Dr. do little

            The average person would probably list visiting a dentist as one of their greatest fears in life. The way those people fear the drill toting, PhD certified, closet sadists, is how I feel about physicians. At least with dentists you don't have to strip down to your underwear, adorn a flimsy robe that flaps open in the back and lie down on a bed too firm for comfort, in a small, claustrophobic room, usually without windows. Actually, I'm beginning to wonder if it's the physicians that are more like the sadists than the dentists. I've had my health insurance in place since January and haven't had a physical in nearly four years. Putting myself in an uncomfortable situation for no particular reason, just never occurs to me, unless, I felt there was something I should worry about. Thanks to good genes and my neophyte, nutritionist mother, I have been the picture of health for most of my life. Why mess with a good thing?

            Earlier in the month, I mustered up the courage to make an appointment with a doctor, just so that I could put my mind at ease and rule out any possible health issues that could come creeping up on me. I'm nearly middle aged you know. This morning I dragged myself to this here appointment with sweaty palms and a racing heart rate, which I'm surprised they didn't assume I was in the early stages of cardiac arrest, when I finally got there. After checking in with the cranky receptionist at the front desk, complaining under her breath about having to fill in for the regular who called in sick today, (not a good sign if she works at a doctor's office) I had to wait over an hour to be lead through a maze of hallways to my tomb of an examining room. From there, I had to sit another fifteen minutes in half nakedness for my doctor to show up. What on earth do these doctors do for fifteen minutes EVERY time I do this? I did make an appointment didn't I? I used to wait tables at a restaurant once where I was responsible for ten tables at a time and I don't think I ever had anyone waiting more than five minutes for a side of ketchup.

            Finally, this little woman comes in, asks me all the appropriate questions about my family history, bowel movements, sleeping patterns, etc., all while she pulls out her tools to check my ears, eyes and makes me say "ah" like a toddler asking for her bottle. Then five minutes later, she gives me the thumbs up and the exam is over. That little thief! I want my co-pay back! I could have done the exam myself or had a friend do it for me for free!  I suppose I could have asked her to do blood work, just in case, but why would I want someone to stab me with a needle and suck out my precious blood? They already took my precious money! I should have been a doctor. Then I could make hundreds of dollars an hour interrogating people while shining bright lights in their orifices for five minutes and then take fifteen-minute breaks in between to go hang out at the Starbucks down the street. And here I thought that being an artist was living the dream. Silly me.