Wednesday, June 22, 2011

I Bet My Doctor's Older Than Yours..

 Morning Readers,

     I apologize for not writing yesterday. As I explained before, I've been slowly losing my hearing, and it needed to be addressed. To be sure, I'd definitely contemplated the pros of not being able to hear my children scream and the fact not being able to hear wouldn't have that much impact on my writing (I'd already begun brainstorming a very touching memoir tentatively titled "Silent Universe: One Woman's Courageous Battle in a World That Couldn't Understand Her Hand flapping"). It wasn't until I scooted into the doctor's office, I realized I needed my hearing and would never wear Velcro shoes..

     There's something about sitting on wax paper that immediately makes one uncomfortable, suggesting the world's cookie population is quite on edge, most of the time. But the nurse had directed me to sit, so I sat, and let her grill me on why I was taking up their time. So, for the umpteenth time, I patiently explained I was losing my hearing and needed either medication or, at the very least, extremely simplified directions on how to sign " I'm turning left at the light."
      After typing my symptoms in the little laptop sitting next to the q-tips and other doctorly supplies, she advised me the doctor would be in shortly. And she was correct, he was in "shortly", but the "doctor" part was debatable.
     As Dr. Metamucil shuffled in, a quick look-over re-assured me what medical knowledge he employed on a daily basis, had been gathered from his reading, in the covered wagon on his journey to settle this particular part of the Midwest.

     "Good morning, young lady. How are we doing today?"

     "We "... Great....he thinks there's three of us in here. Excellent start.

     Stifling the crinkling under my butt, I said, "Good morning, doctor."

     Old Man Winter began poking at the computer and asking me questions about my symptoms. After I'd explained, yet again, he shuffled over, poked me in the ear a few times, and sat back down.
"Not that bad. Just need some ear drops and antibiotics. You allergic to anything?"

     What I'd been about to say was, "Listen buddy, potential deafness is nothing to joke about, so keep your ear drops and put in the order for the cochlear implant", but, just as the words brimmed at my lips, I was interupted with:

"Do you have any allergies to medications?"

"No", I replied.

Tap tap tap..

"Point and click, point and click."

     Horrified, I listened as he gave himself a private computer lesson, pointing and clicking at things on the screen, with a reserve of frustrations built-up by years of wondering what the "interweb" was and why kids couldn't just stay off his lawn. I didn't have time to dwell, because, for the third time, I was being asked..

     "Are you allergic to any medications?"

     "No" I smiled brightly as I realized I was trapped in a terrifying circular conversation where I wasn't allergic to anything, but slowly kept on losing my hearing. I needed this man to fix my condition, otherwise, my fate was abundantly clear.
      He shuffled his brown, Velcro shoes and looked up at me. I almost shouted that I wasn't allergic to anything, but he preempted me by asking where I'd like to fill my prescription, preparing to tentatively send the order through inter-space. Breathing an inward sigh of relief, I told him where I prefer to pick-up my drugs, thanked him for his time, and booked it back to the car.
     I'd made it. All that was left was grabbing my prescription, driving home, and removing the pillow from my ear. I beamed as I stepped up to the pharmacy counter. "I'm here to pick-up an order for Paige Kellerman...ear drops?" My heart sank as the girl in the white coat looked at me and said,

"We don't have it. It's at the pharmacy across town."
 

Until Next Time Readers!