We don’t like to think of our personal doctors as fallible. In fact, the very idea of an error-prone physician shakes our core belief in some of life’s basic presumptive protections – that judges are impartial, that our government is competent and that our TiVos are not maliciously deleting saved programs out of spite. But even if we were to grant those failings, it’s still unthinkable that our doctors might be misdiagnosing and misinforming us. Well, think again.
About a month ago, I stepped out of the shower and waited for my ears to pop as I sorted through the family toothbrushes looking for mine. Then a funny thing happened. Or didn’t happen. My ears never popped.
For the whole day, then the whole week, I felt like I was walking around with cotton in my ears. While this provided a good excuse to ignore things my mother said, it was just not working for me on the whole. So, I went to my insurance-friendly medical practice and talked to “Doctor McFixit.” After explaining my problem to him, he looked in the ear and pronounced the inner wax was so thick he couldn’t see past it. Seems like a medical student or even someone certified in first aid might recommend cleaning out the wax. This is the kind of thinking that got cavemen through forests without being eaten and routed trains through mountains rather than going around them, and so forth.
Instead, Dr. McFixit wrote me a prescription for antibiotics, gave me a sample steroid nose spray, recommended decongestants and told me to keep my head cocked like a Labrador when I apply the ear drops. I could just imagine the late Pat Morita from “Karate Kid” echoing, “Wax on, wax – ah, forget about the wax, your problem is congestion.” Dr. McFixit said it would clear in two weeks.
Three weeks later, stomach sensitive from the antibiotics, nostrils flared from the spray and ears still very unpopped and now buzzing somewhat, I did what no self-respecting insurance company would recommend: I called a very pleasant ear, nose and throat specialist, otherwise known as an otolaryngologist, which actually sounds way cooler. After all, you don’t call a podiatrist a “foot guy” or a proctologist a…well, moving on.
Six words into my explanation, Dr. Dione, the otolaryngologist, produced a metal syringe so large it looked like it could suck the brain from my skull. Calmly, she filled it with warm water, then basically power-washed the inside of my ears.
Within seconds, the phantom cotton that had been muffling my hearing for the last weeks miraculously disappeared. Without much ado or even medication, she had restored one of my five senses. Dr. Dione and her attractive assistants looked at me unimpressed, as if my reaction occurs every hour in their tiny office and it very well may.
As I doled out the $30 specialist copayment, I was struck by the novel “fft fft fft” sound of the crisp $10 bills being laid down. On the way home, I couldn’t tell what that strange squishy, crackling sound was every time I turned the steering wheel until I realized it was my own leather coat. At home, every sound was intense – the phone ringing, the shower, my kids begging me to stop staring wide-eyed at the new aural world around me and make them some dinner. I could suddenly hear better than I had in years.
My experience with Dr. McFixit blew apart the mystique of the perfect, omniscient general practitioner. I know insurance companies have their reasons for making an ailing person jump through hoops but doesn’t it also make good ole common sense to make an appointment with an otolaryngologist or an audiologist when you’re having a problem with your ears? If I were paying the entire bill out of my pocket, I’d opt to pay one bill instead of two. And if given the choice, I’d take instant relief over two weeks of unnecessary antibiotic treatment. From now on, I’ll scrutinize my medical diagnoses with greater care and if they don’t at least make intuitive sense, someone’s definitely going to hear about it.
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