Sinus Booger Snot
That title should attract some good hits from search engines.

I've mentioned before my aversion to change. I get used to things a certain way, and when things change, I have a tough time with it. Fortunately, no major changes were apart of my visit to the sinus doctor yesterday.

After some sinus troubles during the past couple of weeks, I'd decided a trip to my sinus doctor was probably a good idea, just to check on the funny business going on in my nose of late. I hate going to any doctor, and I especially hate going to my sinus doctor because trips to the sinus doctor have previously proven either physically painful (ie: allergy injections) or frought with bad news (ie: you need surgery). He is the one of the nicest doctors in the world, but he will forever be associated in my head as someone I'd prefer never, ever to see again as long as I live.

I went to this doctor's office every week, sometimes twice a week, for three years, to get my allergy injections or for check-ups. They knew me by name, even writing it out phonetically on my chart so as to pronounce it correctly, as I walked in the door every week. They'd smile when they'd see me come in, at my preferred time slot. I planned my appointments weeks ahead, to get the time I wanted. Everyone in the office knew it as my time.

The shuttle bus driver who took me from my car in the parking lot across the street to the front door of the building knew me, too. We were all in the same routine. Park, ride the shuttle, visit the receptionist, nurse, and/or doctor, check out with John the Check Out Guy, ride the shuttle back to my car, get on with my day.

I'd sign in at the desk in the office, greet whoever was sitting there, and take my usual seat on the wall nearest the door to the exam rooms, beside the window. In the three years I went to these appointments, I probably sat in the same one or two chairs every time. It was habit. The allergy nurse would come fetch me, knowing exactly where I'd be sitting, and we'd walk back to the injection room. Yes, they have a special room set up just for shooting people in the arm, and a special nurse just to do the shooting.

I knew my way around that place really well. I knew alternate routes to and from the injection room, in case one hallway was blocked with a lot of people. The whole process was streamlined. I got the VIP treatment, seeing as I was there so much. I was rarely ever in the office for more than 30 minutes, and often much shorter than that. As much as I hated the injections and making these weekly visits, after the routine was set and I became friendly with the people I saw there every week, it was a more pleasant experience than I'd anticipated it would be. Painful with injections, but even that was something I got used to after awhile.

After my final visit for my last injections, I was told I didn't have to come back unless I had a problem. No more weekly visits. I took that to heart, had a stern talk with my sinuses, and tried very hard to not need to go back there anytime soon.

Last year, about a year after my last visit to the sinus doctor, I was certain I had an ear infection, even though I tried to talk myself out of it. There was pain and swelling and itching, and this was definitely out of the ordinary. I eventually decided my ear and head hurt too much to pretend it didn't hurt any longer, so I made an appointment with another doctor in the same office. This doctor specialized in ears. Good for him.

On the day of my appointment I went back to the familiar parking lot, parking in one of my usual spots, but that was where the familiarity ended. There was a new shuttle driver who could care less who I was. But that was just the start of a jarring doctor experience.

I rode the elevator up to the seventh floor, as usual. I even remembered to take the elevator to the side, rather than the ones right in front as you walk into the building. The side elevator opens up right in front of my doctor's office, and is seldom used because people don't realize it's there. So I never have to wait to get on the side elevator. It's a trick I'd learned in my history of visits to that office.

I exited the elevator and turned to the right to enter the office door. As I opened the door and walked in, I suddenly thought I was in the wrong place. Nothing in the room looked as it had a year before, so I turned around and walked right back out the door.

Did I get off on the wrong floor? Sometimes I forget to look at the floor when the elevator stops, assuming it stops on the right floor. I've been known to get out on an earlier floor, thinking I was on the seventh floor. No, this is floor seven. Is this the right office? Yep, there's my sinus doc's name on the door. What the heck is going on here???

I opened the door again and went back inside, noticing that the people behind the desk were staring at me like I had no idea what I was doing. I also noticed that the desk was in an entirely different place than where I remembered it to always be, and the people behind the desk were not the same people who were there every week for three years. They did not greet me with the smile and recognition I was used to. I was starting to freak out.

I walked over to the desk and calmly asked if this was my doctor's office. They said yes, and looked at me like I was completely stupid if I couldn't read his name on the sign right there by the desk. Ok, I'm in the right place. But this is so not the right place! Everything was different.

Except the sign-in sheet. That looked the same, so I signed in and turned to find a place to sit in the waiting room. My usual place no longer existed, so I didn't quite know what to do. No one recognized me, and my chair was gone. What happened to my VIP treatment? Don't these people know who I am???

