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Views: 2143 Created: 2019.04.18 Updated: 2019.04.18

docisin4u

the industrial medical clinic

The Industrial Medical Clinic

As I exited I-35E on the north side of Dallas, I caught sight of the clinic building. It was a simple one-story brick structure immediately at the end of the off-ramp. Thinking that I didn’t want to travel the frontage road to the next cross street and make a U-turn, I quickly darted across the two lanes of the northbound service road and almost ramped my Oldsmobile sedan over the dip in the pavement that led into the parking lot. A quick slam on the brakes found my car neatly parked in a space near the middle of the building.

Taking a deep breath, I put the car in park and turned off the engine. Nervously I reached into the passenger seat to retrieve the form that I needed the doctor to fill out.

When I found out that a physical examination would be required to participate in our company’s international consulting program, I got excited. I’ve always enjoyed the opportunity for a doctor to look my body over closely. I’ve enjoyed it ever since my first physical back in fifth grade. But this exam would be different, I was sure.

I opened the letter from the human resources department only a week earlier, and my heart sank. Inside I found a copy of the physical form necessary for participation in the program. There, toward the bottom of the form was an area for the doctor to fill out regarding a rectal exam. And not only that, I knew what the word “sigmoidoscopy” meant on the line right underneath it! I loved getting examined, but being violated in an “exit only” area wasn’t something I had counted on at age twenty-five.

reathing deep yet again, I unfastened my seat belt, removed the keys from the ignition and opened the car door. With the form in hand, I exited the vehicle, made sure the doors were locked, closed the door and began to walk toward the entrance. It was only then that I realized my vehicle was the only one in the parking lot that wasn’t a work truck! The asphalt was filled with heavy duty Ford, GMC and Dodge pickups adorned with company logos like Haliburton, Schlumberger and Texas Electric. I knew I was out of place, but I was anxious in a way to be examined by a doc that was in the business of thoroughly looking over rough, blue-collar, beefy guys.

Walking down the worn sidewalk, I passed several blind-covered windows – wondering what was going on only feet from where I was standing. With my heart racing with nervousness and excitement, I reached the north end of the sidewalk and turned along the side of the building. There was a glass door immediately to my right with the name of the clinic in white letters…”Encounter Medical Clinic”. It was one of six in the Dallas ea, specializing in pre-employment and regular physical exams, work related injury assessment and drug testing.

Pushing open the door, I was greeted by a nicely appointed waiting room – definitely not what I had expected for a clinic specializing in serving “the working man”. Now don’t get me wrong. I’ve never thought of myself as being above the blue collar class. Much the opposite. My father worked as a welder, and my grandfather worked in the oilfield. I had a healthy respect for the physical labor involved in the blue-collar lifestyle. It’s just that my college degree and management position at our multi-national oil research firm had exposed me to “nicer” things, and I was expecting to find a simple tiled floor with some older reception furniture and paneled walls here at the clinic. I was very surprised.

Walking toward the receptionist’s window, I noticed about eight to ten men seated around the room. Each of them with a magazine of some sort in hand and a look of nervousness and discomfort. It was obvious they didn’t want to be here and were only going through the motions that their employer required. My nose told me that the room usually smells clean at the beginning of the day, but with the sweat and work scent of the guys that filled it throughout the day, it took on a darker, rougher scent. It was enough to get Petey starting to move in my slacks.

Reaching the receptionist, I picked up a pen and started to sign in just as she was finishing up with a phone call. I smiled at her as she asked if I had ever been to the clinic before. Telling her “no”, I was then handed a clipboard with several forms to fill out. She told me that she would give my chart to the nurse once I had returned all of them completely filled out. Turning back toward the crowded room, I walked toward an empty chair next to the glass door I had walked through only moments before. I found myself seated next to a guy who appeared to be around forty. He had an old issue of a sports magazine in his hand, and briefly raised his head to make eye contact and a polite nod to me as I sat down. My natural reaction was to quickly reply, “How `ya doin?”, but I realized he wasn’t doing so well. After all, he was probably here to get worked over under the hands of a doc. Not something that his masculine appearance would readily enjoy. I raised my left leg and put my ankle just behind my right knee cap, creating a make-shift table to use in filling out the necessary forms. I took the form from the office and tucked it neatly behind the other forms on the clipboard and began to look over the first question.

As I finished the basic contact information at the top of the form, I looked up to catch a glimpse of the faces and bodies of the men I shared this small room with. They all looked rugged, averaging in age from around 21 to 50. It was obvious that the older guys had been through this routine before and were a little more at ease – though not comfortable. The younger guys were obviously experiencing this for the first time, and I watched as their feet nervously tapped quickly on the floor or their fingers rolled quickly over the armrests. My mind began to focus on the reason for each of these men’s appointments. I wanted to think that each of them were due for a thorough physical – knowing that they would in only a few minutes be stripped down beyond any comfort they may know at home or in a locker room (assuming some of them actually worked out).

My daydreaming was quickly interrupted when a large, brown door across the room opened and a polite, middle-aged nurse stepped into the room and called, “Martin Parker?”. I looked to my left as a rugged looking guy, about 35, stood up from his seat, tossed his magazine in the chair and sighed heavily. He walked toward the nurse who stepped aside to let him pass through the door. I heard her say, “Right down the hall and to you…” when the door closed and cut off her conversation. I looked around the room and caught the eyes of several of the other guys who had just watched Mr. Parker proceed to his appointed exam. All of them nervous, wondering if they were to be next.

I went back to filling out the forms. About every ten minutes or so, another nurse would step into the waiting room and call out a name. Repeating what had happened earlier, each guy would stand, toss his magazine and move through the door, getting instructions from the nurse as to where to go. A couple of other guys had come in since I had arrived, and were quietly either filling out forms or reading the old literature that littered the end tables around the room.

I finished the last of the forms, stood up and moved toward the receptionist’s window. She looked up with a cheery grin and said, “Thank you. The nurse will call you back shortly” as she took the clipboard and began to remove the papers. Just as I started to turn and return to my seat, I remembered that I had left the office forms on the back of the clipboard. Turning back around quickly, I told the receptionist that I needed the last piece of paper in the stack. She thumbed through the sheets, pulled the last one out of the stack and looked it over carefully. I was so embarrassed. Surely she would know that I was going to get my ass violated in just a few minutes! She again grinned cheerfully as she handed me the form, saying “There you go, Mr. Hamilton.” Taking the form in my right hand, I could feel my face start to flush as I just knew she had read the “rectal exam” portion of the form. I quickly returned to my seat, folded the form into fourths, and placed it in the pocket of my white button-down shirt.

Five o’clock came and went, and the receptionist had made her way across the room and placed the “closed” sign in the window. Watching her do this, it appeared that we all felt we were prisoners and that we wouldn’t be able to leave until our bodies had been violated in one form or another. I did find it curious that there were never any patients exiting through the door and out the waiting room as is usually the case at doctor’s offices. But about the time I began to focus on that thought, I heard the large brown door open and the nurse called my name. Learning well from those who had gone before, I stood up, tossed the old magazine on the end table and walked toward the door. I felt like every eye in the room was on me as I made my way. Yes, I was soon to be poked and prodded in obvious and not so obvious places. I could feel my fingers turn cold in nervousness as I heard the door close behind me and the nurse say, “Third door on your right, Mr. Hamilton.”

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