You Don't Need the CDC

You Don't Need the CDC
A true-life embarrassing moment 

         Looking in the mirror I was glad I'd made a doctor's appointment the day before.  What had been a raised, blood-red rash was now covered with large bubbling blisters that stretched the thin layer of skin so tight they gave off a yellowish translucent glow as the bright light shone through them.  One eye was swollen shut and my lips were shapeless and protruding, like inflated Vienna sausages that had spent too much time in the microwave.  One ear was covered with cauliflower-looking blisters, bloated and sticking out through my long red curls.

         I was nervous as I stepped into the corridor.  I knew what was wrong and I knew what had caused it, but others were quick to judge and turn away.  The couple walking down the middle of the hallway quickly flattened themselves against the wall as I passed, their faces registering looks of horrified disgust; I just kept walking.

         I was happy to see there was only one patient in the waiting room when I entered.  She looked up and quickly turned her head, daring to steal a glance when she thought I didn't see.  I approached the reception window to fill out my registration papers.  As I began writing on the entry slip the receptionist slid the window open and greeted me with a smile as the medicinal antiseptic odor spilled out into the waiting area.  She took my information and entered it into the new automated computer system. 

         By the time she asked me to take a seat, several other patients had entered and formed a line behind me.  I turned to find a place to sit, coming face to face with a woman who had been breathing down my neck a little too close for comfort.  Her mouth dropped open in a silent gasp as she saw the blisters covering my face; she reached out, grabbing at air trying to reign in her straying toddler as she hastily backed away, nearly toppling the elderly man behind her.

         “Does she really have to be out here with the rest of us?” I overheard her ask the receptionist.

         “I assure you, if she had anything dangerous or contagious, she wouldn’t be in the general waiting room,” the receptionist replied in her best authoritative voice.

         “But still, we have to look at it?” she complained further.

         ”Madam, nothing says you have to look at her.  There are plenty of magazines available.”

         I raised an amused eyebrow at her overly dramatic reaction and took a seat in a deserted portion of the waiting area where the wall and shadows hid the worst of my affliction.

         The mother completed the sign-in procedure at the reception desk and, shielding her child’s eyes, steered him to the opposite side of the room.

         The elderly gentleman completed his sign-in and took the seat right next to me even though there were other seats available.  He glanced over at the woman and her child and, certain they were watching, he leaned in close and whispered, “Does it itch much?”

         I flashed him the best swollen-lipped smile I could manage.  “Oh, terribly,” I replied, grateful for a sympathetic soul.

         “I used to get poison ivy all the time.  It’s not contagious,” he reassured, patting the back of my hand; he watched gleefully as the woman recoiled in horror.  “By the time you break out with the blisters you’ve already washed all the poison oil from your skin, and that’s what makes you break out.  Touching the blisters doesn’t transfer the rash.

         “I think you’re trying to get a rise out of her,” I observed with a giggle as a twitching sensation took over the corner of my mouth.

         The elderly gentleman winked slyly.  “Why shouldn’t I?  Her behavior was rude and uncalled for.  If she’s uncomfortable, she deserves to be.”

         I had to agree there.  She had been blatantly rude and made no effort to conceal her disdain at having to share the same waiting room even when she had no idea what I had.  Others entered, signed in, and took seats as far away as they could get.  One young man even opted to stand in a distant corner rather than take the last seat available; the one across from me.

         Other patients whispered and stared as the elderly man and I carried on polite conversation, discussing an interesting article about heirloom tomatoes we found in a copy of the Midwest Living magazine.  It included an interview with famed Chicago chef Rick Bayless and showed pictures of beautiful striped and mottled tomatoes so different from the firm red balls you see at the grocery store.

         I said goodbye when the nurse called my name.  “I hope they discover what it is that’s ailing you,” he called out after me for all to hear.  “I’m sure it’s nothing the CDC can’t find a cure for.”

         A collective gasp arose from all in the waiting room as I turned the blistered side of my face to them to follow the nurse through the door.  I looked back and smiled at the man who had covered his mouth to hide his evil grin.  He was taking entirely too much pleasure from goading the others.

         When the door had closed behind us the nurse asked, “What was your friend talking about out there?  That old farmer’s been here to be treated for poison ivy many times and he knows it’s nothing we have to call the CDC about.”

         I snickered.  “I think he likes getting everyone else out there riled up because they made rude comments and kept staring.”

         She nodded understandingly.  “In that case," she began seriously, "I hope he’s right.  The CDC should be able to cure your affliction.”  She laughed as she led the way down the hall to the exam room.  “Some people have no problem coming in and sitting by someone with a cold or the flu, but if they see someone with a skin condition, they avoid them like, well, like the plague.” 

          We laughed at her use of cliché as I took a seat on the exam table and held out my arm for the blood pressure cuff.

         “It’ll just be a moment,” she said, dropping my chart into the slot in the door.  I was glad the rest of my wait would be in private, away from the staring eyes of strangers.

         A rustling outside the door announced the doctor's arrival.  He reached out to shake my hand but I pulled it back.  "You don't have something catching, do you?" he asked with a smile, retracting his hand.

         "Nah.  Just an overgrown case of poison ivy."

         "Whew!" he gasped in mock relief.  "There was talk in the nurse's area about calling the CDC and I know they were talking loudly enough for everyone in the waiting room to hear."

         "They were all just uncomfortable to be in the same room with me," I explained and quickly told him about the elderly gentleman getting them even more ruffled.

         "That must be Mr. Cox.  He's a character."

         I nodded; I would have smiled but I was afraid my swollen lips might burst from the pressure.  A heavy-duty steroid shot and two prescriptions later I was sent on my way.  "Too bad I have to go out through the same door I came in," I said to the nurse.

         "Don't worry about a thing," she said, holding the door for me.  "We'll let you know as soon as the results are in."  She winked and called the next patient, who gave me a wide berth of passage before darting past toward the open door.

**************************************************************************

If you enjoyed this true-life embarrassing moment and would like more, please visit:

ID: 284049   (Rated: ASR) Boy, Was My Face Red  True-life embarrassing moments, large and small...most of them my own by justme

Expanded version, now 1,273 words