September 30, 2005

What's Up Doc?

Both MK and I had appointments to see the doctor today. Nothing is actually wrong, they just insist on seeing you once a year to make sure you're still alive. If you fail to do this, they cut off your drug supply. Medicine...I mean medicine.

The following is a transcript of my discussion with the physician.

Doc: "So, how's it been going fatty?"

Me: "Excuse me?"

Doc: "I said 'How's it going, fatty?' What's wrong? Is the fat clogging your ears too?"

Me: "No I-"

Doc: "Fine. Whatever. How are you doing on your medicines?"

Me: "Good. Everything's good. They work very well and..."

Doc: "Look at that!" Pokes stomach "What's going on here?"

Me: "What? I'm sorry. I know I've gained some weight, but can't you just ease up a little?"

Doc: "How about if you ease up on the Big Macs, tubby."

Me: "Look, I understand I need to lose weight. I just want to get my medicine refilled."

Doc: "Fine. Here's your prescription. Just get out of here. I want to see less of you around here, and I don't mean I want to see you less often."

Me: Runs out sobbing like a little girl.

Sadly, this wasn't even the end of the ordeal. After the visit at the doctor's office, we both had to go and get blood drawn to complete the checkup. This isn't too big of a deal, except that I am very anti-needle. Believe me, there is no worry that I will ever become a heroin addict. Forget legality, danger, expense, addiction or any of the other usual issues; I'm not going to be able to stick a needle into my own veins. It's just not happening.

While we were at the lab getting blood drawn, the phlebotomist (I really just told this story so I could use that word) was a bit too chipper for me. Something about the constant happy humming while you are stabbing and then draining the life from patients seems scary to me. She first began searching for the best spot to begin stabbing MK on the left arm. After a few moments, MK said, "You know, I think they usually have to use my other arm, because it's easier." The response? "Yeah. That doesn't surprise me. There was nothing there that was really lifting my skirt."

I only wish I was making that up.

Until later...

3 comments:

Anonymous said...

you cant trust doctors--they're a bunch of molestors, masking their sick and twisted agendas in white lab coats.

Laziest Girl said...

I meant to ask earlier, but is this medicine the kind of medicine that Hunter S. Thompson likes? Do you have a bad heart? Do you have a Polynesian Attorney? Can you get me a script from your doctor?

Craig said...

LG, I believe the answers would be "no, no, no, and no." I'm just boring that way.