Please Read This Leaflet Carefully by Karen Havelin

Author:Karen Havelin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dottir Press
Published: 2019-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

PART 5 ……………………

ONE MORE TIME WITH FEELING

…………………… 2009

Doctors barely hear what you say. They watch your demeanor and listen for the tone of your voice. If you’re too hysterical, they write you off. If you’re too calm, they do the same. You must:

• appear sympathetic

• make them realize you’re a human being, just like them

• be self-deprecating enough to make it clear that you don’t take yourself too seriously

• preferably make them laugh

• make sure they see that your symptoms are real

• state your problems concisely so they don’t feel like you’re wasting their time

• but squeeze all relevant information in at once

• never wait for them to ask the questions that lead to the pertinent stuff, or it’ll never come up

• never assume they understood you

• never cry

• or, maybe you should cry?

Is it like this for men, too? Despite my intense efforts to master this system, to present myself exactly the right way to get what I need and want, I can’t seem to do it right.

The first time I mention the increased abdominal pain to my new GP—a young woman with short hair—we’ve been living in Oslo for a month, ever since Kjetil started his first real job here. I’m officially looking for work.

“If this was anything that needed attention you would be kicking me in the face right about now for being so rough,” she says, smiling, and applying pressure to my stomach while I’m on my back. I like her. I’m just frowning a little, my jaw tight, hazily worried. Looking up at her, I wonder what level of discomfort warrants a reaction—the pain that is there the whole time, all over, or only the peaks. How big should the peaks be? I already told her I have pain. What is the right response—do I try to make it sound like an authentic outcry (Ow!), or just a calm word of notification (Yes. There.)? There’s a delay to my reactions. Something slides silently to seal the exits, to keep whatever it is inside. Before I can identify a difference in sensation, her hands move on to a different spot and it seems easier to not say anything. It’s over so quickly I barely make a sound.

I’m applying to American graduate schools. One of my friends assures me that I actually have a chance of getting in. I don’t believe it, but there’s nothing better for me to spend my time on, between medical appointments and scanning listings for jobs I’ll never get. I’ve been ready for a change for a while, but it turns out that staying inside our small apartment writing all day long is less fun than I pictured when I was still working at the tourist information center in Bergen. I don’t feel well, either. I’ve recovered from the move, but I still feel exhausted all the time, despite not really doing anything. Kjetil often cooks dinner and does the grocery shopping, even though he works long hours, because I can’t find energy to do it—though I’m ashamed.

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