No, they don't.

Not only was my chair gone, but the whole room had been renovated. I couldn't get my bearings. I felt completely turned around. The window where I used to sit so I could see out to the parking lot was no longer there. It was gone. There was just a wall. The entire room was at a different angle, the desk was on the wrong side of the room. Chairs were set up in a completely different pattern. And none of this computed with my brain that had been used to the same thing every week for three years.

I found a chair that seemed harmless enough, and I waited. I tried to figure out where the nurse would appear to fetch me, desperately wanting to see someone or something familiar, but there were new doors in new places, and I had no idea what was behind any of these doors or how that related to me.

Finally a nurse, one that I had never seen before and who pronounced my name entirely wrong, appeared through the door which I least expected, and called my name. She took me through the door, and I was promptly even more lost than before. We paused for a moment in a holding room, then ventured further into the back of the office. Not only had the front reception area changed, but the entire maze of exam rooms had changed. What, were they waiting for me to quit coming here every week so they could completely remove everything that was here before, and replace it with new walls, rooms, chairs, everything? I was wigging.

I followed the nurse very closely. I didn't want to get lost. At this point I had absolutely no idea where I was, or how to escape in case something jumped out from behind one of these doors to get me. I felt like I was in a labyrinth, like on American Gladiators, where large men in spandex wielding giant padded Q-Tips would jump out from behind things and whack me on the head. Maybe I was on Candid Camera, and they had completely redesigned the office just to mess with me. Whatever was going on, it was all wrong.

The nurse stashed me in an exam room that I'd never seen before, and left me in there alone to wait for the doctor I'd never seen before. I took the time alone to try to get ahold of the situation. This room did have a window, so I looked out to see if I could figure out where I was in the building, and in relation to where the rooms used to be. But, I still had no idea where I was. So I sat and waited for the doctor to arrive, all the while cursing my ear for getting me here in the first place.

After a few minutes, a man walked in and I assumed he was the doctor I was supposed to see. I also silently cursed my sinus doctor for not knowing more about ears, so that I could have come here to at least see someone I knew, rather than this different person who was a complete stranger to me.

Ear Doctor was very nice. He looked in my ears, asked me a few questions, and decided I actually don't have an ear infection. Then what's the deal? Why is my ear swollen and doing the whole pain and itching thing? He said I have tight tendons in my jaw, which are inflamed, and that's probably causing the swelling. Do my jaws pop when I open them sometimes? Yes. Well, that's probably causing the pain in your ear. Um, right. As for the itching, it's probably an allergy. He prescribed a gel for the itching, and sent me on my way.

On my way to somewhere else in the office that was a complete mystery to me, that is. He directed me back towards the front, albeit down a different hallway, and left me to wander that way on my own. As I worked my way to the check-out desk, I finally saw something familiar. It was a framed photo of a little girl at the moment she heard her first sounds after receiving a cochlear implant. I always loved seeing that picture every week, as it showed both the joy and shock on the little girl's face as she heard a sound for the very first time. I was glad they had salvaged it and gave it a place on the wall of this new, weird office. I'm sure the joy and shock on my face at the moment I re-discovered the picture mirrored the little girl in the picture. Maybe I was in the right place after all.

John the Check-Out Guy was not the check-out person anymore, so Anonymous the Check-Out Person took my check and sent me on my way. I left the office, still not quite sure if I hadn't just been in The Twilight Zone. I almost turned around and opened the door again, hoping for a Matrix moment when opening and closing doors changes what's inside the rooms.

So, a year later, I visited my usual sinus doctor yesterday. I found the offices in much the same way they were last year, so I was relieved to not have to freak out again upon walking in the door. I still had basically no idea where I was, but at least I expected it. Without the need to wig out, I was able to focus on more important things. Like, wondering if my nose was clean and panicking because I couldn't find a Kleenex before the doctor came in. Even though he has seen some of the world's most disgusting things come out of my two little nostrils throughout the course of surgery and sinus goo galore, which strangely results in a more personal nose relationship than I will likely ever have with anyone else, I still find myself a bit self-conscious about making sure I don't have any superfluous boogers awaiting him in my nose on a regular, non-excessive goo visit.

Sinus Doctor gave me a clean bill of health, saying everything looked fine, and to keep up the good work. I do, after all, work really hard to keep my sinuses in good working order.

And I'm back to trying really hard to never go there again.

C.T.