A Tale of Two Doctors
Here in provincial Maine we are blessed to make connections with actual doctors. While this feels and smells of Jessica Fletcher and Seth Hazlitt, it has its drawbacks. I deal with two doctors.
Our family physician is Dr. McWeenie, I've changed his name to protect the Weenie. He is thorough, he sits and asks all sorts of probing questions, he seems 'well read'. He is very good at what he does, but I don't like him. Ready for the reasons? Whenever he knocks and enters, and have you ever said, "Just a minute!" no, me neither but it's on my bucket list, he first says 'Hi', then immediately says, "How's Don?" I could be sitting in the inner waiting room holding my severed arm in my now 'only arm' as blood rhythmically squirted out of my shoulder and he would still ask about Don. There's a man crush there. Secondly, he is Auschwitz thin. I known he dines on arugula, beets and the occasional herbal tea. He likes to point to the 1940s weight chart and let me know where I fall short and my sorry-assed BMI. I give him major props for nailing me down to a day to quit smoking and that was over 2 years ago, so okay, hats off for that, but he's also pushing more Vitamin D around Midcoast Maine then shady doctors with Botox in Beverly Hills.
Dr. McHottie. This is the doctor that I first met when my hip was causing me pain - sacro-illiac. I stood in front of him and said, "Is it lupus? Is it lupus?" ala George Castanza and then I had to sadly explain my dumbass joke. Insert the sound of crickets. He was also there when I had a run in with a bitchin' caterpillar that left my arm swelling and feeling like I had lufa'ed with fiberglass. He had a small intern in tow when he asked what my problem was and I offered both of my arms for his and the little intern's eyes and said, "They don't match."
Today I met with Dr. McHottie to address a kink in my neck that I believe was due to me sleeping on my stomach and jerking my head up at the sound of the alarm. It progressively has turned me into Quazi Moto with a nasty burning throbbing headache.
This is the back and forth:
"So, it says you have a pain in your neck and your S?"
"I can't hep you, I didn't write that, my neck hurts."
He asks how it happened and I explained, then, "What makes it feel better?"
"Wine."
"Are you taking anything? Ibuprofen?"
"Nope, just wine."
"If I told you to take Ibuprofen, would you?"
"I suppose I might. With the wine? Are you telling me to?"
"Yes, take ibuprofen."
"And wine, right?"
"Sure, what else would you like?"
"Can you crack my neck, break it or rip my head off, just make this stop, please? And why is my one collar bone thingy sticking out more than the other?"
At this point Dr. McH, who explains that the kink has caused my muscles to spasm and pull my 1st rib (I immediately thought that we should have ribs this weekend!) which in turn is pushing my collarbone out. I'M NOT NUTS!! About that at least. Then he says, "Were you joking about the cracking or did you know I was D.O."
"I know, you cracked my hip, that's why I'm here!"
Someone knocks at the door and Dr. McH excuses himself to go talk loudly about another patient and her 'scope'. So there I sit on the loud paper swinging my feet and waiting. There was a small mirror on the wall opposite from me and I could see Dr. McH left the ergonomic pc 'unlocked'. Yes, I jumped up and looked at the screen and wouldn't you know that dillhole McWeenie categorized me as overweight! I didn't change it, but man o manischewitz, what a TOOL! I informed Don about this and he said, "Don't complain, at least you're not considered Obese."
I understand that America is getting fatter by the french fry, but as a mother that has witnessed, lived through and still worries to death about eating disorders, come on! If I weighed what Dr. Weenier wanted me to weigh, I'd need an IV and someone to carry my around. He looks like that now. No thank you, I'll pass. And I'll point out that while adjusting my hip, Dr. McHottie uttered the phrase, "You're in really good shape." He needs to go share a steak with McWeenie, who obviously needs some red meat or his testicles back and explain body types.
The good news is Dr. McHottie manipulated my neck, the crunching was amazing. He then tried to twist my spine and jammed his elbow into my ass check. I screamed "Oh my GOD!!" at which point he said, "I'll stop hurting you now." Then he went on to again lean on me with his arm under me and then my middle back was in pain. This resulted in my wincing and whimpering, "Now what hurts?" "Really? Where your freaking hand dug into my spine!" We also did a 'trust' maneuver where I he stood behind me and I had to collapse. We're crazy like that. He did loosen up my neck and as he walked out of the exam room he said, "Thanks for letting me toss you around." Really? And do you know what I said? "My pleasure." Did I mention he is kinda cute?
