"What's Up, Doc?"

By Jerry Zezima

An apple a day may keep the doctor away, but it won’t keep me away from the doctor.

That’s because I have reached an age — the big 7-Oh — where medical appointments have become a major part of my life.

I have been making so many trips to see one doctor or another that I should win an award from the American Medical Association and get free health care until I am dead, which at this rate will happen either next month, because the frenetic pace will kill me, or when I am as old as my mother, Rosina, who is almost 100 and sees fewer doctors than I do.

“I guess they’ve given up on me,” Mom said. “When you’re over the hill, you don’t have to go to the doctor so often.”

“I’ve been going downhill for years,” I replied, “and I still have more appointments than anyone I know.”

That includes my wife, Sue, who has a bunch of doctors.

“Sometimes I forget which one I’m supposed to see,” she said.

It also goes for other relatives, like my sister Susan, and friends who are my age.

“My calendar is filled with doctor’s appointments,” Susan said.

“I’m always going to the doctor,” said my buddy Hank.

“I see more doctors than you can shake a stick at,” my pal Tim told me.

Of course, if you shook a stick at the doctor and got hurt, you’d have to see — you guessed it! — the doctor.

“Doctor’s appointments seem to be my social life now,” said my friend Sandie.

They have made my life like a storyline on “General Hospital.”

Recently I went to the urologist, who got to the bottom of the situation.

“When you reach 70, you have to keep up on your health,” he said, adding that I am, in his area of expertise, healthy.

After that, I had a crazy week that featured a heart calcium score on Monday morning and a visit with my dermatologist in the afternoon. The next day I went to the dentist. On Thursday, I had bloodwork.

The heart calcium score and the bloodwork were ordered by my cardiologist, who had previously made me go for a stress test.

The results of the heart calcium score and the bloodwork would also be sent to my primary care physician, whom I had seen recently.

The heart calcium score was taken at an imaging center, where I hoped to project an image of good health.

“Do you get a lot of geezers?” I asked Rachel, the radiologist, who smiled and diplomatically said I’m not old but that she does see a lot of people my age.

“I hope I have a winning score,” I said after going through the machine, which took images of my heart to see if I have plaque. “It’s better to have plaque on your teeth than in your heart,” I added.

Later that day, my dermatologist, who had skin in the game, said he was happy to be on my medical mystery tour.

“You might need a secretary to help you keep track of everything,” he said.

The next morning, at the dentist’s office, I had my teeth cleaned by Margaret, the hygienist, who said I didn’t have much plaque.

When I told her about my busy week, she said, “Going to all those doctors is like a full-time job.”

Maria, the phlebotomist who drew my blood, said she sees plenty of people my age every day.

“It’s like a social club,” she told me. “If you’re over 50, forget it. You’re always going to the doctor. And you can’t remember which one you have to see next.”

“Maybe if I live to be 100,” I said, echoing my mother, “I won’t have to go to the doctor so often.”

Copyright 2024 by Jerry Zezima