Student Health

December 2, 2006: After a week of blinding pain I decided to renew my 5+month expired student health insurance (sometimes, when your life is routine enough, it's a bit exhilarating when you know that you have no health insurance), wait a few more days for it to clear, print out my temporary health insurance card, and make myself an appointment at the MSU clinic. I had been there once before, last semester, because I needed a tetanus immunization in order to enroll in classes for this year, and had a pleasant experience.

However.

This time around I got the full student health experience and I hope I never have to experience it again. The examining room was tiny, about the size of my porch. The velcro on the blood pressure sleeve kept popping off of my arm as it reached 70% maximum inflation. The nurse (who was supposedly a triage nurse) handed me a digital thermometer and instructed me to stick it under my tounge, only she handed it to me holding it by the part that was to go under my tounge. I wiped it, as un-discreetly as possible, before inserting. No fever.

She left me alone in the room and while I waited on the doctor, I heard voices. Specifically, a doctor and a patient in the room next door. The walls were so thin that I could hear everything. The patient's name was Jake and Jake was having explosive diarrhea and some penis discharge. I had met Jake in the waiting room, only I didn't know his name then or his affliction. We had both reached for the same People magazine while we were waiting, and he let me have it but my excitement was short lived because I soon realized that it was People en Espanol. I didn't want to feel like an ass and set it back down like the only reason I went for it was so that Jake couldn't have it, so I flipped through the pages and pretended to read it and be interested.

Needless to say, when Dr. Hurd came into my room and introduced himself, I recognized his voice as the same from the next room. I shook his hand. Then I wondered if he had just done any penis examinations and I wiped my hand on the cushion of my chair. I answered questions very quietly, hoping that my voice wouldn't travel through the walls.

Dr. Hurd had a medical student shadowing him, a young girl--younger than me--blonde, competent looking (but also looking like she would have no problem blending in at a bar with some evening make-up, a haltar-top, pleather pants and a greasy pole), quiet and with a constant and unnerving smile on her face. She looked over his shoulder as I lay back on the examining table and watched intently as the good doctor kneaded my stomach like a loaf of bread. Yes, his cold and possibly penis-tainted hands and her smiling stare made me uncomfortable.

"Where's your pain?" he asked.
"My lower left abdomen," I said.
"And what does it feel like?" he asked.
"Sharp, stabbing pains. I can't sleep at night," I said.
"And how long has this been going on?" he asked.
"Since the beginning of the week," I said.

I was convinced I had appendicitis but that didn't even seem to be on his radar. He thought I had a higher chance of being pregnant. Who knows what was going through the medical student's mind.

After a few more belly rubs and rounds of repeated questions and answers, he gave me a prescription for antacid and sent me on my way.

Welp, the meds didn't work, the pain subsided after about a week, and my appendix never burst. It's been three months and now I'm the picture of student health. Confirmation of the power of the mind: I will not be sick again until May 2008--graduation.