Sometimes I wonder if I’m better off staying home instead of going to the doctor.  Don’t get me wrong, I think that my doctors do a great job.  It’s their staff that I worry about.  Back in February, I wrote about a little concern that I had with the doctor’s office.  But I’ve long since forgotten about that…until today.

This morning, I went to the doctor for a check-up after a recent procedure.  As I walked in the door, I spotted the clock and noticed that I was a few minutes early.  So, I signed in, and then went to the restroom.  (The only thing worse than waiting 6 hours for the doctor is doing it on a full bladder and not being able to go because you’re sure that they’re going to call your name any minute now…)  I returned to the waiting room and didn’t even get two paragraphs into the article telling me about the best cured ham in the states when the assistant called me back.

Behind the big door, we walked along the hall.  She pointed me to a room, handed me a cup and said:

“Mr. Land, I need you to provide us with a urine sample.”

Oh my…this is not good.  I obviously wasn’t expecting this.  I took the cup and walked slowly into the bathroom.  My mind raced about how I could do this.  One option was to drink a bunch of water real fast.  I could get the water from the sink, but the only thing I have to scoop it with is….this cup.  Not only do I not want to use the cup to drink out of (obvious resons), but I thought it might throw of the test results.  (“Mr. Land, you’ve tested positive for flouride.”)

I just did my best and managed to squeeze out a sample.  Hopefully this would be enough to run their test.  I thought it would be best if I didn’t open the door and ask the lady if the amount was OK.  I just put the cup into the magical testing cabinet, washed my hands, and left.  I knew that the people on the other side of the wall were probably laughing about how little they had to work with, but I was wondering why I still had that much left in my bladder.

As we walked down the hall, the assistant glanced over my chart.  She pointed me to my room and as I sat down, I heard these comforting words,

“Oh, I’m sorry!  I should have looked at your chart earlier.  We didn’t even need a urine sample from you.”

First, if you screw-up something like that, don’t tell me.  Just go pour the sample out and I’ll never know the difference.  (Or, in my case, wait 15 minutes and all three drops will probably have evaporated.)  But now let’s get to the real issue…She didn’t read my chart?  Are you kidding me!  I’m here at the doctor…don’t you think that an important piece of information would be why I’m here?

To be honest, I’m probably pretty lucky.  There are a lot of other medical mistakes out there that could turn out much worse.  And I’m gullible enough to go along with most of them.  “Hey, they’re doctors.  They know what they’re doing…right?”  I’m just thankful that I she only asked me for a urine sample.  She could have said “Drink this shot of whiskey and bite down on this stick.”  I don’t like the taste of sticks.