Monday, June 06, 2005

Doctor's Visit

I've just returned from my weekly doctor's visit. I go to an AR specialist, of course. I was referred to Dr. Samantha Rosco, or 'Doctor Sam', right after I was diagosed with the virus. She watched as ARV slowly transformed me from a man into the toddler that I am today.

As usual, I stripped to my underwear and slipped into a small paper robe. I stepped onto a acale on the floor, then Cindy lifted me to the exam table.

The routine is always the same. As I stood on the table, she carefully measured my head with a cloth tape measure, confirming, I suppose, that I'm not getting any younger. She took my blood pressure, then my temperature (by mouth, thank God).

I like standing on that table. For just a moment, I'm almost as tall as Cindy, Dr. Sam, and the nurse, and I can stand there and nearly look them right in the eye. Standing so high up, without anything to hold onto, makes me a bit nervous though. I steady myself each time by reaching out and touching Cindy's shoulder.

"Lets see if we've had any progress," Dr. Sam asked as she reached under the paper robe to slide my cotton brief to my ankles. I knew, of course, to what she was referring. She gently pinched my scrotum between her thumb and index finger, searching in vain for a pair of testes. "It still hasn't dropped," she announced to Cindy. I hate it when she talks about me as if I weren't in the room.

I have an undescended testical. Dr. Sam isn't sure if it's an issue or not, especially since I'm an ARV patient, but has assured us that a simple surgical procedure could correct the situation. By the time I'd gotten myself dressed, my wife and doctor had scheduled the operation for next week.

I guess I shouldn't be surprised that no one asked my opinion. It seems to matter less and less these days.


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