Sink Your Teeth Right Through My Bones, Baby

My doctor's office, where both my son and I are followed by the same doctor, has apparently implemented a new thing where patients are informed of normal test results via sealed postcards.

So far, so good. I can see how a few thirty-five cent stamps are worth the saved time for a phone call, especially as the nurses almost never give 'personal' information such as test results to voice mail or to other family to pass on. (I use quotes because while I can definitely understand that there are some situations where you might not want other family members to know a test result, I do think the doctor's office is able to use either their own judgment based on A) the kind of test and B) if the patient has already told them she doesn't mind learning about test results from voice mail.)

As it happens, I got a pap smear and my little boy got his standard test for Iron deficiency anemia within a week of each other, and I'd already been called and informed that everything was normal with me. So when I got a little sealed postcard addressed to my son, I happily--and not unreasonably, I think--figured that I was going to find out that my son's iron levels are fine.

Except that on the inside of the card, in the blank space for the test results, 'Pap Smear' was written in warm, precise handwriting.

My favourite part--other than being able to tell my doctor's assistant how happy I was to learn that my son was safe from cervical cancer--was that the front of the card has a picture of a tree and the words, 'because we care'.

Not enough to make sure the test matches the patient, apparently, but I'm sure it's the thought that counts.

P.S.: The nurse called back and apologized, and my son is indeed fine, which rocks. But still, sometimes that place makes my eyes roll so hard one day they'll just fall right out of my head.