry. With the clock ticking away, I decided to take care of this issue ASAP. I had to go to the doctor, the primary care person, the one in the white coat, the one that can write out a prescription for powerful drugs to nip my little medical malady in the bud. I decided to stay home today from my sunny little cubicle and make the appointment
I arrive at my doctors building armed with an appointment at 4:45pm EST. I haven’t been here in a while but I still know the procedure like the back of my hand.
- Sign the sign in sheet.
- Hand receptionist insurance card.
- Hand the wrinkled $10 bill for my co-pay.
- Sit down and pout.
With my bottom lip sticking out further than normal, I start to daydream about strolling through the middle of a desert in Reno on a Segway in a glittery dress made of shiny nickels and with matching cowboy boots hooked up to an oxygen tank picking Marigolds from the cactuses.
“Abbie?” the receptionist called.
I never said I was sane but I would never even dream of daydreaming in a doctor’s office of all places before my cochlear implant. I was always focused on watching the nurses every step to see if I was the next patient. I hated getting that look. You know that look of, “Yoo-hoo! I just called your name lady, I don’t have all day here!” Now I can daydream about highlighting the Smurfs lovely blue locks with blond streaks all I want!
I relocated myself to the examination room where I was questioned about my symptoms. Before I managed to get out three syllables, it was clear to the nurse why I was there. The sound of my voice caused her brows to furrow. She became uncomfortable and anxious to get out of the room. Hell I would to if I had someone sitting next to that sounded like Kermit croaking. She skedaddled out of the room as soon as she scribbled all three of my symptoms down on a sheet of paper.
I leaned my non-implanted side up against a cabinet and pouted some more. It was a short-lived lean because the man with the white coat came walking into the room. This doctor is part of the practice. He was the same doctor that filled out my medical history papers for my CI surgery. He did not have much knowledge of my history and he was pretty much relying on me. I think he would have written down anything I said to him. I should have seen if he would have written down that I hailed from the
He glanced over at my direction; we exchanged optical salutations as he reviewed my extensive list of symptoms. He tells me to jump up on the examination table. I have a silly little fear that I would cause a small earthquake if I jumped up onto anything so I decided to slide right up on it. He takes the little black ear flashlight and shines it down my throat. He nods affirmatively. What was he nodding at? Who knows! I don’t think that hanging ball thing in the back of my throat talked. He moves over to my right ear that houses my hearing aid and I promptly remove it for him. He takes a gander and asks if I ever went through that surgery at Philly. I nodded as much as one could nod with a flashlight in their ear.
“So the cochlear transplant works?” he said.
Ay dio mios! Images flashed through my head where I was laying on an operating table with an open cooler alongside of me revealing a tiny cochlea embedded into an ice cube.
“Implant! I didn’t get a new cochlea from a cadaver down in the morgue, I just got computer put in my head that helps me hear.” I smiled in jest.
“Oh I dont know anything about that stuff.”
No kidding Doc. I decide to educate the man that spent 100,000 dollars on medical school about cochlear implants. He was so not amused by my little show and tell of my cochlear implant system. It was more showing than telling because I lost my voice halfway through my lecture.
Since the doctor ran out of holes to shine his little flashlight in, I hopped off the table and took a seat. I apparently have a sinus infection and laryngitis and his course of action is to zap them with antibiotics!
If this doesn’t work, I’m resorting to doing shots of cod liver oil and orange juice.
