I was not late for my 3pm appointment. Still, it was 3:37 before I was summoned from the waiting room, where I had been alternately reading Adam Bede and a several-months-old Sports Illustrated. I was shown to a room to wait for the doctor, my second appointment with Dr. Blach (with the 'a' pronounced like "ah" and the 'ch' all German-like, you know, the sound like you're hawking up a loogie).
I went to see Dr. Blach after I started having trouble swallowing. "Food?" he had asked. No, just in general. On Super Bowl Sunday after I had enjoyed a couple of creme sodas I was sitting on the couch hoping the Giants would win. (Really I just wanted the Patriots to lose.) And just sitting there on the couch not eating or drinking or anything, I couldn't do it. I couldn't make it turn the corner going down. Like it was stuck.
The first few days this happened I was quite stressed out. When something you have done for your whole life without thinking suddenly requires focus and concentration, you will stress out, too. I am somewhat used to it now. I relax, try to salivate a little, and try again. Most of the time it works. But I chose to go see a doctor to figure out why this was happening.
Okay, the second appointment. It was not 3:38 yet when I sat down in the examination room, and this time I just read Adam Bede. At 3:59, Dr. Blach rolled in to tell me the results of the esophagram: not a lot really remarkable, no lesions, no tumors, no stricture. (Nice to know all of this, of course, but a little depressing not to find some explanation of my problem, or why I have always "choked" on food my whole life.) Then he stared at me blankly for a second. I guessed it was my turn to speak.
"You know how you asked me during my first appointment if I had acid reflux or heartburn? Well, like I said then, to my knowledge I have never had them in my life, so I don't know how I could tell you if I did [on account of I don't know what it feels like], but I have been paying attention lately to what I feel in my throat. I do think it's food. It doesn't burn or anything, but I feel it there."
"Yes, yes!" he said back. "It could be that. I will give you a prescription for Prilosec. And come and see me in two months."
I took advantage of his (apparently) precious time and asked him about my "fixed" deviated septum, and why I still couldn't comfortably breathe out of my nose. He briefly peered in both nostrils and said, "Well, next time you are here, I will numb you up and look a little further down to see if there is any obstruction."
His nurse handed me a piece of paper and sent me off to check out (really, pay). As I walked toward the counter to cough up my $40 copay (my insurance will pay the other $70), I glanced at my phone: 4:04pm.
3 comments:
What? Did he have to be somewhere? I mean, somewhere important? Why not DO something right now? And, phyllis, do you think Dr Blach knows anything? He sure jumped on the "here, take this pill" wagon mighty fast. Of course, I hope the pill helps you. Can we hope he helps you?
I love paying for good help.
My brother for years had a weird swallowing problem. After lots of misdiagnoses, he wound up in the emergency room a few months ago because of it. Turns out he has some kind of rare disorder, which he likens to asthma. Environemntal factors, allergens or pollution perhaps, caused a constriction of his throat, which eventually got so bad he was hospitalized when he was unable to swallow a tiny pill.
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