The Santa man.

Being sick sucks.  Going to the doctor sucks.  Being sick and then having to go to the doctor really sucks.  You know it’s especially bad when 4 or 5 people in your office ask you if you’re dying in a single day.  But there are compensations.  Today, in my hours-long doctor experience, there were a few shining moments of rare goodness.

The first one would have to be the jolly old guy who I first saw in urgent care.  He introduced himself and he seemed to be one of those nurses who actually still enjoys his job.  He was, after all, jolly.  He sat me down and started asking all the usual questions: symptoms, allergies, medications, that kind of thing.  It’s a rare man who can ask you kindly if you’ve been having diarrhea.  Of course, he also had the requisite fluffy white beard and grandfatherly expression.

The second was the actual practitioner I saw.  For the five minutes I was there, I don’t think I got a word in edgewise, which is pretty amazing considering treatment is usually based on symptoms described by the patient.  I guess I managed to convey most stuff with a few dazed nods in answer to her questions.  But she did love to talk – about kids, dogs, neighbors, a co-worker of hers who also has wild allergies (of COURSE we discussed my steroid intake and her love of certain new asthma meds).  All in all, it was a little overwhelming, but for just five minutes, it was like a breath of force.  Bam!  Ego in the Freud sense.  And then afterwards you stumble out and hopefully discover you liked the whole experience after a little recovery time.

Of course, then I was waiting at the pharmacy for 45 minutes and lost all patience with the world, but who’s counting?  What would a doctor’s visit be without a heaping helping of frustration?

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