Going To The Doctor

You know, this afternoon, I was in the doctor’s office. I didn’t want to be there, but I was. You see, the last couple of days, I hadn’t been feeling too hot. I thought that İ might have the flu. Thought right. If any of you out there have experienced the flu, or to be technical about the matter, influenza, then you know what it’s like. For those of you who haven’t had the misfortune, imagine dying without being able to be dead. It’s not any fun.

 

So anyway, I’m sitting there in this guy’s waiting room, waiting. While I’m sitting there, I start to wonder what all the other folds waiting are here for. If you think too hard on that sort thing, it can really mess with your head. I mean, I’m already sick enough. waiting roomI suddenly start to think that it probably isn’t helpful for me to be breathing in everybody else’s sickness. The same would hold true for the little girl sitting across from me. It looks like her mommy is sick, and the kid is just kinda tagging along. So now I’m trying not to breathe these other people’s junk, and at the same time, trying not to direct my germs towards the kid. Well, this is starting to get too complicated already. I feel worse now than when I walked into the joint. I am however, going m hold a newspaper close to my face when I have to breathe. Hey man, I don’t need any more trouble than I already have. There, that works just fine. It’s not a bad column either.



There, enough about all that, I’m getting sidetracked. I need to tell you people some more about my near-death experience. I spent the last two days, one of which was a workday, laid up on the couch in a state of semi-consciousness. 5 minutes felt like 5 hours, and what little bit I managed to eat or drink, didn’t stay with me very long. I watched an episode of ER, and pretended it was me on the stretcher. As they wheeled me to trauma center, I would look up at the pretty nurse. I then imagined that her face would be my last earthly vision before I gasped for breath and expired. It’s at times such as these, you hope that it’s not time for a commercial as that could really limit your chances for being “brought back”. But, this particular episode seemed to be commercial free. During said episode, I also drank about a gallon of Kaopectate, and abused a bottle of ibuprofen. I’m almost certain that the trauma team saved me, although it could’ve just been a dream.

 

That’s why I’m sitting here in this waiting room, that and the fact that I need a doctor’s slip to return to work on Monday. Remember how we used to need a slip to go home early, no you need one just to go back late, or early. No slip– keep your ass at home. What a deal, so when I finally got here, I felt better already. I suppose that I could’ve gone to the Emergency Room, but I’m not that sick. Besides, that place is expensive. Also, I figured that the real thing would never live up to my experience on Prime Time television. I was most likely correct. I mean, a pretty nurse probably wouldn’t bother to look at me twice, let alone bring me back from the abyss.

 

Which brings us back to the present. I’m sitting in the waiting room, still waiting. I think that I finally have this breathing thing figured out. I’m only gonna pay for the sickness that I walked in with. Nothing more, nothing less, just hold the newspaper close, and don’t make eye contact.ManReadingNewspaper_010709 Just when I’m almost finished reading the column, the nurse comes out and calls my name. I pretend not to hear her, and finish reading the silly thing, like it’s gonna make a difference in my life somehow. There, I’m finished reading, she should call my name again soon. They do that in case you’re in the bathroom or something. I start to read another section, get halfway through it, and she comes out and calls my name again. I take one last protected breath, and put the newspaper down. I’m ready to get this over with.

 

I go back and sit on the examination table. There are no newspapers in here, only women’s magazines. This guy better not keep me waiting much longer. Thankfully, he doesn’t. I start in on my litany of complaints, and that I think I might have the flu, and that I’m a 40 something year old man who needs a note from his doctor so I won’t get into trouble at work. The good doctor gives a reassuring smile, and begins his examination.talking to doctor As it turns out, I don’t have cancer, so that’s good. He tells me that my blood pressure is “O.K.”, as is the ticking of my ticker. My reflexes are good, and there are no “big” problems with excess body fat. As it turns out, he says that I’m in pretty good shape, except for 2 things.

 

First of all, my hair is slowly falling out of my head. The doctor was nice and said that I “was thinning a bit”. Secondly, I DO have the flu. Apparently, and here’s the real kick in the pants, at the point that I am at, there isn’t a whole lot that you can do except to let it “run its course”. Well, I had already been unconsciously doing that, so I figured I’d be fine in short order.

 

I walk back up towards the receptionist at the front door of the office, with my file, and my “note” in hand. I pay my co-pay, and then walk out the door… into the pouring rain. But, I fell 100% better! I tell ya, it’s a funny world when you have to pay somebody to tell you something that you already knew; even though you didn’t want to know it in the first place –

 

  Just to feel better.

 

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