Medical Certificate Adventures

My husband is a Kiwi, my kids have dual citizenship. . . so that just leaves me to get a visa. Which is totally awesome because I am still working flat out during a winding-down busy season at my job - I don't think I'd like to take kids to the doctor and for chest x-rays and blood work.  Taking myself is bad enough!

 The certificate requires an MD to fill it out.  I have an urgent care that I've been visiting anytime I need care for the past 8 years - that doctor is a DO.  My ob/gyn - a DO.  My previous general practitioner - a DO.  So I find a new MD who will do the paperwork for me and give me the physical required to get the visa.  What an adventure!

Arrive at his office.  Uneventful. Kind of frowny staff.  Fill out all the new paperwork.  Go into the little room, give the medical assistant all my info.  Surgeries?  Yes, a couple of tympanoplasties, appendectomy, mastoidectomy.  I know some of you might be wondering - a mastoidectomy is where they drill out and drain the base bones of your skull to release fluid and prevent infection.  It has nothing to do with The Girls.  It's the kind of surgery that is rare to get in the USA or other countries where they have excellent medical care at hand.  Unless you're me.

Doctor comes in and I tell him about the move to New Zealand which requires the visa information (clearly and largely written with New Zealand all over it).  He is delighted and had a midwife that he went through med school with who was also from. . . Australia.  Oh, how nice.  Smiles all around.

Looks at visa application.  "Wow, that is a TERRIBLE passport photo," he says to me, looking at the photo and then at me.  "You are MUCH prettier in person."  Gee.  Thanks?  "Look at those dark circles under your eyes!  And your teeth are showing way too much."  Ok, Liebowitz, lets move on, ok?  Maybe next time I won't go to Walgreens.

Reviews my medical history.  "Mastectomy?" he says in surprise.  Glances over to my chest.  "No," I clarify. "MastOIDectomy."  "Ohhh, just a little 'oid' is all it needed.  Stupid MA!" he laughs.  "I thought you looked pretty even there," he says, gesturing to the girls.  "Th-thanks," I say, smiling weakly.

This is me.  Total swamp chicken.  

Opens up paperwork.  "Guess you don't need a pap smear!"  Um, no.  They don't ask for that.  We'll skip it this time.

We make small talk about Lord of the Rings, and how beautiful it is in. . . Australia.  No problem.  He opens it up and reads questions out loud.  He gets to one asking if I appear to have mental deficiencies or anything that will require care overseas regarding my psychological state.  "I guess what they're asking is, are you a retard?  Doesn't look like it," he grins.  SERIOUSLY?  That is my least favorite epithet.  I've got about five other heart-stoppingly profane words I'd rather he used.

The rest of the visit passes mostly without incident, with a mostly one-sided conversation about the beauty of Australia, how much most DOs suck as opposed to MDs (views of this medical professional not shared by me), and the three main past-times of Arizona (cow-tipping, demolition derby on the I-10 and blowing up meth labs).  As I leave I hear him berating one of his staff for letting his mother through and not just taking a message.  Sounds like a jolly place to work.

Now for a chest x-ray - and a hopefully uneventful visit next week to finalize my medical certificate.  I am dreading the thought of going back there but just one more visit and I'm DONE!