Every six months I have an appointment to see my neurologist, Dr. Young, whom I have seen since October 6, 2006. He was originally a doctor in private practice at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center in West Hollywood where I met him for a consult on my case as he had a particular focus on patients demonstrating neurological complications from HIV/AIDS.
I moved to Palm Springs at the end of 2007 and, unrelated, Dr. Young and his husband retired here shortly after that. He did not remain retired for long, as many doctors here, including my own HIV specialist at the time, Dr. Stansell, pressed him to come out of retirement and open a neurology consulting practice as it was an underrepresented specialty in the area.
Dr. Young heeded their call, and I was able to reconnect with him. Every six months for the last decade and a half, he has “checked my brain” looking for signs of lesion growth, any increased physical impairments, or any decreased cognitive functions related to my diagnosis of PML – this involves MRI scans (pictures of the brain itself) and physical challenges; like at our first visit in October of ’06, we play “patty cake” every time – this tells him something about my reflexes and hand-eye coordination. I get the diagnostic reasoning behind this, but I’ve been doing the same joke during it for years so why stop now? I always ask, “you went to school for this?” To which he replies, usually sighing, “ahh Matt, that one never gets old, but seriously, you need some new material.”
After a good game of “patty cake,” we usually move on to the CDT and the MoCA. The CDT or “clock drawing test,” is, in Dr. Young’s own words, “used to quickly assess visuospatial and praxis abilities, and may determine the presence of both attention and executive dysfunctions.” Sounds intense, yes, but it really just involves me being given a sheet of paper with a clock and no hour or minute hand on it, and then drawing the “time” given me verbally by Dr. Young, like he says “5:15” and I point out that was a song on Bowie’s 2002 album Heathen, then draw:
We don’t do a MoCA (Montreal Cognitive Assessment) every time, but when we do, Dr. Young says he’s looking at “attention and concentration, executive functions, memory, language, visuoconstructional skills, conceptual thinking, calculations, and orientation.” After all the fancy “neuro” tests, we have a “conversation.” At first I thought, “what a nice doctor, he’s taking the time to show interest in me beyond his assessment tools,” but over time I began to realize the conversation was an assessment tool! Current events, questions about my family, how’s my dog Gordon?, and are we at capacity at Stonewall Gardens? The “way” I respond as opposed to the “content” of my responses is what he’s looking at. It’s all a very fascinating process. I liken it to taking your car in every 3000 miles for an oil change, lube job, and other preventative maintenance. I’ve gotten to the point where I actually look forward to it.
On a recent visit for my brain checkup (news flash: Dr. Young determined I still have one and it’s firing on all cylinders) I did get thrown by something during the conversation portion of the exam. Dr. Young said to me, “my husband and I visited your gift shop and bought a few things.”
We do not have a gift shop at Stonewall Gardens. Thinking myself more clever than this renowned and highly sought after neurologist with his assessment and diagnostic tools, I fired back, “we don’t have a gift shop, but you know that, so what you’re doing is testing whether I know that – some kind of connection to reality thing – and how I communicate in the face of an obvious untruth – am I accusative, condescending, pedantic, passive-aggressive, or agreeable to the suggestion that Stonewall has a gift shop when it doesn’t? Is that what you’re getting at?”
He said, “well, no, we were driving by and decided to stop in and have a look around; but based on your answer I could put down that you are paranoid and think I’m out to trick you.”
ME: Ha, nice one. This is very high-level play.
DR: You really are overthinking this.
ME: Oh, I get it, you’re testing my confidence in my own thinking – will I defend it, for how long, will I back down and accept something obviously false.
DR: Is that what you really think?
ME: Gotcha! Question forces me to defend the position I’ve taken, thus showing confidence or lack thereof in my own mind. I gotta hand it to you Doctor, you’re good.
DR: Well thank you, but Steve and I had heard about Not So Innocent from a friend of ours and really were just driving by and curious to check it out. Have you not been?
Gulp! Not So Innocent is a store that sells “adult-oriented items;” its page on the Visit Palm Springs website reads, “a place for guys and girls both to find sexy and fun items to spice up the bedroom. Lingerie for the ladies, jocks and underwear for the guys. Gifts, massage items, pride flags and dog tags, lubricants and toys. Fetish to mild, we have it covered for you.” It is right next door to us, literally.
The back of our dining room opens onto a lovely outdoor patio that is perfect for al fresco dining; that patio is bounded on one side by the back wall of the Not So Innocent shop. I can see how someone might think our facility and that shop are connected, despite differences in architecture and exterior color. And it is not incongruous to think that an LGBTQ+ assisted living facility might offer – were it to have a “gift shop” – an adult-oriented, sex-positive shopping experience.
But now I needed to do damage control. Talk about not “getting it.” Dr. Young’s comment flew so high over my head it probably needed clearance from the Palm Springs airport control tower so as not to interfere with landing planes! How do I wind my neck back in after I so misunderstood the conversation?
Simple. Debate 101: go on the offensive. “Oh, that place, the sex shop next door, yaaaah, we’re really not associated with them in any way, but more importantly, I think the question is what do you mean you and your husband ‘bought a few things?’ I don’t know whether to be shocked or scandalized.”
To which he replied, “Matthew, even doctors have sex lives.”
Of course. And I hope he has a happy and fulfilling one. I don’t want to know about it though. But between you and me, I still think the whole conversation was a setup. Hope I passed.