by Sara Devins

I went to the doctor recently to deal with a chronic sinus infection. I haven’t gone the route of routinely seeing a general physician for this condition, preferring instead phone calls to request antibiotics so that I could avoid the time and hassle of office visits. But, there is a deeper reason that I do not go in easily to see a doctor. I usually don’t feel that I’ve really been listened to and heard.

The day that I keep my doctor’s appointment, I am fairly miserable and a little apprehensive. This will be a new doctor for me. He is a specialist. I wait alone in a room in a remarkably uncomfortable little upright seat. There is a computer in the room also. The doctor comes in and briefly shakes my hand and barely glances at me. He goes right to the computer and begins typing information. We sit perpendicular to each other, each facing a different plane. There is information about me on the screen from my long ago last visit with another doctor.

He is reading, clicking, typing, reading. In the meantime I am there, the real thing, waiting to be asked and waiting to be heard. There are no questions forthcoming, so I volunteer information. I start speaking. However, what he is reading is more compelling. So I look at the side of his head. His hair is short, brown and going a little gray. There is a device on his head, a light perhaps. I am almost desperate to have him look at me. After all, he will eventually cut and sew my skin. Somehow I want him to know me.

We go into another room for a nasal probe. It is sterile and austere. I’m now really apprehensive. I tell him I’m nervous about this, that I have a ‘thing’ about my orifices being probed. Maybe being funny will lighten the mood. I explain that I have sweaty palms. He and his nurse aren’t the type that you can grab for comfort. The probe goes up and away. I clutch the sides of the chair. I try Lamaze breathing. He is good at this and it doesn’t hurt much.

We go now into another room to check out some CT scans that have been done on me. He is all professional and adept at reading and interpreting this remarkable piece of information. It is a map of my sinuses that he can manipulate to get different pieces of information. He is comfortable and adroit with this technology and he energetically throws around Latin adjectives and nouns. He is obviously king of his domain concerning this precise, small part of my whole self. I too, am filled with wonder over this information in front of me.

We talk about medication. We discuss what drugs I will be taking for the next six to eight weeks. The doctor talks facing the computer. I talk facing the back of his head. I have so many questions for him, but there isn’t time. His next patient is waiting. The residual feeling I have as I leave is one of having conceded or given in.

I appreciate this man tremendously. His knowledge and skills are unimaginable to me. So what is it I want? I admit it sounds elusive. Maybe I want to banter about the potential causes of all my infections. Perhaps I want to brainstorm possible dietary contributions to the cause of, or the healing of, my sinuses. Maybe there is a vitamin I can take. Perhaps I’m a victim of pollution. I want to be a solution, not a problem. I want to tell him that I take good care of myself. I eat well and I exercise and I’m not really a sick person. I want us, with our combined experience, expertise and wisdom to toss around some possibilities.

Sculptors working with marble, often refer to their medium as “alive” and able to speak to them. Maybe we need to learn to speak again to those working on us. Maybe our artist/healers need to think of us as alive. We have become inert and our physicians have become alchemists.

Next visit, I’m going to take a small step in another direction. I’m going to say what it is I’m feeling and thinking and explain who I am and ask him to listen.