Dr. Drab is a stodgy, older gentleman who is nice enough. I have only been to visit him on one other occasion, so we have never established any kind of rapport. For all intents and purposes, I am a complete stranger to him.
The first order of business was getting weighed. I don’t care who you are, getting weighed at the doctor’s office sucks. I made sure to wear my lightest clothes and removed my shoes. Somehow I was still 2 pounds heavier than I was on the scale at the gym and one pound heavier than the one at home, both of which I tried out this morning, wearing the same outfit, just for comparison. I am a scientist, so I like reproducibility. Somehow, there is a major fail going on here. Three scales, three different weights. It is like how all of the clocks in my house tell a different time.
Next up was blood pressure (100/62), heart rate (42) and temperature (96.4). Those look the vitals of a nearly dead person.
I was then queried about the nature of my injury. I gave Dr. Drab the abridged version, explaining how my 12th rib has been impinging a nerve. Of course, he had to put in his two cents; it seems everyone has an opinion, but no right answers.
Dr. Drab: Well, have you tried Neurontin or Lyrica (medications that help with nerve pain)?
JZ: I looked into those drugs, but they have nasty side effects. And, it doesn’t make sense to go on a systemic medication for a localized problem.
Dr. Drab: How about lidocaine patches?
JZ: I tried those. They didn’t work. In fact, I have tried everything. I’ve had nerve blocks, cortisone injections, and physical therapy. I even danced around a totem pole. Nothing worked.
Then he asked a barrage of questions about my family history. When I told him, yes, my sister is healthy, unless you count insanity Dr. Drab didn’t even crack a smile. What does a person have to do to get a laugh?
The physical exam was almost innocuous. He was palpating my abdomen and suddenly, without warning, he jabbed a finger in my side, directly into the pain epicenter. I was so startled by the intrusion that I jumped up quickly nearly causing us to knock heads. “Oh, did that hurt?”, was all he could muster. No shit!
Then, to make matters worse, he started poking around the area, each time asking if it hurt. I wanted to ask him, “Would it hurt if I slowly pulled out each hair in your mustache, one by one?” What I did say was, “I think you have sufficiently found the offending spot.” He took the hint and stopped prodding.
Finally, it was done. Even though I passed my physical, I failed in my mission to get Dr. Drab to loosen up. I just hope I do not need Dr. Drab’s services any time soon, but if I do, I will be certain to bring along a sense of humor and gift it to him.
|Now this doctor has a sense of humor!|