My unpleasant maiden encounter with a doctor

| Friday November 26, 2010 00:00

In addition to my 'blessing' of never having had to make an appointment with a doctor, I have also not spent a night in a hospital bed for the past 30 years or so of my life. 'I am very lucky,' I have always said to myself. In the past whenever I felt pain, I would ignore it and it would just go away, that's how I have survived most of the three decades plus I have spent on planet earth.

However, something weird happened a few months ago when I started feeling chest pains. I tried to apply my usual technique of ignoring it with the hope that it would go away but this time around this did not work. Inspired by my recently acquired medical aid, I decided that 'this one' needed the attention of a doctor.

Indeed I drove to one doctor - *Dr John. She is of Asian origin and being an African and suffering from an inferiority complex, I was confident that she was going to heal me - as long as she was not an African. I explained to her how the whole thing had started - that I had engaged in vigorous physical training late last year without supervision of a physical trainer. The exercises included weight lifting and wheel rolling. I did the exercises because of frustration at the rate at which my stomach was growing.

'That's why it is always important to engage physical trainers before engaging in any physical training,' she responded. I explained further that early this year I felt unusual chest pains and I quit the exercising. 'Part of the pain is gone but there remains one right in the middle of my chest. It's refusing to go,' I told 'my doctor'. She requested to take my blood pressure and the result was that it was slightly high at 149/95. She recommended Hydrochlrothiazide (HCT) and Valium for pain relief as well as some medication for heartburns. I headed to a pharmacy of her choice where I happily purchased the medication. The advice given was that I should return after five days or so for a check up.

Five days later on a Monday I landed at 'my doctor's' clinic and she enquired how I was doing. I lied and said I was doing fine. She requested to check the blood pressure. I was expecting good news but instead she gave me the opposite. 'I don't know what is happening, this time the blood pressure is a bit high,' she said with a frightening facial expression. She said it was 161/94.

Did you take the medication as prescribed? She askedYes I did, I answered

Did you reduce intake of salts and fats in your meals?

Yes I did, I answered.

She scratched her head, 'then what is happening?'

She prescribed the same medication from the previous week but this time around, at increased quantity. She also ordered that I should go and do blood tests at a laboratory to ascertain the level of one or two things - it was technical -but cholesterol was one of them. I went to purchase the medication and did the tests the same day.

She also gave me sick leave - my first one in five years. The next check up was to be last Friday.

While enjoying my sick leave I received an SMS from the laboratory informing me that they had sent the result to 'my doctor'. I was now anxiously waiting for Friday so that I could go and see my doctor again.

At 12 pm I rushed to see my doctor and she enquired how I was doing. She said the laboratory results showed that the levels for all the things I tested for were normal. She checked my BP and said it was at 200/165 or something like that. Her facial expression this time was scary. 'Ah, ah, ah,' she said, 'something is very wrong.

Are you having a headache?'

'No' I answered with frustration and despair.

I nearly rushed out of her office with that thing still clipped to my arm. 'I will recommend you to a very good doctor, he is on the other side of town. He is a very good friend of mine, he is a cardiologist and he will give you good medication,' she said.

I was lost for words. 'Medication?' I asked myself. This news was more than what I had bargained for.

She dialed the number on her cellphone and enquired of the person on the other end if he had clients. They talked and laughed.

What irked me was when  'my doctor' asked her friend if his clients were 'rich ones.'

They laughed again.

She wrote on a piece of paper the cardiologist's number and that I should see him by 3pm. She said my BP read 200/173 and was so high that a stroke was just around the corner.

I protested that I was supposed to embark on a journey to Francistown before that time.

'No it would be risky for you to drive in your condition, you might get stroke on the way,' she cautioned.

I looked at her face searching for an inch of truth in what she had just told me. I was suspicious. My instincts told me there was no truth in what my doctor was telling me.

I agreed to go and see the cardiologist anyway, which I never did. I drove straight to Square Mart Mall opposite Phase Two where I bought my favourite Nandos chicken piece and chips, which I eat once a month - albeit restrainedly as I would much rather have the meal three times a week. Financial crisis and poverty really deny us good things.

'This is my last meal before a stroke hits me,' I said to myself and devoured the meal leaving only chicken bones.

After I was done I drove to my home-village a few kilometers from Gabs where preparations were ongoing for the funeral, the day after, of my friend's father. I had earlier told my friend about my condition and he constantly made fun of me about 'high bolate'.  I devoured the mokoto - a mixture of cattle internals and some meat pieces. After we were done I headed to another place and purchased a good number of drinks. 'I was enjoying my last moments as a physically fit man. If the stroke comes, it should find me in a good mood and not hungry,' I consoled myself.

On Sunday I went to a local clinic in Ramotswa, where I stay, and checked my BP, it was 120/85 - normal. I could not believe it because just 24 hours earlier I had been told that my appointment with His Majesty was about to be confirmed.

One nurse explained that some private doctors are after money and once they realize that you are on medical aid they make sure that they milk you. 'I never go to private doctors,' he confessed.

'Do you know how many people have been tricked to go on medication for a condition that could have been controlled or even cured at an early stage?' another nurse enquired.

My first encounter with a doctor did not go well so I have decided to embark on physical training - this time excluding weight lifting. I run uphill every evening and have set a target that I should lose at least 10 kg in the next five months.

I have faith that the anticipated stroke by 'my doctor' will stay at bay for a while if not forever. As for 'my Doctor', I bid her farewell. Just maybe our next appointment will be in 2016.