Play Misty For Me

There's a certain inevitability that comes with getting older. You know that physical activity is going to get a bit tougher, you figure you're going to get a little more forgetful, and you suspect that you're going to spend more of your waking hours waiting to be seen by some doctor. Oh, you can try hard to eat right, exercise and do any brainteaser puzzle that comes your way but every once in awhile, you're hit with a reminder of what's really ahead of you. I had one of those moments this week, sitting in a urologist's office.

When you are forced to pick up that phone and make an appointment with someone whose clientele clips Depends coupons, it's a sobering moment. Not that it was that much of a surprise to anyone who knows me. I've had to scope out the location of the nearest rest room since I was potty trained. But this was different; this was needing to find the next bathroom before I left the one I was in.

I didn't make that phone call right away. I thought it was the least I could do to give my primary doctor a shot at solving the problem but, after a couple of weeks of, shall we say, "intense discomfort", I had to face the music. It was time to see a specialist. So, there I was, the only non-Medicare patient in the waiting room, wondering what delights were waiting for me on the other side of that door, when a young nurse called my name.

She led me into the exam room, took the usual vitals and informed me that 'Misty' would be right with me. 'Misty? What kind of name was that for a urologist? How in God's name was I going to have any confidence in a doctor named Misty?' (Okay, she was a physician's assistant but still. New parents, take note. Do not give your child a name that will always sound like she should be off somewhere playing with her American Girl doll.)

A few minutes later, the bubbliest urologist on the planet got good and familiar with my netherlands as I stared at the ceiling. She chattered amiably through the exam, cheerily answered all my questions and gave me an intake/output diary to be filled out over two of the next fourteen days. Great. I thought there would be a nice, easy solution - like a little, pink pill that would save the day but no such luck. Now I have to go back in two weeks.

I wonder if Dr. Misty will be waiting for me.