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Marla Jo Fisher

I don’t know about you, but I find going to the doctor more annoying each year. I don’t know if this is because I’m getting crabbier in general or that it’s actually becoming more irritating. And now my 16-year-old daughter, Curly Girl, is experiencing it, too.

Last night, I took her to her regular pediatric clinic because she was having a female problem, the details of which are not interesting. Even though we had an appointment, the staff informed me she had to come back the following day because there weren’t any doctors available who could give her the proper type of examination.

Are you kidding me? I just drove her across town and sat in your waiting room, only to be told, “Come back tomorrow”? Not OK. But wait. Amazingly enough, after I expressed disappointment and asked for the office manager’s phone number so I could call and share my sorrow, they magically managed to find a doctor who could see her. It was like a small miracle from heaven.

Sometimes, when I’m sitting around waiting rooms, I think of all the things I would like to say to the doctor and medical staff, but I can never work up the nerve. Here are a few of them:

When people are coughing up a lung in your waiting room, could you please hand them a mask? Or take them inside and put them in a room away from me? Then turn on a fan to blow out the germy air?

I realize you put the Disney movie on TV in the waiting room to keep the kids from climbing the walls. Good for you. But does it have to be at 120 decibels? Those little ones have better hearing than me, and I’m losing what’s left of mine right now.

Please sign this invoice I’m giving you for the wasted hour I just spent in your waiting room. I made an appointment, for which I arrived punctually. Why can’t you do me the same courtesy?

Now that I’ve made it into the inner sanctum of an examining room, can’t you have a little locker where I can put my clothes so my undies aren’t on display when you walk in? Or so I don’t have to wad them up and cram them into my purse? And, speaking of purses, why can’t you have a hook where I can hang mine instead of awkwardly perching it on a chair?

Yes, I’ll get undressed, but seriously. I’m a grown Plus Size woman. Why are you giving me this tiny paper dress to wear that wouldn’t fit my dog?

If you’re a man, and a gynecologist, do not say to me, “This might be a little uncomfortable.” First of all, how do you know? You don’t even have the right equipment to make that statement. And second, we all know that expression really means, “It’s going to hurt like the blazes, but you can’t complain because it’s only supposed to be “uncomfortable.”

Pediatricians: If you leave me alone in your examining room with little kids, yes, they will eventually start playing with the blood pressure equipment and pulling out the tongue depressors. You didn’t leave me any duct tape, so, short of wrestling them into a chokehold, your best option is simply to be on time.

If I try to tell you something, don’t shrug me off. I’m not a moron or a hypochondriac. Hey there, Ms. Physician’s Assistant – who I was forced to see because the doctor is never, ever available: Remember that headache I came in complaining about a while back? The one that you insisted needed Claritin, even though I kept telling you it wasn’t a sinus headache? Yeah, well, it was a brain tumor. You tried to give me Claritin for a brain tumor. Next time, maybe, you want to be a better listener.

Don’t prescribe medications for me that are going to cost $237.41 when I get to the pharmacy because my insurance doesn’t cover them unless we’ve discussed it in advance. And look in your cabinet for samples first.

Consider other options before you drug me up. A simple icepack on the back of my neck worked better than all the painkillers in the world when I had surgery to cut out that brain tumor.

And here’s the most important question of all: Can you keep a spray bottle in the waiting room so I can take care of pesky problems like the lady sitting next to me who’s talking on her cellphone? I don’t really want to hear the details of her son-in-law’s erectile dysfunction. Spray bottles work on dog behavior. I suspect they’ll work on rude phone users, too.

Contact the writer: 714-796-7994 or mfisher@ocregister.com