Doctors And Other Annoyances

 I’m not afraid of doctors. 

     They don’t come close to my wife telling me we have to talk. 

     Marriage comes with its ups and downs. I've noticed that when we're watching TV and my wife tells me she doesn’t care for the show we’re watching, what she means is I'm never going to find out how it ends. 

     But I was talking about doctors...

     When my youngest daughter was just out of her toddler years, my wife and I took her to her pediatrician. Unfortunately, he was out of town, so we saw someone new. Trying to win our daughter over with his friendly bedside manner, he playfully asked if she knew our first names. 

     "Of course," she said politely. "My mommy's name is 'Sweetie' and my daddy's name is 'Babe.'" 

     Before I retired, my job required me to take yearly physicals. 

     Yearly, because I suffer from sleep apnea and have to use a CPAP machine, otherwise it would have only been every other year. Which is better, but not by much. I don't mind having doctor appointments. What I mind is having A LOT of doctor appointments. 

     That reminds me of my first colonoscopy and, trust me, I would prefer not to be reminded of it. I had polyps. They turned out to be benign, but to be on the safe side the doctor wanted me to have another one in two years. Two years is a long time, unless you have an anal invasion scheduled at the end of it, then it flies by pretty quick.

     In the last physical I took for work, I asked the doctor about a pattern I had noticed the last few years. The doctor would start the physical by saying five words ("car... tree... run... bed... smile") which I then would have to repeat to the best of my ability after he did his best to make me forget them by telling me to bend over and say "Ah” so he could check my prostate.

     You know what the worst thing is about having my prostate checked? It’s when the doctor leans forward and nibbles on my ear. I can’t tell you how sad I’ll be if I one day discover a man’s prostate is in his foot. 

     Anyway… 

     "Are these the same words you give me every year?" I asked him, after passing the test with flying colors.

     "Yeah," he chuckled, sheepishly. "I use the same ones because my memory sucks." 

     When I took my father to his last appointment he wasn't in the best of moods. He was feeling pretty cranky, in fact. Although, if I'm being honest, cranky pretty much describes him every day of his life. That day, he was in even less of a mood to tolerate smalltalk. 

     "How are you feeling this morning, Mr. Duchene?" the doctor asked him. 

     "Like crap," my father answered. "How 'bout you?"

     "Better than you, I guess," the doctor admitted.

     "Then maybe I should go see your doctor," my father said.