Patient experience report
The screen casts a blue light on Doctor Ahmadi's face. He looks seriously at his computer. Too serious, I think. We are sitting in his conference room. I am to present the results of my annual check-up check-up. With each series of numbers that Dr. Ahmadi follows on the monitor, another wrinkle forms on his forehead. I watch him as intently as he watches the numbers. He starts to say something, but only a heavy exhalation follows. He is still looking at the screen, presses his lips together and clears his throat. Which of us looks more worried right now, I ask myself? Then Dr. Ahmadi leans back. "Yes, Mr. Goldammer, he says, that's no reason to panic, but I think you need to take action." No reason to panic? If a doctor tells you not to panic, that sounds to my ears like an excellent reason to panic. Doctors probably can't even imagine that you can go into a mild version of shock paralysis within a nanosecond and only hear a white noise. Through this dull humming, I hear isolated words and snippets of sentences: "lots of belly fat", "too much vizeral fat", "threatening hormone secretions", "cardiovascular diseases", "risk of stroke", "high blood pressure", "pills necessary".
Between all this I see: a smile, appeasing hand movements, understanding nodding of the head. I believe that during this time I was very profoundly informed about the possible consequences of my "overweight" and my "high blood pressure". I did not really listen. There was, I already mentioned it, the white noise in my ears. In the end, Dr. Ahmadi smiled again and nodded at me encouragingly. But at this moment all niceness bounces off me. I only want to know one thing: How serious is the situation? Yes, the blood pressure was always at the limit, but I have never had to take pills. Although, right now, I'm feeling it - high blood pressure. Was my head red like a tomato?
Dr. Ahmadi writes me a prescription for a blood pressure reducer. He speaks in a calm voice, recommends me to his colleague, the nutritionist. He talks about the consequences of obesity, asks me if there is a sport that would interest me. No, I think, but say, "Yes," and wrestle a smile from myself. We rise, shake hands. I suddenly realize: this doctor is seriously concerned. Another reason to panic, I think. No doctor has ever worried about me before. This worries me. Seriously. That's the word that burns itself into my mind today: seriously. Before, (how quickly one thinks in the past tense) there was the word that stuck with me after the check-up: should. You should lose weight. I was supposed to watch my blood pressure. Now I had to. A strange, uncomfortable feeling. If he had presented his findings to me in an authoritarian, harsh, threatening or reproachful manner, how easy it would have been to dismiss the conversation. But this way I should not only accept, but had to.
I thanked him and left the MEDIZINICUM on Stephansplatz. When I reluctantly bought the prescribed antihypertensives at the next pharmacy, the package in my hand felt as if I were holding a notice of early retirement. So now I was old, I thought. For example, the next time I was asked at the dentist if I took medication regularly, I would have to answer: Yes, blood pressure medication. I had read some time ago that 33% of patients do not take the prescribed medication. Would one more statistically matter? Probably not, but I was not that crazy. I dutifully took my pills. And that was a good thing. It was to be expected that my blood pressure would drop. But there was a second effect: Every day I was reminded that I had to do something for myself if I wanted to get rid of the tablets again.
My new life plan
I went to nutritional counseling at the MEDIZINICUM. I tried different types of nutrition. But, the hip gold did not melt, nothing happened on the scale. Losing weight becomes more difficult over the years, said the friendly, smiling nutritionist. My bad mood increased. But whenever I didn't feel like it anymore, there was always the moment in the morning when I pushed the tablet through the silver foil into my hand. Keep at it, I told myself, with the antihypertensive in my hand. I continued, tried something new again, and again. ... A few weeks later, I had what my sailing friend called "the great harbor cruise" in the MEDIZINICUM. My first colonoscopy. Not an event to look forward to hugely either. Especially not because it meant staying sober for three days. I expected hell. But to my amazement, I didn't end up in the devil's realm. On the contrary, I felt better than usual: clearer in the head, more light-hearted. I voluntarily added two days of fasting. I lost some weight, but more importantly, the cravings disappeared. I bought books on fasting. Started interim fasting. Now it was no longer a diet, but a real change of diet began. The agonizing food cravings disappeared. I could eat less - without becoming unbearable for myself and others.
A good year later
The annual checkup at the MEDIZINICUM was coming up. Dr. Ahmadi passed me in the hallway without recognizing me. I had lost more than 15 kilos in the meantime. I was used to people not recognizing me at first glance. When he welcomed me back into his consulting room, he looked twice at my file to see if the right patient was sitting in front of him. "You've gotten a completely different silhouette," he said, puzzled. The values on his screen were also unrecognizable. Significantly lower abdominal girth, less visceral fat, Blood pressure normal - without blood pressure medication. "But I'm very pleased that you took my advice to heart," he said, beaming. Even doctors need a sense of achievement, I thought at that moment. He looked at the numbers on the screen again. "I'd like to share your story with my other patients," he smiled again, "couldn't you write it down, you're an author, aren't you?" In the best of moods due to the good examination results, I agree. Fifteen minutes later I curse myself. Writing down my medical history? Simply embarrassing. Who wants to read the story of a health nut? For a good story, you need a dramatic turn. First half sick, then three-quarters healthy, that's where the drama is missing. I think about more drastic twists to my story. After the next check-up, I could be run over in front of the MEDICINICUM. Preferably by a truck carrying pallets full of antihypertensives. But that doesn't happen. And I don't swing my old weight back on the scales either. The story remains narratively unsatisfying. Life doesn't always write the best stories. Sometimes it also writes boring stories. In this case, I am very grateful for it.
