I don't like the doctor anymore. Ever since I was kicked out of pediatrics, my medical treatment just hasn't been the same. I was told that I could stay in pediatrics until I was 25, should I choose to do so, and I tried to. Sponge Bob and purple walls, stickers and lollipops, toys and magazines and coloring books. It was such a sweet deal, especially since I was the only one tall enough to reach the TV to change the channel. All the other patients were so jealous.
Sometimes I would feel bad for the staff, especially since they would look for my child whenever they called my name. And then they'd ask, "Miss Chao?" with this curious and almost heartbroken tone. I only wish I had a baby I could pop out of my pocket and say, "No, she's right here!" if just to see the expression on the nurse's face (yes, I am a horrible person and no, I don't have a baby in my pocket or anywhere else).
The furniture was all calibrated for small children and I loved being the giant among the vertically challenged. Of course, the fact that they were 16 years younger than I was may have played a role. But the waiting room wasn't always full of elementary school kids. Occasionally there were middle schoolers who pouted because they thought they were too "old" and too "cool" for pediatrics. I'm sure they spent most of their waiting period trying to figure out which kid was mine. And since most of the Asian babies were accounted for, I'm sure the middle school punks were just waiting for me to whip one out, possibly out of my pocket or purse, like one of those teacup poodles. I showed those uppity whiners who the boss was when I walked in for my appointment, swinging my car keys to my car. Oh man, I ruled pediatrics.
When I got a job at a summer camp, my world fell apart. True, I got to color, eat, nap and play all day and get paid for it, but I had to leave pediatrics. I needed all my shots updated and called to make an appointment and the nosy "appointment specialist" asked me if I wanted to switch from pediatrics to internal medicine, considering I was 19. I told her I was happy with my current doctor, to which the "appointment specialist" replied, "She no longer works here. She moved from the region two years ago."
Well, that was the shock of my life. I hadn't realized that Dr. Chunap or Chumpah or James or whatever had left. I just assumed that she was too busy with emergency baby doctoring and had one of the nurses or the assistants complete my physicals for her. I could imagine her in a sterile environment, like on "ER," with a baby suffering from some horrible disease, like a breast milk overdose or a gigantic pumpkin head. Instead, she had left and no one really bothered to inform me.
I called my mother to warn her of this disaster in the making, only to be informed that we had received a letter from Dr. Chunap or James or whatever, and that both my sisters had switched to a new pediatrician. My parents, of course, figured I was smart enough and old enough to find a new doctor, hopefully in internal medicine, so they wouldn't have to deal with the questions the staff always asked. "Mrs. Chao? Do you have a middle-aged daughter named Winnie who still comes to pediatrics to terrorize small children?"
Obviously there was only one thing left to do: make the transition into reality and the adult world. My first visit to internal medicine was terrifying. I was the youngest one there, and an old man kept pushing his wheelchair-bound wife into my seat, while she shrieked, "Ernest! What are you doing? I hurt my hip, not my brain!"
It was like looking into my future with a crystal ball. I would end up a 300-year-old woman in the waiting room, using my walker to run down old men with canes and rolling my glass eye around to scare all the college students. Or even better, I would probably sit down next to the prettiest girl in the room and say, "I looked like you once. And then I left pediatrics and sentenced myself to a life of ugliness and shame."
This time, when my name was called, the nurse looked for my styling geriatric accessory. Unfortunately, my grandma was busy with a rousing game of Mah Jong, the Chinese Bingo, and couldn't be there to accompany me on that special day.
When I was left in the examination room to wait for the doctor, I was suddenly afraid of the horrible consequences of aging. In pediatrics, there were storybooks and circus animal wallpaper to distract me. In internal medicine, there were only warning signs about osteoporosis and melanoma, which is a serious threat. I don't drink enough milk, and I never use suntan lotion above SPF 15. Over the next decade or so, I'm almost positive I'm going to shrink and shrivel into a raisin, wrinkly and squishy with no bones. I still can't decide which is worse: a raisin or a glass eye.
Despite the utter hopelessness of my fate in internal medicine, there is one thing I am certain of. In the end, I will triumph and once again rule the waiting room, even if I have to wait 1000 years.
Winnie can be reached at winnie@cavalierdaily.com
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