Connie Goff: Visit to doctor not just a walk in the park

Connie Goff

I've had my share of visits with various types of doctors through the years. My latest experience involved an ear, nose and throat specialist, which reminded me of visits to such a specialist in years past.

When my sister and I were small, Carla had a problem –– she probably had more than one, but I'll focus on only one for now. Carla needed her tonsils and adenoids removed to improve her quality of hearing. (I might insert here that Carla ultimately had her tonsils and adenoids removed five times –– something that certainly doesn't happen in more normal people –– at least that's what I've been told.)

Anyway, Carla was a skinny, little fraidy cat! She was scared of her shadow and expected her big sister to help her out of any and all trouble she encountered.

Thus, when it came time for Carla to go to the hospital to have the procedure done, Connie went along.

Now, Connie didn't especially NEED her tonsils and adenoids removed. Connie had no problem hearing. Connie had no problems at all with her nose or ears or anything else for that matter, but back in those days, nearly everyone who was anyone had their tonsils and adenoids removed. I guess I would be no different.

So, Connie and Carla enter the hospital with Mom and Dad attending to their every need. In came the doctors with their masks, smocks and head gear.

The procedure was to take place bright and early. Connie and Carla were prepped and ready to enter the operating room. Guess who had to go first. Of course! Carla was too afraid, and Connie was to set the example.

The next thing I remembered I was back in my room, lying in bed. My throat felt like there was a pitchfork stabbing in and out, in and out. As I opened my eyes just a tad, I saw my mother and father bent over the bed next to me, tending to my ever-wailing, ever-kicking and screaming sister who had just returned from the same operating room I'd been in. That kid carried on for upwards of three days!

I want to fast forward several years –– to this past month when I again ended up in the office of an ear, nose and throat specialist. This time we were looking for a certain lymph node the oncologist wanted removed and tested.

Roger –– dutiful husband that he is –– went with me. We didn't have to wait long before we were called into the examination room. Roger was escorted to a seat along the wall. I was escorted to the "chair" –– a chair that was definite evidence that the majority of this doctor's patients are under the age of 10.

I looked at the chair. I thought of the size of my backside and knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the arm rests were going to have to go. The doctor made adjustments to the chair to accommodate my size, and I settled in.

He poked around on my neck. He felt up one side and down the other. He had me turn around and he felt from the back. I was thinking he was going to smash my adams apple –– if I have one.

Then he started grabbing for instruments. He took this one thing, slipped it in my nose and lifted. Not sure what he was looking for, but I certainly hope he found it.

With another instrument he started probing in the back of my throat. I looked in my dearly beloved's eyes as I was gagging and nearly puking. He was amused. I was not.

Then the doctor asked for some gauze, looked me in the eyes and asked me to open wide and stick out my tongue as far as I could. I obediently did as he asked. What a fool I was!

As I stuck my tongue out, looking my husband in the eyes and thinking how I hated him seeing me in this compromised situation, the doctor GRABBED my tongue. Yes, he grabbed it, pulled it out to its fullest length and held, and held, and held  –– so it wouldn't get away, I guess.

My eyes flew open in shock. And as I looked to the love of my life for assistance –– to save me from the clutches of this maniac, I saw the smirk on his face change to a full-fledged smile, with a small chuckle creeping from his lips.

As the doctor released his death grasp on my tongue and I attempted to roll the stretched-out entity back into my mouth, I looked at my husband, gave him the look of death and then smiled smartly at the doctor and walked out of the room.

Can I ever trust my husband to protect me again? It's questionable!

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