Some people just do it this way

A cautionary tale in which one chair was not enough chair

Prefer to listen? You’ll find an original audio recording here. ⤵️

By Francis Picabia - Public Domain

My husband and I book some of our medical appointments together. Back to back, same office, same time, same car. We tell people it’s efficient, and sure there’s the gas-saving aspect. Really, though, it’s because we don’t get out much and a tandem teeth cleaning constitutes a date night at this point in our marriage.

I’m pretty sure we’d stop short of scheduling joint colonoscopies. After all, somebody has to drive home. But I wouldn’t blame you for thinking it.

Anyway. We’ve been doing the dermatologist this way for years, our parallel appointments in separate rooms, each of us half listening to the other’s muffled conversations through the flimsy drywall. We debrief afterward, lately relieved that there have been no new, rogue eruptions needing attention. Our European DNA did not produce skin designed for what we’ve asked of ours over the years.

So when we arrive at the glassed-in counter and the receptionist finalizes all the insurance details, including a $40 co-pay from each of us, and then asks if we want to go back together, we don’t fully understand the question. We agree in the same way we sign off on a new set of terms and conditions, which is to say without any thought at all.

A nurse leads us down the hallway and motions us toward a room on the left. Just the one room. We remark—Oh!—surprised, and she pauses, double-checking whether she actually needs to clear a second room after all. We wave her off. No, no, this is fine, we’re easy.

This will prove to be a slight overstatement.

The room is small, with a built-in work station on one side and an angled examination table in the center, the paper cover reminding me of a church basement potluck. On the one chair, she tosses a single, blue, paper gown—mine, presumably—and says, “Remove everything except your underwear,” before leaving us to our predicament.

There’s a beat where neither of us says anything but then, laughter. This is so weird!

One chair: Photo by the author

First, there’s a logistics problem: two people, one chair, and a growing pile of clothing. I stack his shirt and shorts on the floor next to the chair, which I’m sure the health department would have opinions about. In fact, I have opinions about it, but I’m not sure what else to do.

We can’t stop laughing.

At home, we think nothing of interacting in various states of undress, but here we are unexpectedly self-conscious, like teenagers in a locker room. Apparently all it takes is fluorescent lighting and an audience to turn the ordinary into awkward.

Soon the door opens again, and it isn’t just the P.A, it’s her and the nurse, both of them walking into a room that now contains four adults, one bed, occupied by a man in his underwear, a chair covered in clothes, a small satellite pile down below, and me standing there in a dehydrated choir robe.

We’re still laughing and flailing at explanations.

The P.A., who we see every year, and who has certainly seen almost everything, wears a smile that hints at sympathy. These people really don’t get out much.

“Some people just do it this way,” she says. “Who wants to go first?”

Decades of marriage, and there’s no established protocol for who volunteers to be examined while the other one looks on, a bystander with a poster about sun damage looming to their left. We just look at each other. He’s already sitting on the potluck table, so he digs in.

This week, the dentist gave us separate rooms, thank goodness. The jury is out on whether we will opt into the co-mingled adventure at next year’s skin review. At least it saves exam table paper. But for $80, you’d think they could throw in a second chair.

~Elizabeth

Thank goodness for opportunities to laugh at ourselves, right? It does a body good. And since that was the point of the appointment anyway, we checked all the boxes!

Pull up a virtual chair! Comments 💬 are the lifeblood of this space, and we’re a fun bunch.

I invite you to tell me about a moment when you got more than you bargained for after a snap decision. How about a time when laughter was the only way around the awkwardness?

Your interactions here cost nothing and make it possible for other readers to find my work—a heart 💚 a restack ♻️ whatever’s easy—I’m grateful for all of it.

I’ll be back next week with something else entirely, though I make no promises about my ability to be less weird.

All subscribers here get all the things, because I don’t want affordability to be a barrier for anyone. But, if your circumstances allow you to support Chicken Scratch financially (about as much per year as a round of Chinese take-out for two) you’ll be helping me sustain the hours of effort that go into these posts week after week. I don’t take those contributions for granted.

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Afterward:

I make a point of ending each week with something small and doable, because we never know how simple actions might help shape a better future.

Try this:

If there’s an appointment you've been putting off—dermatologist, annual physical, a screening you know you're due for, or the acupuncture treatment you’ve been meaning to try—why not book it this week? We only get one body. Best to take good care of it. And if you've got a friend or partner who's also behind on theirs, feel free to bring them along. Just, maybe, ask a few more questions about the room situation first.

And don’t forget to laugh, loud and long! ☺️

See you soon.