I’m Not Dead Yet
Posted by whatimeant2say
So, I went to see Dr. Jimmy, the other day, and he seems to think it is unlikely that I have a blood clot, despite the overwhelming evidence on the internet to the contrary. Because I love Dr. Jimmy (in a completely Hippocratic way, of course), I feel somewhat relieved. To be honest, I almost did not go to see Dr. Jimmy because my leg felt a lot better on the day of my appointment, but we haven’t seen each other in awhile, so I did not want to hurt his feelings by canceling my appointment.
Plus, I wasn’t sure if they had one of those 24-hour cancellation policies requiring me to pay anyway, so I might as well go and try to get my co-pay’s worth.
Dr. Jimmy, like me, has a Dorfenbergerthalumus that overheats when he is late. This is a very rare trait in doctors, as many of you will attest, I am sure. My appointment was at 11:30. At 11:40, the nurse called me back to the exam room, and asked me a few questions. After taking my blood pressure, which is one of the few medical tests I always ace, she walked out, and said that Dr. Jimmy would be in soon. About 60 seconds later, I heard my chart being taken out of its pocket on the front of the door, a quick knock, and Dr. Jimmy strode in.
“That was fast!” I commented.
“No, it wasn’t,” he frowned. “What time was your appointment?”
“11:30,” I said.
He looked at his watch, and shook his head, frowning. “I hate running late. But I’ve had a couple of people this morning who had more than one issue. I don’t mind if they need to talk about multiple problems, but I wish they would tell the office when they make the appointment, so we can plan enough time for them.”
I tsk-tsked, completely sympathetic, despite the fact that, the day before, I had considered doing the same exact thing when my throat morphed into a volcano. “I’ll just have to ask Dr. Jimmy about that, too,” I thought, as I swallowed a Zyrtec-D, which calmed the volcano, making my near Appointment Faux-Pas wholly unnecessary. I didn’t have enough time between the throat scare (is it strep? Oh, my God, if I don’t get it diagnosed in time, I’m going to die of Scarlet Fever. Or, at least be blinded like Mary in Little House on the Prairie. I am not nice like Mary. Blindness would definitely not improve my temperament…) and my appointment to imagine any other new ailments, so, mercifully, I only had one enigma for him to solve.
Of course, he could not solve it. Because there is probably nothing wrong. At least nothing life-threatening. But it helps to have him say, “No, I don’t think you’re going to die from a pulmonary embolism.” It’s definitely worth the $15.
Even if he does smile a bit and shake his head.
Posted on November 17, 2012, in Death, Disease of the Day, Doctors, Dogs, Humor, Wonderbutt and tagged bulldog, health, humor, hypochondria, Little House on the Prairie, stupid internet searches that make me think I'm dying, wonderbutt. Bookmark the permalink. 24 Comments.