Almost two weeks ago, distress hung over me like a Scottish fog over Fergus. The next day would take me to Guelph General for cataract surgery on my right eye. Why get uptight over an operation that has become almost routine? Last year my left eye hadn’t responded well to a similar procedure, so with gradually failing eyesight, I had no option but to quit worrying and get on with it. As it happened, I wasted my time fretting; the surgery went well.
In fact, I should never fear doctors. I’ve rarely had a bad experience at the hands or scalpel of a physician or surgeon. Well, maybe once as a child. At about age five my mother dragged me kicking and screaming through the doorway of the doctor’s waiting room. Although I firmly believed it, no one intended to commit child abuse. A gentle-looking, grandfatherly man opened a door and waved us into his office. Mother entered briskly, carrying me head-first under one arm. She plopped me on a chair beside a desk; my sobbing continued. Mother explained that I had a sliver in my foot.
That first visit to a doctor’s office didn’t go well. While the doctor poked about in a hole in the sole of my foot, I screamed and fought. He turned to a cabinet and picked up a huge syringe. To my fearful, childish eyes, it looked like a small drinking glass with a needle the size of a pencil protruding from one end. Sheer terror gripped me so that I stiffened like a board and couldn’t utter a word as he sunk the needle into my foot. I could feel it penetrating all the way to my knee. I always had a great imagination. After a few more minutes of poking into the sole of my foot, the doctor finished and placed the splinter on the desk. I can see it today; it looked as big as a piece of chopped firewood.
That summarizes my first memory of a doctor’s visit. Things have improved greatly since then. In fact, since that day of terror, I have had only positive experiences. When we arrived in the Fergus area 18 years ago, we found a family doctor who immediately diagnosed diabetes. Then I understood why my eyes had frequently changed in focus during the previous five years. I followed his advice, lost 30 pounds, changed my diet, and the symptoms disappeared. But I still miss those duchies and apple fritters.
About eight years ago, a tension in my chest sent me back to the doctor. He referred me to an internist who quickly diagnosed blocked arteries. She sent me to a heart doctor who booked me in for open-heart surgery at Hamilton General.
When I first met the cardiac surgeon, his youthfulness alarmed me until I realized he was close in age to my sons. I would certainly trust them in their area of expertise, so I’d better trust this young professional. A right choice, for he performed beating-heart surgery, bypassing plugged arteries with my heart still beating – only two doctors in Canada could do it at the time.
So when I have had mostly positive experiences with doctors, why feel tension? I guess it has something to do with that first visit, and the fact that I’m still a little kid inside.