- Quazi.
Our family physician is Dr. McWeenie, I've changed his name to protect the Weenie. He is thorough, he sits and asks all sorts of probing questions, he seems 'well read'. He is very good at what he does, but I don't like him. Ready for the reasons? Whenever he knocks and enters, and have you ever said, "Just a minute!" no, me neither but it's on my bucket list, he first says 'Hi', then immediately says, "How's Don?" I could be sitting in the inner waiting room holding my severed arm in my now 'only arm' as blood rhythmically squirted out of my shoulder and he would still ask about Don. There's a man crush there. Secondly, he is Auschwitz thin. I known he dines on arugula, beets and the occasional herbal tea. He likes to point to the 1940s weight chart and let me know where I fall short and my sorry-assed BMI. I give him major props for nailing me down to a day to quit smoking and that was over 2 years ago, so okay, hats off for that, but he's also pushing more Vitamin D around Midcoast Maine then shady doctors with Botox in Beverly Hills.
Dr. McHottie. This is the doctor that I first met when my hip was causing me pain - sacro-illiac. I stood in front of him and said, "Is it lupus? Is it lupus?" ala George Castanza and then I had to sadly explain my dumbass joke. Insert the sound of crickets. He was also there when I had a run in with a bitchin' caterpillar that left my arm swelling and feeling like I had lufa'ed with fiberglass. He had a small intern in tow when he asked what my problem was and I offered both of my arms for his and the little intern's eyes and said, "They don't match."
Today I met with Dr. McHottie to address a kink in my neck that I believe was due to me sleeping on my stomach and jerking my head up at the sound of the alarm. It progressively has turned me into Quazi Moto with a nasty burning throbbing headache.
This is the back and forth:
"So, it says you have a pain in your neck and your S?"
"I can't hep you, I didn't write that, my neck hurts."
He asks how it happened and I explained, then, "What makes it feel better?"
"Wine."
"Are you taking anything? Ibuprofen?"
"Nope, just wine."
"If I told you to take Ibuprofen, would you?"
"I suppose I might. With the wine? Are you telling me to?"
"Yes, take ibuprofen."
"And wine, right?"
"Sure, what else would you like?"
"Can you crack my neck, break it or rip my head off, just make this stop, please? And why is my one collar bone thingy sticking out more than the other?"
At this point Dr. McH, who explains that the kink has caused my muscles to spasm and pull my 1st rib (I immediately thought that we should have ribs this weekend!) which in turn is pushing my collarbone out. I'M NOT NUTS!! About that at least. Then he says, "Were you joking about the cracking or did you know I was D.O."
"I know, you cracked my hip, that's why I'm here!"
Someone knocks at the door and Dr. McH excuses himself to go talk loudly about another patient and her 'scope'. So there I sit on the loud paper swinging my feet and waiting. There was a small mirror on the wall opposite from me and I could see Dr. McH left the ergonomic pc 'unlocked'. Yes, I jumped up and looked at the screen and wouldn't you know that dillhole McWeenie categorized me as overweight! I didn't change it, but man o manischewitz, what a TOOL! I informed Don about this and he said, "Don't complain, at least you're not considered Obese."
I understand that America is getting fatter by the french fry, but as a mother that has witnessed, lived through and still worries to death about eating disorders, come on! If I weighed what Dr. Weenier wanted me to weigh, I'd need an IV and someone to carry my around. He looks like that now. No thank you, I'll pass. And I'll point out that while adjusting my hip, Dr. McHottie uttered the phrase, "You're in really good shape." He needs to go share a steak with McWeenie, who obviously needs some red meat or his testicles back and explain body types.
The good news is Dr. McHottie manipulated my neck, the crunching was amazing. He then tried to twist my spine and jammed his elbow into my ass check. I screamed "Oh my GOD!!" at which point he said, "I'll stop hurting you now." Then he went on to again lean on me with his arm under me and then my middle back was in pain. This resulted in my wincing and whimpering, "Now what hurts?" "Really? Where your freaking hand dug into my spine!" We also did a 'trust' maneuver where I he stood behind me and I had to collapse. We're crazy like that. He did loosen up my neck and as he walked out of the exam room he said, "Thanks for letting me toss you around." Really? And do you know what I said? "My pleasure." Did I mention he is kinda cute?
- Quazi.
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