Going to the doctor
I don't go to the doctor very often, if I can avoid it. I don't like doctors, don't get me wrong, I think it's great what they do, and I have oodles of respect for how much they have to know, and how hard their job is, and my doctor is a really nice guy, but I just don't like to visit him. First of all, you have to make an appointment, which means listening to really crappy hold music for 10 minutes, where a really, really, mellow voice interrupts every 16 seconds, telling you that your call is important, and then (at least at my doctor's office) informing you that Monday's are their busiest day, for faster assistance don't call on Monday. (Mind you, I've never actually called my doctor's office ON a Monday, but I still have to listen to this fabulous advice, personally I think they should have one of those recordings for every day of the week, just to fuck with the hypochondriacs) Then, when you finally get to talk to one of the receptionists, once they finally figure out who the hell you are, (do they really need that much information to identify you? I know for a fact, that there is no one else in this county with my name, and yet, I still have to divulge my date of birth, the last four digits of my social security number, my phone number, address, my mother's maiden name, and my bra size) they ask you why you want to see the doctor (so far in my life this has been a relatively embarrassment-free process, but just imagine what it would be like to have something weird going on, this, of course would never be an issue for little old moi, but imagine trying to make an appointment to discuss something like pre-mature ejaculation. How the heck could you bring yourself to mention that to that perky little receptionist? I mean, you know you're gonna have to look her in the eye when you go in for your appointment, she's gonna hand you that book-sized stack of paperwork she's going to insist you fill out, and she's going to know why you're there)
Ok, you've managed to secure an appointment, at a time that is only mildly inconvenient for you (my favorite is when they ask you your preference on days, and times, and then, once you've stated that Tues or Thurs between 10 and 12 would be best for you, they ever so sweetly offer you one appointment on Tuesday at 8:15 or any number of appointments on Weds between 1 and 5) you show up 10 minutes early, just as they instructed you to, stand in line for 7 minutes while some really sweet mostly deaf old lady in front of you tries to schedule an appointment on a Tuesday between 10 and 12, and then once you make it up to the desk, they have to do the whole identification thing again, and that's when they give you the book to fill out, I'm pretty lucky as I can pretty much just check no on everything, me and my family are all pretty healthy, but what gets me is that you have to write down why you're there again. Especially because we all know what happens next, once they've taken the forms back, you've sat back down, and just gotten into in one of the articles in the only magazine in the lobby that even remotely interested you, the Medical assistant or Nurse, comes to take you back to the examining room, where she weighs and measures you, takes your blood pressure, and asks you why you're there. She does this while she's actually reading your file, where, at last count, it should already be written down twice. Do people change their minds a lot when they're going to the doctor's office? Do you make an appointment because your back is hurting, and then when you get there decide you'd actually like to get an EKG? Or plan to discuss a new diet and exercise regime, but instead request a splint for your sprained wrist?
Then you're stuck there in that little room, with two pictures, one of a tranquil outdoor scene, and the other some sort of cartoon with an amusing, and heartwarming phrase on it, a poster detailing the knee, and a bunch of little pamphlets. (Am I the only one who longs to snoop around in the drawers and cabinets during this seemingly endless expanse of time? I never actually do, I always end up reading those stupid little pamphlets, and inevitably by the time the doctor knocks on the door I've finished the ones detailing the warning signs of migraines, heart disease, breast and skin cancer, and have moved on to drug addiction, herpes, or pyromania)
After quickly shoving the pamphlet on kleptomania into your pocket, you tell the doctor to come in, he sits down, starts looking through your chart, and then, he too, asks you why you're there. You of course tell him, because your only other option is yelling at him and that just doesn't seem like such a great plan, seen as he's the guy who writes out your prescriptions, not really the person, you want mad at you. I mean, you piss off your dry cleaner, worst case scenario your clothes come back with stains in embarrassing places, you piss off your doctor, and you could end up causing stains in embarrassing places. He nods his head a lot, and the fills out a little slip of paper, tells you to take one of these twice a day, and moves on to his next patient.
Ok, you've managed to secure an appointment, at a time that is only mildly inconvenient for you (my favorite is when they ask you your preference on days, and times, and then, once you've stated that Tues or Thurs between 10 and 12 would be best for you, they ever so sweetly offer you one appointment on Tuesday at 8:15 or any number of appointments on Weds between 1 and 5) you show up 10 minutes early, just as they instructed you to, stand in line for 7 minutes while some really sweet mostly deaf old lady in front of you tries to schedule an appointment on a Tuesday between 10 and 12, and then once you make it up to the desk, they have to do the whole identification thing again, and that's when they give you the book to fill out, I'm pretty lucky as I can pretty much just check no on everything, me and my family are all pretty healthy, but what gets me is that you have to write down why you're there again. Especially because we all know what happens next, once they've taken the forms back, you've sat back down, and just gotten into in one of the articles in the only magazine in the lobby that even remotely interested you, the Medical assistant or Nurse, comes to take you back to the examining room, where she weighs and measures you, takes your blood pressure, and asks you why you're there. She does this while she's actually reading your file, where, at last count, it should already be written down twice. Do people change their minds a lot when they're going to the doctor's office? Do you make an appointment because your back is hurting, and then when you get there decide you'd actually like to get an EKG? Or plan to discuss a new diet and exercise regime, but instead request a splint for your sprained wrist?
Then you're stuck there in that little room, with two pictures, one of a tranquil outdoor scene, and the other some sort of cartoon with an amusing, and heartwarming phrase on it, a poster detailing the knee, and a bunch of little pamphlets. (Am I the only one who longs to snoop around in the drawers and cabinets during this seemingly endless expanse of time? I never actually do, I always end up reading those stupid little pamphlets, and inevitably by the time the doctor knocks on the door I've finished the ones detailing the warning signs of migraines, heart disease, breast and skin cancer, and have moved on to drug addiction, herpes, or pyromania)
After quickly shoving the pamphlet on kleptomania into your pocket, you tell the doctor to come in, he sits down, starts looking through your chart, and then, he too, asks you why you're there. You of course tell him, because your only other option is yelling at him and that just doesn't seem like such a great plan, seen as he's the guy who writes out your prescriptions, not really the person, you want mad at you. I mean, you piss off your dry cleaner, worst case scenario your clothes come back with stains in embarrassing places, you piss off your doctor, and you could end up causing stains in embarrassing places. He nods his head a lot, and the fills out a little slip of paper, tells you to take one of these twice a day, and moves on to his next patient.