My new doctor has referred me to a Pulmonary Specialist. I dread this. I saw one a few years ago in Wilmington when I lived there. Their “toys” are not as much fun as some doctor’s toys are. Take my temperature? Sure. Blood Pressure? Knock yourself out. Want to look in my ears, my eyes, my throat. I’ll tolerate it. Put me in a phone booth sized area and tell me what you are going to do may make me quit breathing, but don’t worry, you can start me back, and I freak out.
I have quit breathing on more than one occasion. It is a terrible feeling. There is no air to get in and no matter how hard you try, it will not come in. The first time was during the birth of one of my children. The second time was a reaction to a drug. The third time was during my appendectomy.
So the Pulmonary doctor in Wilmington put me in that phone booth sized enclosure and said what he was going to do might make me quit breathing, but not to worry?
What my primary care doctor got that day was a diagnose of anxiety (among other things). Once you’ve quit breathing, the threat of that happening again, but trust me, I’m a doctor? just didn’t “work” for me.
All these problems, problems, problems came from illnesses I had as a baby. They say I had pneumonia and whooping cough before I was a year old. I met an insurance salesman many, years ago when I was a teenager. He had been asked to insure my life when I was such a sickly baby and had turned my mother down. He refused to sell her a policy. He sat there in our current living room with his mouth hanging open in surprise . . . “You’re not dead?” he asked me. “Not that I know of,” I replied in my teenage smart ass best voice. .
They say the appointment will last awhile. Well, that depends on how tired I get while I’m there. I’ve walked out before. Walked out of the hospital when they were trying to determine if I had appendicitis. My son made me go back. He won’t be there tomorrow.
I will huff and puff and when I grow tired of it, I will leave. They’ll have whatever test results they get before then. Another wonderful thing about being my age is I can just get up and walk out. That’s assuming I get there in the first place.