Why did I pre-register?
My trip to the hospital for a bone density test started out badly.
My irritation might have been instigated by the fact that I had to arrive twenty minutes prior to the test, despite the hospital’s insistence via email and several text messages that I pre-register online at home.
But why did I have to arrive so early if I’ve preregistered?
Anyway, the bridge at Dequindre Road was out, forcing me to detour, cutting into that supposed necessary twenty minutes. I arrived at the hospital with ten minutes to spare, only to be confused by multiple entrances. Of course, I happened to choose the one entrance where a heavy-duty forklift temporarily blocked the way. After that I had to find entrance to the garage, then find a parking spot, and then take the stairs down to a walkway.
Then, despite the fact that I walked into the hospital with the brisk determination of someone who is quite late (yet on time for the actual appointment!), a cheery person at a desk waylaid me by asking me where I was headed, as if I might need guidance. I did not.
I already told you that
After a brief sit in a waiting room, someone called me back to “registration.”
She smiled and thanked me for registering online, then asked me the same questions that I’d already answered in the online preregistration yesterday.
I said: “No I have not traveled overseas. Didn’t I check that box online?”
She said: “That was yesterday. We have to ask.”
Me: “I did not fly to Europe and back in the last 24 hours.”
She: “Fair enough, but have you tested positive for COVID since yesterday? That might have happened…”
Me: “I would not be here if I had.”
The woman who really did read the form
She ushered me to another waiting room where I was handed a health form to fill out. The hospital has all this information in my “My Chart.”
Well, okay, maybe not that one question about how long I’ve been on thyroid meds. The problem is I don’t remember. It’s been a long time. I wrote “many.”
The technician reviewed my form in the test room.
She asked: “Can you spell your name?”
Me: “Yes.”
Then I thought better of it and spelled it. Maybe it was actually a mental acuity test.
She: “Okay, for the thyroid medication: how many is ‘many’? Two years? Five? Ten?”
Me: “If I knew I would have written it.”
She: “Guess.”
Me: “Let’s go with 10. That’s long enough for me to not remember anymore.”
She: “You have your uterus?”
Me: “Yes.”
She: “You still have your ovaries?”
Me: “Yes! Didn’t I fill that out on the form?”
She: “No.”
Me: “Go on. I did, too.”
She: “Um. No.”
Me: “I’m sure I did.”
She: “Honest, no.”
Me: (still not believing her) “Okay. I was testing to see if you really read that.” (It can work both ways)
She: “Well, I really do.”
Is this what it’s come to?
I guess as we get older, we’re expected to become the archivists of our own bodies. When did you start that medication? Exactly how many years ago? Do you still have your ovaries? There’s comedy there, but also the shared experience of realizing that middle age comes with an ever-expanding personal database that everyone expects you to maintain.
I had to laugh. I told the technician about the drive here, the preregistration nonsense, all of it. She laughed with me.
We talked aimiably while she finished the test, and when I left, she complimented my necklace. Suddenly, the whole ridiculous morning didn’t seem quite so ridiculous. The real problem wasn’t the people asking the questions. It was the labyrinth we’d all been dropped into, where patients and employees alike spend half their day pretending someone, somewhere, isn’t asking the same question for the fifth time.
Although, for the record, the answer is still “many.”
My upcoming novel, Love and Other Incurable Ailments – An anxious overthinker’s fixation on a stranger pulls her straight into chaos, heartbreak, and the inconvenient unraveling of her carefully constructed life.
The narrator, Serenity, undoubtedly keeps meticulous health records. After all, she’s a hypochondriac.
Preorder the book here: Regal House Publishing | Bookshop | Amazon and I’ll be forever grateful!