One of the by-products of my recent-ish divorce is that I just barely got my own health insurance policy. It’s the first time that I’ve had insurance on my own (not as the result of being a dependent of someone else), and seems a pretty big step for me in being financially and legally independent.
So recently I saw my new doctor for the first time. I went specifically to get a prescription for some changes to my prosthesis. When we met I explained to him exactly what I needed, gave him the contact info for my prosthetist, etc. I didn’t expect for him to examine me, nor did I even sit on the exam table in the room. Also, when he queried me about whether I was up to date on my vaccinations, I could tell that my reply left him a little bit speechless.
“How do you know so much about this stuff? He asked as he gestured to a screen on his computer showing checkboxes for my immunization record–just after I’d given him a 10-minute spiel about the Tdap vaccine.
“I’m a medical historian, with a strong research interest in resurgent disease.” I replied.
I must say, there’s something about going into a doc’s office with some confidence, knowing exactly what I need and how to get it, that tends to offset any anxiety that I feel from having had so much medical trauma in the past. Perhaps it’s a bit intimidating for the physicians that I interact with–but I think they tend to find it rather refreshing among the garden-variety sore throats and coughs that they see all day long…