My Seattle doctors were worried that I might not be able to get good medical attention in a nationalized health system.
I knew better, because I know exactly how extraordinary my body is. The GP nominally in charge of me did not even want to hear the details; he just put his head down and started scribbling referrals to send me off to specialists.
Today was my first appointment and it went exactly as I predicted. I was x-rayed and then had a long conversation with a physician who kept shaking his head at each major diagnosis. He wanted a comprehensive history but I shrugged.
I’m not even really sure how many surgeries I’ve had. I can only offer the bare outline of what has happened, and rarely care to bother with even that much information.
This particular appointment was in the oral surgery clinic and it is always interesting to see inside my damaged mouth. The tumors are easy enough to diagnose when they appear in the mandible, and I knew from a casual glance that the x-ray was clean. The physical exam was brief.
I can’t open my mouth wide enough to eat an apple but the degree of mobility I have is considered Excellent! Very good! by surgeons who know that it could be much worse. Several invasive surgeries inside the bone, a dislocation (or two) of the joint, and a fractured cheekbone should have left me in a sorry state.
But I’m okay. I just don’t eat apples.
Unfortunately going to the doctor leaves me in a black and seething mood. If the news is bad I feel nothing at all. But when the news is good I am calm and precise until I leave the clinic. Then I start to rage, silently, over the appalling injustice of living with this illness an entire lifetime.
But I’ll forget soon enough. I’ve never been healthy so there is nothing to feel nostalgic about.
I think that I’ll go work on my boat now.