Frumpy Mom: Why doctor’s appointments multiply like bunnies

Some of you may be familiar with a certain ritual of American life: The doctor’s appointment.

I don’t know anyone who actually likes doctor’s appointments — except maybe the doctor — but it seems to be an inevitable part of our lives, especially when you get to be old like me.

As some of you know, I have cancer, so I’ve been to approximately 18 bazillion of these over the last six years. At one point, I realized I had 17 doctors. For real.

Because what happens is that once you have one doctor’s appointment, it multiplies like bunnies, and soon you have two, three, four, five, six or 507 subsequent visits. And this isn’t even with the original doctor, who makes you take tests and come back anyway, even if there’s nothing wrong with you.

It’s a rule of thumb that the more aggravating it is to get to a particular office, the more often they want you to come in.

Last year, I went to the eye doctor because I needed new glasses. But she told me, in the blink of an eye, (get it?) that I needed to go see another eye doctor — a specialist — because she couldn’t dilate my eyes.

So, I made an appointment with the specialist, and showed up on the appointed day. So far we’re up to two appointments, in case you’re counting.

But that eye doctor told me I needed to go see “a specialist.”

“Wait, I thought you were the specialist,” I told him, feeling confused.

“Well, yes, but now you need to see a retina specialist, then come back and see me again, because there’s something weird in your eyes I want him to look at,” he said.

So I did what he told me, got tested and returned. The weird thing is just “something we have to watch.” (Now we’re on the fifth appointment, in case you’re still counting, and I still have no new glasses.)

So the new old eye doctor told me I had cataracts and I should get surgery.

“Wait, wait,” I told him. “I just want a new pair of glasses.” But here’s the thing. He was very, very handsome. Now, I may be old, but I’m not blind. I had never once thought about cataract surgery, but suddenly I was talking to a nice woman in an office and signing a whole bunch of forms agreeing to have Mr. Handsome cut my eyes open and put in new lenses.

This is like when you agree to go to a meeting at a vacation hotel and it turns out to be a time-share presentation, and you walk out two hours later, having purchased a week in Colorado Springs every year into infinity.

So my surgery was scheduled for a month hence, and I filled out 18 pages of medical history that the hospital emailed me, including when I stopped wetting the bed and sucking my thumb. (Answer: Never.)

On the appointed day, my kind friend Samantha picked me up and drove me to the hospital at the crack of dawn (No. 6). When I checked in, the receptionist handed me a thick stack of forms to fill out. After I looked at them, I informed her that I had already filled out all these forms online.

She told me she didn’t have access to those, so please just fill them all out again.

The outpatient surgery was pretty fast, and they don’t even put you to sleep. They didn’t give me enough painkiller, so I kept wincing and jerking, at which point the two doctors working on me would yell and tell me to stop moving.

Afterward, though, there was no pain. The whole thing, including recovery, lasted a couple of hours, then my friend picked me up and brought me home.  My vision was better already, I noticed.

Two days later, my vision was good enough to drive back to the new old doctor for a checkup (No. 7), Everything was fine, so I went back home and had a snack.

I still didn’t have new glasses, and now I couldn’t get new lenses until my vision settled down after the surgery, which took about a month. This meant that I couldn’t read anything, because I had great distance vision now, but my close-up vision was still rotten.

The inability to read is a major disadvantage to a writer, so I went to Dollar Tree and bought some cheaters for $1.25 each to get me over the hump. I had to go in for a few more checkups (Nos. 8 and 9) and then back to the retina specialist (No. 10).

Eventually, the happy day came when I got permission to get new lenses, which required an appointment with an eye doctor who fits glasses. (No. 11). And $85 later, I walked out with a prescription, and ordered new spectacles which were a big relief when they arrived and I could once again see my computer screen. So it all had a happy ending. You will note that I mentioned my 17 doctors, but I will spare you the details of my visits to all of them. Let’s just say the stories add up. Where’s Marcus Welby making house calls when we need him?