I have been sitting at our kitchen table for the past half hour, trying to remember where I was on Dec. 29, 2016 because inquiring minds want to know. Fine, the medical community wants to know, and then they want me to answer impossible questions about that day. Apparently, they do not realize I can’t remember what I had for breakfast this morning.

Have you ever gotten those surveys that come in the mail months after an appointment with a doctor, a surgical procedure, or any type of medical test? I have two such forms sitting in front of me right now. One is a survey about an appointment in August – that one I might be able to complete.

Were the staff and technologists who performed your test or procedure considerate of your preferences?

I requested a live performance by Kelly Clarkson, a frozen margarita at the ready, and someone rubbing my temples. I was let down gently.

Did the facility appear clean?

I’m sure it did. My main focus was on whether I was wearing a clean shirt, and if I might have a panic attack under the scan machine without Kelly serenading me.

I can handle asking these questions from a month ago, but almost nine months? Come to think of it, I probably ignored the first copy of this survey that came six months ago. Oops.

I was asked if my appointment was for an accidental or work injury. If I did get hurt at work, it would have nothing to do with my job and everything to do with the fact that I miscalculate steps, stumble, and trip over things that I dropped more often than I care to admit. Even a work-at-home job wouldn’t be a safe environment for me.

Did I have trust and confidence in the staff and technologists? Let’s look at this question carefully. What if I didn’t have an innate trust in the people with the credentials and access to the power switch when I was positioned inside a giant tube? Being claustrophobic, I can tell you from experience that it is not pretty when someone like me freaks out in the middle of a test. It’s best to practice a mantra like, “They know what they’re doing,” before I step into any facility that’s going to take blood or make me strip down to an ugly gown.

Years ago, First Born had to go through her first M.R.I. For those of you not familiar with those initials, it stands for “Stay perfectly still while you are placed inside a giant toothpaste tube and forced to hold your breath on command – we will repeat if your toe twitches.”

I was sweating just sitting in the waiting room while she was having the test done. She came out a while later looking cool as a cucumber. I felt like I needed a sedative.

Reliving medical procedures or even doctor appointments is not on my list of top ten things to ever do. If they really wanted to know whether someone told me when and how I would receive my results, they should have asked before I made it back to my car.

The whole episode is a distant memory once this Mom has left the building.

Part of me (the part that can’t remember the answers to the questions) wonders what good these surveys do. If I check “no” under the confidence and trust question, does the whole staff get a blanket lecture on how to make patients trust them? These surveys are anonymous… or so they say. There is a bar code on the form, so maybe it’s more narrowed down than I want to think, and I wouldn’t want to get some poor technician in trouble because Kelly Clarkson was previously booked.

If they would only ask, I’d be happy to help with the setup of these surveys. Right off the bat, the first question should read:

Do you remember anything – anything at all – from the date above? If no, stop reading and return this form in the envelope provided.

I’d be done in 10 seconds.