The Doctor's office was built sometime in 1884. Before electricity, air conditioning, or comfortable chairs. But after crusty-off-white-sort-of-yellow-looks-like-a-cat-peed-on-your-wall paint was invented and consequently slathered on every wall in the office.
Way before HIPPA was signed into law by our brilliant lawmakers down to Washington D.C.
The walls here are especially not HIPPA compliant. They are thinner than paper. Everyone can hear everything anyone else says.
So, you're in the office telling The Doctor about the suspicious rash on your down there you've kept secret from your husband and in the mean while, it's just become public knowledge to anyone who happens to be passing the exam room door.
Yesterday we had two men here - one who talks extra loud and another who was sitting at the nurse's station who can barely hear at all.
The one was listing all of his many health problems (which may or may not have included something to do with his prostate) in the exam room with the door closed when the man who can barely hear turned to the nurse and said, "Oh, man. That guy sounds like he's got more problems than I do. I think he's in trouble."
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