Passin' Thru the Back Door of the Medical Industry

Passin’ Thru the Medical Industry’s Back Door: How I Learned to Love Big (Nice) Brother

The excitement of visiting Dr. Bigpipe for my first-ever colonoscopy had time to build: 24 hours, more or less. That’s how long I couldn’t eat any solid food. So I went on a unique "7-Up Diet." Actually it was something called "Sierra Mist" that I found in the fridge at work. I first tried some leftover apple juice but that stuff is sweeter than pop, so I rejected it for the Mist. Along with water and coffee.

By the end of the work day I lusted after every nosh, mint or crumb that caught my eye. People were munching chips within my sight, which was just plain cruelty. So I went home and drank laxatives.

Whoa, that’s some potent stuff. Don’t plan a flight to Tokyo after a hit of that joy juice. It all came out fine, though.

Then the big morning came. My sweet Maggie drove me to the burbs, the seat of the American Medical Industry. Where everyone was Nice.

I mean really nice. It turns out that all of the medical personnel went to Nice School. The nurses, assistants, the nobodies and even The Man. In Nice School they apparently learn to answer questions politely while smiling. I asked lots of questions, testing the limits of this Nicetude. It almost crossed over to Too Nice, like when the sales guy wants to sell you the Extended Warranty. You know how Nice that can be.

All that Nicety was important, especially after they told me to show up at 8:00, then ignored me till 8:45 and then acted like I was nuts when I asked what was up with that.

Another thing I learned today – this was my first visit to a hospital since I was born -- is that the nerve center of the hospital is the Legal Department. I cannot tell you how many forms I signed, waiving my rights or acknowledging my lack thereof. A clipboarder would read me something as they signed that they were reading it to me, then another Nice One would come in and read the same thing again.

After the "procedure," they claimed I was too groggy to put on my clothes and skedaddle. But though allegedly too goofy to pull my shorts up, I was given yet another form to sign. My reading glasses were in the plastic bag with my clothes. But I gladly signed. It was just like the end of 1984: I loved Big Brother.

The third thing I learned – well, I surely knew it but now it was up close -- is that despite the Nice atmosphere, the old plantation scene is not completely dead. In the pre civil rights era south, a 60 year old man was a Boy, meant to address a young buck as Sir. Here, the 60-year old is "Stosh," the yet-more-senior nurse is "Sue," and the 30-something is "Doctor Goldsmith." Quick, name one other field where this is the case. Stumped? Me too.

Dr. Goldsmith seemed Nice. He even went to personally talk to Maggie, which surprised me. Because I saw the production line of butts waiting for him. I can hardly wait to see the fee and then multiply by the that butt count. My calculator may need more battery power for that day’s income.

One last thing about Goldie: I brought up the recent study which indicated that doctors who schedule too many colonoscopies go too fast and miss things, so people get cancer and needlessly die. He said "You’d be surprised. Six minutes is a long time." That was the very moment at which the anesthetic worked its magic.

The big poke itself? I slept through it.