The home health check up

I posted this on Wednesday, then deleted it--because I was embarrassed about not handling it better.  Day was horrified that I invited this man into my house and that he wouldn't leave when I told him I was done, but her antennae for scams is way keener than mine.  Then she called Tom (in Rome now) because he's an expert in health care and he said they are a legitimate company, but that I should report this for how it was handled by this particular doctor.  I'm going to re-post it now as a warning to anyone who may be considering this.   Ask lots more questions beforehand than I did. 

*****

Until yesterday, I avoided the home health check-ups the insurance people keep calling about. For some inexplicable reason, probably to get them to stop calling, I said, okay, it's just one hour, right? 

(note to self: never again)

First of all, home is private space.  Unless I actually need help (in an emergency) I will never again invite medical equipment, questionnaires, or advice-givers into my personal space.  It felt like an invasion when--in Hour 2--I was still answering questions I could have done on paper in half the time. 

"I can save you some time," I'd already told him.. "I only have two concerns--neuropathy in my feet and an auto-immune condition."

But the doc--in his white coat and mask, calling me "Mam" over and over--didn't want to save time. 

"What is your pain level now, Mam?"

"Four."

No, I've never had a heart attack or stroke, no I don't drink alcohol, yes I smoke.....(Should have lied on that one as it inevitably brings on a lecture and lectures are unwelcome in my house!); yes I had a minor breast cancer a few years ago, no I can't recall the year, all's well now; no falls in the last year, no, I don't need help bathing;  my hearing is fine; no I have never considered suicide (but at the moment, I'm considering knocking you on the head with a hammer) 

As Hour 3 was starting, I felt an anxiety attack coming on. "This has to stop.... I can't do this any more."

"Just a couple more, Mam, and then we'll do the weight and blood pressure and...."

After the cognitive test,  he thought he would decrease my anxiety with a compliment.  "Put this on your refrigerator, Mam, and tell your friends," he said.  Yeah right, I thought, I would never put a medical report on my refrigerator, please go. 

Finally, he rose to leave, but he had one more question: "What is your pain level now?"

"After nearly three hours of sitting here answering questions, it's an eight."

As he walked out the door, I lit a cigarette.  

Lessons learned: 

1. Nothing is more dull than two and a half hours of answering questions about myself.  It left me feeling deflated, like a conglomerate of bones and vessels and tissue. Like what I was to him--his "first Medicare patient of the day." 

2. Medical conversations should take place in medical facilities. At home, I'm not a "patient."  

3. If a doc calls you "Mam" (or "Sweetheart"), you know that no real conversations are forthcoming.

4. I can take advice by my actual doctor.  She knows me and my history. We like each other and she talks like a regular person, no white coat, no patronizing.  But never again inside the advice-free zone of home.