Why I make a bad patient

Over the next few weeks, I have quite a few doctors appointments scheduled. I dread these for a couple of reasons. One, I don't want to have more medical bills to pay for. I feel like I've just caught up, and here we go again! Two, I hate going to the doctor. Always have, and I probably always will. And this isn't to say doctors are bad people because they are not. I actually feel sorry for these poor souls who were cursed with me as a patient. And I'll explain why...


Since I was born with a heart condition and had surgery at the young age of four months old, I've been to many many different doctors my entire life. As a child, once a year, we'd make the trip down to Birmingham, Alabama, to see my cardiologist, and of course, my parents would have to bribe me with promises of a toy if I did well.  This changed to going to Riley Chidlren's Hospital here in Indy to now going to an adult cardiologist in the Indianapolis area. I also had a pediatrician and an allergist since I received allergy shots every Thursday for many years. I absolutely hated Thursdays.  Part of me still does.

See, I have a huge fear of needles. This probably dates back to when I was a baby and all the things they stuck in me in various places to draw blood (I have been told they even tried to get blood from my head), etc. I used to try to negotiate my way out of shots when I was a wee young child. The nurses had to have hated me. I'm sure they were all in the back saying "I had her last time, you get her today." Or "Oh shit, it's that kid again..." Because, every Thursday, without fail, I'd desperately grasp for negotating points with them. "I'm not ready yet! Give me a minute!" "Can we talk about this?" "I'm not comfortable with this, can we talk about it?" I'd try anything to talk my way out of the shot I knew was inevitably coming.  It'd always end with me in tears sucking on a Dum-dum lolli-pop afterwards as my Mom rolls her eyes at her drama queen child. I would even bring in my stuffed animals, as moral support, of course, but then I'd throw them to the wolves by suggesting the nurse give the stuffed animal the shot first. (Didn't work.) With the doctor, I'd work it another direction. If I had strep throat, that would always result in a shot of antibiotics. So I grew wise to this, and I would negotiate if I didn't cry or throw a fit when he gave me the strep test (stick down your throat thing), I wouldn't have to get the shot. Wouldn't you know it? It worked! Maybe THAT'S why I'm an attorney, huh? I had mad negotiating skills even as a child.

As an adult, I do suck it up like a big girl and get my shots (it wouldn't be as cute coming from a grown woman if I tried the above tactics), but the new thing I can't handle is blood drawing. I pass out. And not because of any particular reason, but it just happens. I can't explain it.  If they distract me, I'm good, and if I lay down, I'm good. But if you start talking about what you're doing, the needle, the fact blood is leaving my body, anything, I'm out cold.  I always warn the nurses, "Please just talk about anything but what you're doing, and I'll be fine."  Most of them get it, but some talk about how I'm a 'hard stick' or how they can't find a vein, and then I'm out.  (I try to warn them!)  I hate that feeling, too. You feel sick and then the room goes dark. Sure, you get some tasty OJ when you're done to get the feeling back into your body, but it still sucks. So T goes with me to get blood work (that's why I love him). One of the last times he went, it took 4 sticks to get it right. Somewhere around the 2nd stick was when I told the nurse that 'hey, just fyi, I'm an attorney' (meaning "Don't mess this up. I have the power to sue sans legal fees.") Poor T. He was standing there looking down on me lying down, trying to make me believe that they were even close to being done, and by the fourth stick, tears were starting to come out of my eyes no matter how hard I fought it, and I started to feel that nauseous feeling. Luckily, the fourth time was the charm, but I was scarred after that.

Aside from my passing out cold in a hospital room, I'm also not a trusting patient. Too many bad experiences for that. One failed CAT scan where the lady accidentally missed the vein all together and injected the iodine directly into my skin (which, let me tell you hurts like you know what), and I'm a full-time skeptic of people doing work to me. They had to pull the needle out, and another nurse came in to kind of calm me down because I thought my arm was going to explode with pain. So the nurse who messes up looks at me and says "we're going to have to do it again, sweetie," to which, I turn to the other nurse and glared asking "is SHE going to do it again?" I do feel somewhat justified in my fear there, though. My arm looked like a water balloon was in it for days. And it was really uncomfortable.  Ick.

I worry karma is going to come and get me later in life. Trust me, when T and I have little ones, I guarantee we're going to have children who negotiate their way out of doctor's appointments. You just wait and see.  I'll have another little negotiator on my hands. 

And that, my friends, is why I make a terrible patient.