Nuthin' like the Real Thing

Happy November friends!
Disclaimer:  Even as I'm typing, I realize this is going to come across awfully self-serving ... so you can bail now if you'd like.  I dunno ... sometimes you just gotta talk to someone.

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Ya know, for all the advances in modern medicine I've been privy to witness,  there's still a part of me that misses the sincerity of yesteryear.   I call it the 'Welby Syndrome.' 

... aka Marcus Welby, M.D. for other fans of 70's television.   

Some of y'all may remember, I voiced concern after my last 'well' exam in August.   While I adore the Nurse Practitioner I've been seeing for the last 8-9 years ... this time I felt like there was a giant stopwatch above my head. "E" was going through the motions with no eye contact and little conversation.  She disappeared as quickly as she'd come.  

Anyway, a few days later - after what might have been a royal screw-up with my labs and resulting prescription - I came to agree with a friend who trumpets the necessity for everyone becoming their own health advocate.   

Deep breath.  "If someone wants to believe I'm being a hypochondriac let 'em."   I remembered the kindly, empathetic M.D. Tom and I used to visit ... the one who discovered evidence of Tom's bladder cancer before any symptoms manifested themselves ... the same one who championed my right to fire my Infectious Disease specialist when she was refusing to release me to go back to work after the dog attack.  

Doctor H. left that physicians' practice shortly thereafter and I moved onto seeing his colleague.   (Probably just as well, as he was devastatingly handsome.  LOL!) 

That was then, this is now.  No doubt I thoroughly confused his scheduler when I called for an appointment.  "No, actually I'm fine.  I'd just like an appointment to talk to the doctor."  

Then there he was:  The neatly trimmed black beard has morphed into a fluffy snow-white cloud, but his startling blue eyes were warm ... and curious.   (Still handsome as hell, dang it!)

His, "Don't worry, I've all the time in the world" attitude -- and the Biblical verses stenciled on the walls -- almost made me  weep.

Well, just like no-one's supposed to 'bad-mouth' their boss in an interview, I felt a huge rush of guilt expressing my misgivings about his former colleague.    

He didn't concur aloud ... but when examining the results of my recent tests he frowned and asked, "Tell me again, why does she have you taking hormones for osteoporosis?"
   

I stuttered to explain, "E" believed they would reverse the bone loss ...  but I'd not a little concern learning (that) after 65 they contribute to heart disease.   Nervously, I quipped: "Well, I saw it on Facebook so that has to be true, right?)   
I expected he'd chuckle at my attempt at levity; instead he nodded.

Standing, he moved to sit beside me and voiced his own recommendations.  My osteoporosis is purportedly 'severe' -- but in addition to the effects of smoking for 43 years, he allowed that my family history and slender build were contributors.   

(Ha! Slender? I looove you, doctor!)     

Then, worried about taking up too much of his time, I off-handily asked about a couple recent oddities:  When getting ready for work I've had a weird weight in my chest and dull pain in my upper arm.    In spite of my poor diet and sedentary lifestyle, my labs and vitals have always been textbook perfect .... "So it's probably just anxiety, right?"

  

In the space of the next 15 minutes, my EKG came back.  In his words, "Not pristine" ... so now I'm the proud owner of a wee vial of nitro and referrals to see both an endocrinologist and cardio.

"I'm going to pot."  That's what my momma used to say as she grew older.  Now, I'm too honest to pretend I'm not worried ... more so about the stupid stress test than anything else.  I can't UNforget that my former hubby suffered his fatal heart attack while undergoing a stress test.)    

Now that the weather is becoming a little cooler (high 80's are still much better than 110) I'm looking at gizmo's out on Amazon that will prompt me to get up and get moving.    Does anyone else own a Fit Bit?   Considering all the choices, I wonder if a less-expensive alternative  ... one that only measures steps and heart-rate ... isn't a better alternative?    Everyone - including a favorite author whose weekly blog chronicles her 70#  weight loss - recommends doing 10,000 steps/day.   (How far IS that?) 
At 72 years young, if she can do it, so can I!

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Thank you so much for listening .... 
Big hugs from Phoenix!

Myra

P.S. - 

I don't mean to sounds like I'm putting down Nurse Practitioners (v. doctors).  For now, this gal prefers the Real Thing!