At the Doctor's Office

There has to be something
fun about the doctor visit.

I don't go to the doctor often, but when I do I always ask for Dos Equis. I never get it, but it's so rewarding to go to the doctor and come out with something noteworthy: either a truly grusome or annoying disease, or some condition that requires a neck brace, or a cast, some visible sign that you're a real medical case. Is that a lot to ask?

Today I visited the doctor for arm pain that has kept me from, among other things, blogging. When I'm seated at the computer, my arm feels like it weighs 75 pounds, when in fact it's not a gram over 60 pounds.

So I was delighted when the doctor looked at the x-rays and said my neck looked like rusty water pipes. I immediately envisioned leaving the clinic with a neck brace, a prescription for a hot tub, and best of all - a handicap parking permit.

I deserve it. I packed so many fat babies around with my bad arm my knuckles scrape the floor.  As for those rotted neck bones, I was clearly told by Sister Beagenie in the third grade that cracking my neck would have its consequences in later years.  I thought she meant I would go to hell.

So I got really excited when he left the room saying, "Stay here. I'll be right back with something for you." Visions of medical appliances danced in my head.

In a few moments he returned with a wad of papers.

My eyes immediately spotted a picture on the first page. "Yahoo! A cane!" I exclaimed, "And it looks like I get to take dancing lessons too!"

Another page held a picture of a woman with her head on a pillow.

















"Yes!" I blurted, "Bed rest!"

I grabbed the doctor's arms. "You are the best doctor ever! Thank you, thank you for understanding my needs! Finally my family will get someone else to clean the toilet.You've even included a picture of her leaning on the tank, practicing swirling with the brush. Nothing wrong with her right arm, right Doc? Bahahaha!"

He cleared his throat.

"These pictures are of your exercises. Do these 20 exercises 10 times each, three times a day."

Really? Exercises? Is he joking? When do I fit these into my schedule? Does he expect me to give up Bonanza and Gunsmoke for lunch?

I looked him in the eye.

"Do you mean there's no cane, no bed rest, no toilet lady?"

"Yes, he replied, "but in a matter of weeks you won't have any pain as you clean the toilet yourself. Won't that be great?"

"Yup," I thought, as I shrugged and left his office, "That'll be just ducky."