I arrived at my doctor’s office for my 7:15 physical at 7:05, updated/confirmed my personal information on some forms, and was called back promptly at 7:15 by Darcy.
I really like Darcy, my doctor’s nurse, and I love my doctor, who is actually a PA:
| Amy G. Hird, P.A.-C Member, American Academy of Physician Assistants Member, North Carolina Academy of Physician Assistants Member, Triangle Area Physician Assistants Amy Hird, Physician Assistant earned a Masters of Medical Science degree from the Emory University School of Medicine Physician Assistant Program in 1999 where she was recognized for academic and clinical excellence by the Emory Progress and Promotions Committee. She has completed clinical rotations at Grady Memorial Hospital in Atlanta, Georgia and Yale University School of Medicine. She completed her undergraduate studies at William and Mary University in 1998. She is a New Englander who enjoys running and fitness, cooking, Duke basketball and spends lots of time outdoors hiking with her husband, son, and crazy dog. |
Actually, she needs to update that because she has another son now.
My physical included:
- An EKG, for which I did not have to have any of my body hair shaved. Thank you.
- A “once-over” including a look in the eyes, ears, nose and throat, listening in on various areas of my chest and back as I took deep breaths, a couple of knocks on my knees to see if I’d kick the invisible man, and of course “the cough” and “the finger.”
- Voiding in a cup.
- Blood drawn for lab work.
I talked about my disgust and frustration with my weight situation, and she calmed me down some, and gave me some ideas, which I appreciated.
Before my prostate check, she was telling me a story about a patient she recently diagnosed with HIV, and I had made a comment about being exclusively a top. And as I “bent over,” I said to her, “I know that since I’m gay, I’m supposed to enjoy this part, but I absolutely do not.”
She replied, “Actually, surprisingly, many of my gay patients don’t enjoy this.”
When she removed her finger (how graphic), I said, “I hope you feel very special. You’re one of the very few people I’ve ever given it up for.”
Speaking of fingers, while I was there I asked her to look at the small finger on my left hand, which over the past year has experienced pain, the front joint with the fingernail on it, has taken a definite bend inward — toward my ring finger, and there’s a definite “bump” right at the first joint. I had suspected arthritis. Just because I’m getting to be that age.
She looked at it longer than I thought she would, mostly because she was quite intrigued by it. She said, “This really doesn’t strike me as arthritis, because it is so isolated. Normally, arthritis shows up across all of the fingers if any. I think it might be some kind of injury that has never healed. I’m going to refer you to a Hand Specialist — George Edwards; he and his partner are doing some really good work.”
Before heading to the lab, Amy renewed my Nexium prescription and my Lisinopril prescription, writing me both a 30-day prescription for each, and a 90-day one for each as well, since I don’t have enough to tie me over until I can mail the 90-day ones in to merckmedco.
In the lab, I listened to the people working there dissing their employer, which I find totally unprofessional. The guy who stuck me, though, did it flawlessly, and I let him know it.
I worked at IBM today, and after lunch took advantage of the free flu shots being offered by IBM. The line was quite long, but it moved along quickly, and the stick was uneventful. I chose the “other” arm — from the blood-drawn arm of this morning.
On the way home, I stopped at Method Road Community Center to cast my vote. There was one person in the R–Z line, and no one in the A–H line and my line, the I–Q line. No one accused me of being there “earlier” to vote.
I had my “cheat sheet” listing all of the democrats running, and those, in particular, who had been endorsed by ENC.
Tonight, Robert and I attended a lecture by David Faber. Riveting at times, compelling, and “necessary” to hear.
| David Faber (author, Holocaust survivor) David Faber (born approx. 1926) is a Polish Jew who survived eight concentration camps in Poland and Germany. He witnessed the murders of his parents, brother Romek, and five of his six sisters by the Nazis. At age 14, he was a fighter with the Russian partisans. When he was liberated from Bergen-Belsen in 1945, he was 18 years old and weighed 72 pounds. His book, Because of Romek, is written in memory of his older brother, Romek. Faber is also an award-winning educator and lecturer on the Holocaust. He currently resides in San Diego, California with his wife Lina, who is also a Holocaust survivor. |
Robert and I discussed it a little on the way home, which I enjoyed. “Reflection” — the heart of service-learning.
I met Kevin (av8rdude) at Flex at about 10:45, where we endured for little more than an hour, before we couldn’t take Dustin for another fucking minute. A surprise appearance was made by Eric (innoman).
This one prissy dude sang Proud Mary for Karaoke, and, let’s just say emoted a lot. At the end he was bowing and accepting accolades when Kevin said, “He really is a proud Mary.”