Don’t you just hate it when this happens?? You feel sick. Miserable. Coughing. Aching. Sneezing…and all that other stuff they talk about in the NyQuil commercials. But you’re much too tough to go to the doctor. Who wants to go waste a day at the doctor’s office anyway? You have to make an appointment. You’ll have to tell the receptionist what’s wrong with you.
“Um…yeah…everything’s coming out…bad…”
“Can you be more specific sir?”
“Um…no…”
You know they all start laughing at you the moment they hang up the phone.
Then you arrive and you have to fill out a bunch of paper work. You could have your leg chopped off and they’d look at you and say,
“Please have a seat and fill out this sheet with any changes in your insurance.”
“My leg is missing!”
“Yes sir. I can see that. We have quite a wait here in front of you. Please have a seat.”
You laugh, but I’ve totally had this happen to me. Well…fine…it wasn’t my leg…
Your moment finally arrives and you get to see the doctor. Only, you don’t get to see the doctor. You get to see a nurse first. She’ll ask you to sit on the little bed, then she’ll want to take your blood pressure, look in your ears, and take off your shirt. Hmmm…wait…you know now that I think about it that sounds like a pretty good date…
But just when you think the nurse really likes you she’s gone and there’s some old pompous man with a white coat and a fancy degree. And then, it happens. It always happens. You explain what you’ve been suffering through for the last week at least, but all of a sudden the symptoms seem to have disappeared. It’s like the germs got stage fright or something. The doctor just nods his head while you try to convince him that you’ve really been sick.
“I was throwing up! There were colors!”
“Mmmhmmm… is that right?”
The patronizing look from the MD is too much for you. You watch in agony as he scribbles something into his little folder no doubt labeling you some kind of hypochondriac. As a last resort, you try desperately to muster up some coughs, a sneeze, ANYTHING! But no…the virus knows exactly how to play this game. It wants you to appear totally and completely healthy as long as the man with the meds is there.
The doctor says you’ll be just fine. And so you leave. And vow never to return. But the germs will get you again one of these days. And as you leave the doctor to his little room and his smug smile you know in your heart that sooner or later you’ll be back. And you know that in a few weeks time, the bill will arrive with the fees for this “consultation.”
Blah. I hate you all. And your little coats too.
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