Wednesday, August 17, 2005
But I Only Wanted My Ear Unclogged.......
I went to my doctor yesterday to sort out this whole ear thing. She checked my blood pressure and chewed my ass out for skipping out on my medication for a couple of weeks. What can I say? I just have to live on the edge of danger sometimes.
Then she very carefully stuck one of those things in my ear doctors always look through to see inside. She stared in my ear for a moment, then gasped. Then it was a full-fledged shriek as she dropped the instrument and began back pedalling in terror away from me.
"OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD! IT'S HIDEOUS! EVERYBODY GET AWAY!!!AIEEEEEEE!!!!"
WHAT? WHAT? CALL AN AMBULANCE!! GET ME TO A HOSPITAL! AM I DYING, DOC?? AM I??
Then she becomes completely calm and says, "No. You're fine. I was just fucking with you. Now take your medicine from now on."
So, it turns out I don't have water in my ear. In fact, I got nothing in my outer ear. Cleaner than the proverbial hound's tooth. What I do have is something called otitis media. Sounds sorta like some general who attacked Troy. Whatever it is, the doc said I could dump alcohol, peroxide, cotton balls, and tequila into my ear for a month and it wouldn't make any difference. Ditto with blow dryers, soldering irons, and head slaps. This little problem is caused by allergies. So now I have to take Sudafed, an antibiotic,my blood pressure medicine, and an aspirin every morning, then chase it with this shit I spray up my nose, and all should be normal again by Fall when whatever microbial agent of torture that causes my allergies finally settles in for its long winter's nap.
"And while you're here Crime Dog, what say we schedule you for a complete physical? You know, prostate, rectal, all that stuff, and we'll run blood work."
Great. At least she's a smallish woman of Filipino descent, so she has these itty-bitty fingers. That's why I picked her out from among all the Caribbean diploma mill and Bryman School of Doctoring graduates that my HMO will actually pay for.
"Oh, yeah! Let's not forget you're going to be 50 in two weeks. Here's your referral for a colonoscopy."
Say what?
"You bet! You're ripe for a good roto-rooter job! Butt-plumbing starts at age 50!"
C'mon, Doc! All I wanted was to get my ear unplugged. Not my ass. It seems to be working just fine. Can't you just give me a pill for that, too?
"No such luck, butt boy. Have fun."
Fun? OK, I can do that. The day of the test, I think I'll write "Exit Only" on my ass cheeks in permanent marker. Or maybe "right" and "left." Or "Your Name."
What's your name, Doc?
"Larry."
Well, Larry, you'll be proud to know I've got your name written on my ass.
Naaaah. I'm sure those have all been used already. Any suggestions for good ol' ass-cheek humor for a future colonoscopy victim? Come up with a good one, and maybe I'll write your name on my ass.
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Then she very carefully stuck one of those things in my ear doctors always look through to see inside. She stared in my ear for a moment, then gasped. Then it was a full-fledged shriek as she dropped the instrument and began back pedalling in terror away from me.
"OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD! IT'S HIDEOUS! EVERYBODY GET AWAY!!!AIEEEEEEE!!!!"
WHAT? WHAT? CALL AN AMBULANCE!! GET ME TO A HOSPITAL! AM I DYING, DOC?? AM I??
Then she becomes completely calm and says, "No. You're fine. I was just fucking with you. Now take your medicine from now on."
So, it turns out I don't have water in my ear. In fact, I got nothing in my outer ear. Cleaner than the proverbial hound's tooth. What I do have is something called otitis media. Sounds sorta like some general who attacked Troy. Whatever it is, the doc said I could dump alcohol, peroxide, cotton balls, and tequila into my ear for a month and it wouldn't make any difference. Ditto with blow dryers, soldering irons, and head slaps. This little problem is caused by allergies. So now I have to take Sudafed, an antibiotic,my blood pressure medicine, and an aspirin every morning, then chase it with this shit I spray up my nose, and all should be normal again by Fall when whatever microbial agent of torture that causes my allergies finally settles in for its long winter's nap.
"And while you're here Crime Dog, what say we schedule you for a complete physical? You know, prostate, rectal, all that stuff, and we'll run blood work."
Great. At least she's a smallish woman of Filipino descent, so she has these itty-bitty fingers. That's why I picked her out from among all the Caribbean diploma mill and Bryman School of Doctoring graduates that my HMO will actually pay for.
"Oh, yeah! Let's not forget you're going to be 50 in two weeks. Here's your referral for a colonoscopy."
Say what?
"You bet! You're ripe for a good roto-rooter job! Butt-plumbing starts at age 50!"
C'mon, Doc! All I wanted was to get my ear unplugged. Not my ass. It seems to be working just fine. Can't you just give me a pill for that, too?
"No such luck, butt boy. Have fun."
Fun? OK, I can do that. The day of the test, I think I'll write "Exit Only" on my ass cheeks in permanent marker. Or maybe "right" and "left." Or "Your Name."
What's your name, Doc?
"Larry."
Well, Larry, you'll be proud to know I've got your name written on my ass.
Naaaah. I'm sure those have all been used already. Any suggestions for good ol' ass-cheek humor for a future colonoscopy victim? Come up with a good one, and maybe I'll write your name on my ass.
