David Arioch – Jornalismo Cultural

Jornalismo Cultural

Who’s the patient?

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It was 7:50 a.m., and the sun lit up the room with an intensity that relegated the lamps lit to uselessness

After having my chest pressed several times and in several positions, I left the examination room (Photo: Copy)

After having my chest pressed several times and in several positions, I left the examination room (Photo: Copy)

Today, I went to a clinic for an examination. Once there, I gave the health plan request to the receptionist and she asked: “Who’s the patient? Where is your wife?” I answered that I was the patient. Embarrassed, the girl apologized. For a moment, I wanted to laugh as I remembered her saying: “Where is your wife”, but I didn’t want to leave her embarrassed. Once she confirmed my data and handed me a pink badge written MAMMOGRAPHY, I understood why she asked “Who’s the patient? Where is your wife?”

With the identification of the examination in my hand, I walked to a quiet waiting room. It was 7:50 a.m., and the sun lit up the room with an intensity that relegated the lamps lit to uselessness. When they saw me, three women could not take their eyes off of my badge written MAMMOGRAPHY. And I was thinking, inert in a veiled smile and wordlessly: “Yes! I’m a man and I will do mammography. That’s it! Draw your conclusions. I can also have fun interpreting your thoughts.”

My pink badge sparkled even more with the warm incidence of the sun. It was aiming more strongly where I sat. No problem! It did not take too much time for the three women to be called to an exam room. Alone, I changed my place, because there was sunlight everywhere, warming my back, arms and face. I felt better when I could hide myself under a white wall.

I was standing there with my badge while the TV showed stories of corruption and cheating. I watched a guy saying that the electricity theft in Brazil corresponds to the energy consumed in the state of Paraná. OK! At that moment, everything seemed to revolve around energy, including the sun that was still sneaking in the window.

Soon the room began to fill, and no one avoided looking at my badge. “It’s all right! It’s all right! That’s right! I will do MAMMOGRAPHY”, I thought again. In the meantime, a friend, Rafael, saw me and came to congratulate me for my texts, which pleased me because it helped distract me from all the inquisitive looks.

I was at least 40 minutes waiting for my turn, which was unusual, since I saw people who arrived after me were being attended to before me. I got up, I went to the reception and I asked if it would take a long time for me to be attended. All around me, more people looked at my pink badge. In another waiting room, I saw someone pointing at me and commenting: “That boy will do mammography. That’s weird!”

They pronounced my name: “Davi”, not David, wich I hadn’t been called since I was a baby. I walked to the technical assistant in mammography and she apologized. She told me that the examination, in the way requested by the mastologist, required adjustments on the machine, explaining the delay. “Someone with breast cancer in the family?” I said no. I was there to make bilateral mammography with the intention to evaluate the disappearance of a mild gynecomastia.

After having my chest pressed several times and in several positions, I left the examination room feeling my marked chest and I walked to the exit. Before entering the streets, I heard a whispering woman close to the door: “I didn’t know men can also get breast cancer.” Without bothering to explain the reason for my visit to the clinic, I replied: “Well, lady, tell you husband and your sons to be very careful. The greatest danger comes when milk suddenly drips from the nipple. “Startled, she cowered in a corner with glazed eyes.

Written by David Arioch

September 29th, 2016 at 4:18 pm

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