Thursday, June 5, 2008

Dr. Feelgood

Well my doctor retired. Shit. Oh well, I hardly ever go to see him anyways. I rarely bother with that sort of thing unless I really need help, like with strep throat trying to separate my head from my body, or creeping death-rot between my toes that won't go away with four weeks worth of Lamasil AT. Well I needed my cholesterol checked, and my MMR immunizations verified due to some impending foreign travel. So I called up a new doctor, and set up an appointment. After fighting to get my health records transferred (which could be a blog post in itself), I went to see him. No worries, just the usual introductions, blood work, schedule another appointment, etc...

Well I had my second appointment yesterday. It ended up being a full physical. I haven't had one of those in a long time. I guess all doctors want to do this for new patients, but this place is a bit nuts about it. They were checking all sorts of useless retarded shit like if I had full motion in my arms and if I could flip flop my hands over and over on my lap. The whole time I'm thinking, If I couldn't move my damned arms over my head, don't you fucking think I would have gone to see someone by now? Do people go through life not realizing they should be able to touch their toes? Would I have been rated any less of a man if I hadn't been able to successfully squat to the floor and walk like a fucking duck??

Of course this all leads up to the grand finale when he asks to juggle my nuts. Apparently my nuts are unremarkable. I think I would have been OK not knowing that. I like my nuts and would like to imagine that they are special. Like if I ripped them off and planted them in the ground, a huge vine would grow straight into the clouds and Mario could climb it to get some more damned gold coins. And I could stand there all proud with my fists clenched at my hips and say, "I'm glad you are enjoying my magical nut-vine you sadistic, red plumber suit wearing prick!"

But the best bit was when he asked, and I quote, "Do you have any need or desire for a rectal exam today?". This was of course a relief because it meant I could possibly avoid that particular slice of heaven. But I couldn't help but ask him how many patients he sees who claim to possess an intense desire to have a rectal exam. After having my cranium squeezed and examined like a supermarket melon, and my testicles juggled and prodded like a set of Chinese exercise balls, I needed some levity. Well I did indeed manage to remain air-tight on this particular day, but now I have homework. I was given a kit that requires me to crap in a makeshift hammock draped across my toilet seat, and sample the resulting swinging poo with some sort of extract-o-graboid plunger device. Frankly, the whole concept is going to give me night terrors.

I suppose the good news is that according to my blood work, I am a pillar of health. Except for my cholesterol. A while ago I clocked a whopping 270, and now with slight dietary modification and exercise I have managed to eek it down to 268. Whoopee-fucking-doo. Now I'm on Lipitor so I have something else to talk to my dad about. Getting old sucks. If they could create a medication that contained Lipitor, Prilosec, Viagra and a 6 pack's worth of alcohol in one little steak flavored pill, I bet it would sell like fucking hotcakes.

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