With my recent bout of bronchitis out of the way, I thought I'd share with you some of my feelings I have about the medical profession... more specifically, the General Practitioner or Family Doctor.
This is a man (or woman) who has worked hard all their life to get where they are... I can't even imagine what it would be like spending so much time in school... the dedication is incredible...but not so incredible that I will ignore the many, many annoying things that occur while at the doctor's office.
Take for instance the appointment time... you're guaranteed that if your appointment is for 1:45pm, there is no way you're going to see anyone until oooooooooh, I dunno Christmas! There is no other profession on this Earth that can so regularly be late. If I make an appointment with my lawyer (if I had a lawyer) for 1:45, he's gonna be there by 1:35... and if he's not, he explains why. Just once I'd like the doctor to say to me as he strolls into that little exam room at like 3:30, "Sorry Bob, you wouldn't believe the traffic in the hallway... this really obese patient of mine fell over and I was stuck behind him for almost an hour!"
But to even get into that room is like trying to get into a busy club...the receptionist behind that sliding glass is like a bouncer at Club 54. I even tried to slip her a twenty and she looked at me like I was offering her a nickel... it was like, "Ahh... sorry sir, you'll have to sit over there!"
So there I am in the waiting room... looking around at all the other sick people wondering what I am catching just sitting next to them. I won't even get started on the magazine bit... but let me just say this, you're a doctor... get some subscriptions!! Stop depending on old Mrs. Young, who tries to cross out her address from the front page to bring in magazines..." yeah like I'm gonna come to your house lady and beat you senseless because you subscribe to Chatelaine, good idea that crossing out where you live thing!"
So 1:45 comes and goes... of course there's the baby crying...the kid pukking... the old person whose hacking so much you're convinced they're gonna kick off right there... and then there's you. Reading about the latest spring fashions for women, even though it's November and you're a guy... then you flip through a great interview with American Presidential Candidate: Bob Dole! Finally you settle on a ratty copy of Green Eggs and Ham... much to the chagrin of the kid who has finally stopped pukking.
Every time that window slides over or door opens up you perk your ears up like a dog that just heard the can opener... hoping that it'll be your name the receptionist will mispronounce. Finally at 2:30 you are allowed in...but that's not the end of the waiting... oh no. There's so much more in store.
Depending on why you're there... a full check up or you have a... will depend on what happens next. If it's the later then you just go in and sit down. If it's the former, then most often you strip and put on the over sized blue bib. Lucky for me my check up isn't for a little while (look for part two of this portion of the rant after that visit).
So now you're in this little room...with nothing to do. Now you don't even have the crappy magazines to look at. Just you, the doctor's chair and a wax paper covered bed. There is that counter with all the shiny things on it, but ever since you were a kid, you were told to not even look there. So there you are... hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm... what to do????... what to do????... what to do????
After testing your own eyes three or four times each, which we all do and is totally ridiculous...I don't know about you but when I test them I have perfect vision.... but after that, you start to get antsy... it's now like 3:10 and the only thing you know about your heath for sure is that you've now got whatever that pukking kid has and your eyesight is perfect.
Bored out of your skull you give into temptation... you start to look at the shiny things on the counter... not touching, just checking them out, when you notice there are cupboards above the counter... you look to the left, then the right, "one little peak... I mean what the hell I go through all my friends medicine cabinets!"
It's a scroungers dream! Boxes of rubber gloves? I could use a few of those. Tongue depressors? There's gotta be something I could use these for. And there's tons of this stuff!! And they say the heath care industry is under funded...tell that to my doctor, he's hoarding!
Just as you're pocketing some cotton swabs... the doctor FINALLY walks in!!! Bastard.
You can send IMPROV get well e-mails to this address. We'll print them and deliver them to him next time we empty his drool bucket.
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