“The Doctor Will See You Now.”
Hi There,
My gratitude practice played a trick on me this week. “I’m grateful for…” is the prompt I’ve been using for almost a half-century to reflect (often) on my good fortune. Well, this week I added a new dimension to this deeply embedded practice. Let me take you to this epiphany, via the past.
I’d received the results of my annual mammogram following my January visit. The letter conveyed that all was “normal”. So, when I received a subsequent voice message from my new GP requesting a phone call, I assumed it was a routine office procedure.
Imagine my surprise when the doctor then advised visiting a specialist. The reason: my “dense breasts”. This also left me feeling indifferent, as I’d been having ultrasounds for that reason for years.
I proceeded to return countless release forms and complete an 8-page document in preparation for an appointment I believed was unnecessary. When I arrived at the venue, impatience set in as I waited 40 minutes (longer than two patients who arrived after I did) to be invited into the examination room. My impatience grew into irritation when the nurse practitioner apologized for the wait. There’d been an error, but since it wasn’t MY error, the doctor would see me.
WAIT! So, if it had been MY human error, the doctor wouldn’t have seen me, after I’d driven 45 minutes and waited 40 more for an unnecessary visit!?!?
Deborah, breathe.
After confirming tons of responses from the 8-page intake document, it was time to take my blood pressure. As the nurse affixed the cuff to my upper arm, she thanked me for my patience, informing me that the answers to these questions would determine whether I would be treated as a “high-risk patient”.
My blood pressure then shot through the roof!
Breathe, Deborah!
When the doctor finally entered the room, I exercised my self-regulation: first recognizing, and then naming my anxiety, frustration and fear. During our friendly chat, she revealed to me that, in fact, I’m NOT considered high-risk according to the numbers, and that I’d be relieved to know that “my breasts are boring”. She planned to look at the reports when they arrived, and all that was needed now was one last exam. We chatted some more, and she ended with a request that left me secretly in stitches: “Come see me in a year.”
I dressed, left the building, started my car, and decided to take the long way home, avoiding the highways to enjoy the moments of the drive. I needed to synthesize the huge impact of what the doctor had not said (a single sentence could have changed the course of my life). Her prognosis was music to my ears. And “boring breasts”? I've never been so pleased to be considered boring!
Cheers!
-Deborah
Deborah Goldstein
DRIVEN Professionals / Forbes / Linkedin
info@drivenpros.com | LinkedIn
DRIVEN Professionals, 35 Adrienne Lane, Garrison, NY 10524