Of Sound Body

I kept my appointment
at 8:00am this morning
simply because
I am driven to follow rules
that govern me, established by people
who may not have my best interest in mind.

This new doctor
is part of a huge conglomorate hospital
in this area; the health care network it
has established is rather obscene and spider-esque.

When I arrived at the sprawling office complex
and navvigated a path through the webbing of corridors,
I found 2 fellow patients standing in a narrow hall
waiting for the office door to open.

A bleak water color sat in uninterrupted desolation.

Considering the expansive waiting area inside
this particular group's office,
I found standing in the closet hall rather distasteful.

"8:00am. Do you think that means we will
get right in?" I ask an older woman
shifting her weight from side to side
on a pair of beat up Keds.

"Humph." She snorts.

The door opens and a quite man
holds it as we walk in,
sign in, sit in.
The TV is blaring some cheerful local news channel
about the elderly dying in the heat.
More people begin to filter in at 8:03.

Some woman in a purple smock reaches
for the exact same magazine
I do. A Travel from 2003.

Matt LaBlanc stares at me with his cheeky wife.

I see a sign which reads:
FROM NOW ON [NOVEMEBR 2004]
THERE WILL BE A $5 FEE FOR ALL
FMLA FORMS.

Finally, I am called back; I have lost weight from the Luxapro.
Even if this is bloat week.
I discover that at least 2 other people
are scheduled to see the same doctor
at the exact same time--is that legal?
For insurance billing, I mean??

When my doctor does come in,
she still has the same look on her face.
Like someone just
pillow slapped her at a slumber party.
She must pinch herself awake.

What is she thinking about? She isn't here with me . . .
An affair gone wrong? A lonely child with a nanny?
Last night's episode of . . .?
A mild heat rash under her bra?
Something caught in her teeth?

She feigns interest
at the patient staring at her:
"So . . . ? The Luxapro didn't work?"
There is simply nothing
behind her eyes.

I tell her I want to try Paxil.
The magazines in her office have advertised
all sorts of drugs for anxiety.
I stumbled across three articles that delt with:
"Stress in the Work Place";
"Coping with the American Lifestyle";
"Dealing with Anxiety."

The medicalization of Stress
has, no doubt, worked in it's complex
fashion to put me right there in front of her.

Yet, self-treatment is bullshit.
I don't have a medical degree, nor
the time or energy to research what I should be taking.
That's why I pay her $65.oo a pop.

Doesn't she have any new insight?
An outsider's point of view?

Hell, I know I can drink a few glasses of wine
to relax--what's a difference she proposes?

"How's my bloodwork?" It's not like she
volunteered to share this information.
"Great. Everything looks great. So, it's not . . .
you know . . . [shrug] . . ." Yeah???

"Medical?"

That's astounding.
No chemical imbalance?
Just nuts.

And why must a medical doctor be uncomfortable
with saying it? I asked about a pap too--and she was all awkward.
The only time she acted at ease
was when she said she liked my shoes.

"Paxil's fine. I just usually perscribe Luxapro
because all of these medications are hit and miss.
Let me see if I have any samples."

She doesn't. Have any samples, that is.
And my cynical inner-monolgue
chides her for being a slave
to the pharmesuedical companies--
that's why she perscribes Luxapro:
she is provided with samples by
those capitalist monkies
and then looks like a angel to her patients when she
"saves them money."
Wonder what her kickbacks are.
Seriously.

I have a 12 week supply of Paxil &
12 weeks to look for another doctor
with better magazines.