Got my money’s worth out of the health insurance today.
First, the dentist. A second very, very detailed exam by a dental intern (is there such a thing? Is it called the zamboogen-year or something … or can I just call them interns?). I’ll be back tomorrow for my 2 fillings. In a week I’ll be going in for a “veneer” to replace a “temporary” reconstruction I got back when I was, like 15. Why not?
Then, back to the doctor. Hey doc, your antibiotics didn’t do a darn thing about my cough (I’ve named it “Lungfish,” by the way). The doctor seemed smart, and he listened to me. That’s all I ask, really. So I got nasal steroids, a super-duper inhaler (literally, albuterol on steroids), an appointment for a “spirometry” test where I blow … as hard as I can, and a chest X-ray. We talked about the fact that I live with cats (just like I have for a decade now), and also that I do get some exercise, from time to time.
My chest X-ray was “negative.” I found this unsatisfying and pestered my medical family for a better answer. “Negative” is a sign. It’s a polarity. It’s not an interpretation of a picture, unless we’re talking pure artistic opinion. I was told that “negative,” is relative to the detective power of the picture in screening for heart disease, various forms of lung gunk, neck gunk, and other gunk.
So the plan is that I snort the rose-smelling steroids and breathe the minty gasses every day for two weeks. If I go back and “it worked,” then I we smile at each other and call the fact that I have to do this for the rest of my life “Asthma.” Or maybe we tell each other some story about snot dripping down my throat and irritating my bronchi.
Or something. I don’t know.
Hopefully by the time my follow-up comes around, I’ll have my 23 and me results to bring in. “Hey! I got my genome done, wanna see?” If he reacts with any sort of curiosity at all, he’s got a patient for life.
All this for $15, plus the co-pay on the prescriptions. Not bad, says I.
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