This used to be my “waiting room.”
Each doctor had one, in my day –
An annex, often, of his home.
“Health care providers” now hold sway
And may use another term,
Such as the “debriefing den.”
At any rate, one waits and squirms
And thinks he’s in a holding pen,
Regardless of amenities,
Like soft chairs and aquarium.
A girl says, “Fill these forms out please.”
(About ten pages is the sum.)
Your health insurance information
Is, of course, what’s asked for first.
Page two’s about your occupation.
Page three through five may be the worst:
List allergies and vaccinations;
Past and present health events;
How often do you take vacations?
Have you traveled? Whither? Whence?
Family history; social life;
Have you had an STD?
Have you been subject to the knife?
Which other doctors do you see?
Once, the doctor did this job –
Or, at least, so we were taught.
Now it’s just a chore to fob
Off – it takes some time and thought
And subtracts from bottom line.
It’s labor – let the patient man it.
As long as blanks are filled, that’s fine
(Some day the doc may actually scan it).
Next, to matters legalistic:
Privacy, informed consent.
Medical law suit statistics –
Show why great effort must be bent
To keep abreast with or surpass
The horde of lawyer bottom feeders.
The need for docs to “cover ass.”
Explains page six, which asks the readers
Just what results doc may disclose –
And to whom. Should wife be called
If hubby has to lose some toes?
What if he’s simply going bald?
Divulge results to a machine?
To family members? In what order?
Will answerer know what they mean?
Please list IQs of son and daughter.
Next: “Note that in the health care milieu
There are always perils that lurk.
There is a chance some acts could kill you –
Or keep you from your usual work.”
Lastly you’ll evaluate
The office staffs efficiency:
Q. How long did you have to wait?
A. It seemed like an eternity.
Q. Now, please rate the atmosphere.
A. Two fish perished as I waited.
Q. Your best and worst experience here?
A. Finger in, X- rated; finger out, elated.
It was much simpler in my day,
Doc brushed off questions, patted backs,
Dismissed you with, “Do as I say.”
His pronouncements were the facts!
Old “waiting room” is now my lair.
It’s my turn, now, to sit and wait.
For waiting I now have a flair.
Not much, though, to anticipate.
The sales rep will no longer come
With his latest wonder drug
And his jokes, some good, some dumb,
His “Lilly” labeled coffee mug.
And Minnie, with her timid grin,
Won’t show up, confused about
Her next appointment. “Fit her in.”
And I won’t be forced to shout
In Elmer’s ear, to make him hear
That his prostate feels the same
As it did this time last year.
Yes, I’ll play the waiting game.
No perineum, now, to view,
Propped up for the yearly Pap.
No wound that needs a stitch or two.
I might as well just take a nap.
Rose won’t bring in her drunken mate;
Anxious Paula won’t appear;
I won’t take wens off Bud’s bald pate;
Jane won’t say, “I’ll pay next year.”
I won’t be warned by some multip
That contractions have begun;
I won’t have to quickly slip
Out the door for OB run.
Idleness is now the norm.
Feeling worthless is my fate.
I’ll try to practice some decorum.
With outward calm I’ll sit – and wait.
~ Stanton H Sykes
