I think I have a bit of a problem. You see, I tend to overprepare before visiting the doctor. I go full Sherlock Holmes researching every possible scenario, potential cure, dietary recommendation, and prevention method. Why? Because the last thing I want is to sound clueless during a consultation.

Now here’s where things get a little tricky: I live in Japan. And let me tell you something doctors here really don’t like being questioned. I’m not exaggerating when I say many people in Japan treat doctors as if they’re divine beings handing down wisdom from Mount Olympus. Whatever the doctor says is the law. No questions, no comments, no follow-ups. Just bow and leave.

Well, unfortunately for them, I’m built a little differently.

Despite having Japanese blood in my veins, I’m a natural-born questioner. I question everything especially doctors. When I permanently moved to Japan, my dad used to accompany me to hospitals for my psoriasis and eczema flare-ups. Back then, my Japanese wasn’t great, so I would prepare a list of questions and hand it to my dad, who would then become my unofficial medical translator.

Fast forward a few years and my Japanese improved. I could finally grill the doctors myself. But each time I dared to ask questions polite, logical questions, I was often met with awkward silence or rushed out the door. Maybe they were afraid I’d say something they couldn’t answer, or maybe they just didn’t want to break the illusion of being all-knowing. Who knows? Either way, I always left the clinic slightly confused and a little insulted.

Fast forward again to last week—my eczema flared up badly. Dad offered to take me to the hospital (old habits die hard), Off we went. This time, the dermatologist spoke both English and Japanese, which should’ve made things easier. well: it didn’t.

Dad and I, like a medical investigative duo, bombarded the poor dermatologist with question after question:

• “Why do I get flare-ups even though my diet hasn’t changed?”
• “Is it food-related?”
• “Should I stop eating certain things?”
• “Should I be eating more of something?”
• “Why does it happen inconsistently?”

And then we hit him with 20 more just like those (all valid questions, mind you) You could almost see the steam rising from his ears. He ended up prescribing a new ointment and told us to come back late translation: “please leave before I lose my medical licence from second-hand embarrassment.”

But honestly, all we did was ask questions. Isn’t that… I don’t know… the literal point of going to a doctor?

So here’s my burning question of the day (pun intended, because eczema):
Why do doctors here seem to despise being questioned? Isn’t answering your patient’s concerns quite literally your job description?

Anyway, until the next awkwardly tense appointment, I’ll be here, drafting my next 40-question list and preparing to offend another medical deity with my curiosity.

loads of Luv
Hannah