***

 
Some people just don’t get it, and that can be damned frustrating sometimes!
Case in point – my proctologist, Dr Roger. An AWFULLY nice guy. Bald. Middle eastern. Staunch Democrat. Great sense of humor. Loves to argue. Passionate about politics.
Dr. Roger performed the colonoscopy on me a week ago.
He found one polyp.
When I came to in the recovery room after the procedure, he told me that he was sending the polyp off for a biopsy. He said that he was pretty sure that the thing was benign, but that he would give me a call when the final results were in.
All week long, I didn’t hear a thing from him.
Que nada.
Zippo.
Nothing.
So, after a few days of no news, I figured that everything was okay, and that life (particularly mine) would go on.
Then, I came home from work on Friday, and I noticed there was a message on my answering machine. It went something like this - "Jim, this is Dr. Roger. Everything is fine. However, the results of the biopsy on the polyp have come in. You need to give me a call."
 
 
Suddenly, everything in the universe came to a screeching halt. The world stopped spinning on its axis.
"The results of the biopsy are in. You need to give me a call."
Life was never going to be same for me again.
Radiation.
Chemo.
Yards of my intestines being yanked out in a last-ditch effort to stop the disease that was insatiably devouring my bowels.
My mouth went dry.
My hands were shaking as I dialed the phone and called Dr. Roger’s office.
The time was 4:45 p.m.
Dr. Roger’s office closes at 4:00 p.m.
Call back on Monday.
SHIT!
Needless to say, the weekend was a long one. I woke up Saturday thinking about my colon, and I continued thinking about it all weekend long.
Mary and I went down to work on the boat. I worked on the boat and thought about my colon.
We went for a horseback ride Saturday afternoon. I rode Mariah…and thought about my colon.
Sunday, I split and stacked firewood…and thought about my colon.
Sunday night, we went down to the Main Street Pub and met a few of our friends for Stein Night. I had a couple of pints…and thought about my colon.
I was irritable all weekend. Things rubbed me the wrong way. I could feel myself getting temperamental and short. I fought it, and I did a fairly good job of keeping my edginess under control. If I had let it, the fear could have easily gotten out of control. But it never did. It just sat there, in my mind, ever-present. Like a bad song that plays over and over and over again in your head. No matter what you do, you can’t get rid of it or turn it off.
Monday morning (THIS morning) came.
Dr. Roger’s office opens at 9:00 a.m. At 9:01, I was on the horn with his receptionist.
"I’m sorry, Mr. Hetrick. Dr. Roger is at the hospital until 2:30. Call back then."
You’ve gotta be kidding me!!!! Five and a half hours from now???!!! That’s a freaking eternity!
By now, I could feel the tumors growing in my intestines.
About eight days later, it was 2:30.
I called the office again and told the receptionist who I was. She told me that she would see if the doctor could speak to me, and she put me on hold. Two minutes later, Dr. Roger picked up and said, "Jim! How are you doing?"
I was relieved to hear his voice! Then, I got nervous. In just a few seconds, I would find out the results of the biopsy, and then I would have to start dealing with cancer! My life was never going to be same again after this moment.
"How am I?" I said. "I guess that all depends!"
"On what?" he asked.
"On what you have to tell me about the biopsy."
"Oh!" he replied. "Well then, in that case, you’re fine."
What did he just say?
"You’re fine."
"Really?"
"Really!"
"No cancer?"
"Nope."
"Then, it wasn’t malignant?"
"Benign as all hell."
The relief was tremendous. I suddenly felt as giddy as a school girl who was just asked to the prom. Suddenly, the sun was shining, and birds were singing, and God was in Heaven, and all was right with the world. Then, all at once, I got angry. "I’ve been worried about this all freaking weekend!"
"Why?" he asked, completely mystified. "I left a message saying that everything was fine!"
"Yes!" I acknowledged. "But you also said that you wanted to discuss the biopsy results with me."
"Yes!" he said again. "I told you! The biopsy showed the polyp to be benign. So I’ll see you in four years!"
He didn’t get it.
When hypochondriacs like myself hear a doctor say, "discuss biopsy results", and "You need to give me a call", what we really hear is, "Don’t buy any long-movies. You’re not going to make it to the closing credits!"
So, if any of you reading this are doctors, do your patients a favor - DON’T call them on Friday afternoons! Can’t the freaking news, good OR bad, wait until Monday?